A View From the Bridge.
8059/5927
On the motorway there was the surge of machinery, technology and metal. Just like any other day. The flow of it was so chaotic, the manner in which cars just seemed to flood endlessly from the horizon seemed insane; and yet the way in which it flowed, in hard, systematic columns, made it seem orderly – almost controlled.
All of that lay beneath him at that moment, while he was stood on that bridge.
The bridge was a disgusting looking thing. White paint peeling off its frail frame. Rust eroding at its skeleton-like structure, revealing layer upon layer of crumbling tango-coloured iron oxide. A wire mesh, also tainted by that vulgar auburn hue, covered a row of tall, pale spikes, forming almost a fence before the teen. Like a cage, and that's exactly where he wanted to be. Locked away from the world. From the one he loved most. That way he could never harm them with those twisted thoughts of his.
But no matter how many times he told himself that this would protect that person, and keep them happy and safe, he somehow felt that it wouldn't, that it wasn't enough.
That there was something else.
Something that meant he couldn't be locked away.
...Or perhaps it was just him and his wishful thinking.
His fingers gripped the mesh (like the way a child clings to his mother's skirt as she departs on an aeroplane to some distant oriental world) as emerald eyes began to stare out through the small holes in the mesh. Staring at mile upon mile of a tarmac landscape and a melancholy concrete sunset as gas fumes blended lines and tones together. Beginning to shiver and blur, the motorway began to form almost a monochrome desert within the urban landscape. However, the boy, not really focusing on the view before him and feeling an odd sense of displacement, let his eyes haze over with an emotion caused by his thoughts of something else, so very far away from him.
So, so very far.
Resting his head against the mesh, the teen began to feel the rusted wire's frigid surface cut icy crosses into his searingly hot forehead. He swore he could hear the throbbing of his heart getting louder, feel his own blood vessels ricocheting off the walls of his arteries with an increasing rhythmic tempo. His cheeks became smeared with a deep vermilion tone and his head began to feel sickeningly heavy. As if he was suddenly breathing in treacle.
Wanting to protect, wanting to smother. Wanting to obey, wanting to adore.
Wanting to possess, wanting to discard completely.
An endless list filled his mind. A hypocritical mess of a list. A wish-list, almost, of completely impossible wishes. Wishes that he longed to be fulfilled and yet those same wishes and desires he banished without a second thought.
The list itself was actually pretty simple and was originally formed by the boy rephrasing the sentence: 'wanting to love, not wanting to love' repeatedly, over and over in his mind in an attempt to ease his confusion and desperation... but in the end, only making it worse.
But even that one statement by itself was like being in the centre of a tug of war for the teen. The boy could quite easily find a thousand reasons why he should not love his Juudaime, however those reasons were overthrown by the very desire for his Juudaime, the fact that loving the brunette was almost like respiration – it was automatic, natural (despite what his mind told him) and every part of him, down to the last cell in his body, did it.
For Gokudera Hayato, loving Sawada Tsunayoshi was the eighth process of life that only applied to him.
However, the agony of it was unbearable.
Loving and loving someone so completely you can't stop and yet knowing that it would never happen, that they'd never like you back...
The Italian bit his lower lip, pressing his forehead harder into the mesh. He didn't want to think about it, because... if Juudaime ever did feel the same way about him, the shame that it would bring on Vongola and Juudaime himself, would destroy the both of them. Because Gokudera was male, because the mafia world saw homosexuality as almost a weakness and most importantly: because he was the illegitimate son of the Boss of the Gokudera famiglia.
But what were these feelings? A challenge? Some form of infantile torment from a higher being? Was there a God banishing him to a hell within his own lifetime; forcing him to look upon his loved one from afar, as if he were a mere view from the bridge, something he could only observe from a distance?
Never to spot those more beautiful, more finer details? Never to embrace or touch?
Ah, yes. That must be it.
But what had he done wrong? What sin had he committed to deserve this?
Then again…
He's thought of it before, but he'd have never of guessed…
Maybe Juudaime's soul was holy. He was the Boss of Vongola after all and Juudaime was capable of some great things: his hyper-intuition, his loving and caring nature towards everyone and anyone and his forgivingness. He'd even defeated Mukuro Rokudo who, no doubt about it, was a manifestation of the Devil.
That was it! Juudaime was the reincarnation of Jesus!!
'Oh Lord, forgive me for my sins against you son as a right-hand man and for leading him into the cruel and harsh world of the mafia,' the Italian prayed, he thought it best to repent sooner rather than later. He didn't want to have a flood or a plague of any sort in his house (seeing as God did seem to have the tendency to do such things when infuriated). After all, he could get sick, and the thought of Bianchi's 'special' "Get Well Quick Soup" was already making his stomach lurch.
"What are you doing, Gokudera?" an irritatingly familiar voice queried, his tone already starting to grate against the teen.
The Italian's eyes flicked to the left, his brow furrowed, his eyes burning hot, red holes into the dark-haired male's face. The said teen grinned at his classmate's murderous expression, completely amused for some strange reason that only caused the other's blood vessels within his veins to boil.
"What business is it of yours what I decide to do?" he snapped, turning his head back to the pale wire mesh. Then, feeling that same wire mesh sag beneath his hands, he turned his head, ever so slightly, to take a quick glance at the other beside him who appeared to have moved.
He found Yamamoto, having slid down to the hard, sandpaper-like flooring, now resting his back calmly against the mesh, gazing out towards the traffic travelling on the opposite side of the fence. The teenager's dark brown eyes were glazed over with a strange and solemn expression. An expression that Gokudera knew all too well what it meant.
"He's really worried about you, you know?" the tall tanned teen said resting a hand on his knee. "He started asking questions too: 'Where's Gokudera-kun?' 'Have I upset him?'" - the other teenager flinched internally at this, and Yamamoto knew it - "'Is he okay?' - that kind of thing."
Raising his head, Yamamoto looked up at Gokudera's face. The Italian Storm Guardian had turned to the rush of traffic through the rusted mesh once more.
"He's just down there."
Gokudera didn't move, refusing to take his eyes away from the road. But those same eyes widened at Yamamoto's statement, proving to the dark-haired teen that Gokudera couldn't ignore him at all. He smiled at his pale-skinned companion in knowledge of this. "Why don't you just go down there," he offered amicably, "just say 'hi', let him know you're okay?"
Gokudera swallowed.
"He's really worried, you know…"
He began to nervously wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, still trying to ignore the lanky teen situated on the floor beside him.
Yamamoto paused, he knew that only making his friend infuriated with him would get him to tell him his reason for taking flight during now. It was the only thing that worked in most situations when Tsuna wasn't around, and making Gokudera angry wasn't exactly hard.
"What's the problem Gokudera," Yamamoto asked, his smile falling falsely from his lips, "I thought you cared about Tsuna?"
"I do!" the shorter male retorted, his blood vessels becoming poached at the idiot's accusation, "I would do anything for Juudaime!"
"Then what's the--"
"It's complicated, idiot!" Gokudera shouted, angered by Yamamoto's stupidity.
"Gokudera--"
"Just go! Go and tell Juudaime I'm alright!"
Gokudera looked away.
Yamamoto felt anger rising within him. The dark-haired teen's eyes became hard with some form of emotion. His jaw was tight, as if his were gritting his teeth to stop any unnecessary words from escaping his lips. Just like that, just staring.
Gokudera looked up and saw this, becoming shocked himself at the other's reaction. Was he mad? If so then why and at who? At him, At himself, or perhaps…
No. That was ridiculous. Why would Yamamoto be angered by Juudaime?
But then again, why had Gokudera came to that conclusion in the first place?
Then those dark brown eyes suddenly lost that emotion. His jaw relaxed and his gaze wandered. His irises imbued with a peculiar sadness.
There was silence.
"You're in love with him, aren't you?"
Plip.
Gokudera blinked, "How did you--?"
"Know?" Yamamoto interrupted, a strange edge to his tone cut through the air between them. Gokudera thought he was mad again.
Plip.
Then the dark-haired teenager turned to the Italian with that idiotic grin of his, but the words that followed sounded hollow, "It was kind of obvious!"
Plip. Plip. Plip.
The pair looked up and saw the grey sky above them, appearing frighteningly dense with rain clouds as they smelt copper in the air, droplets already beginning to fall on their heads.
"I don't think you realise it Gokudera," the darker-haired teenager began monotonously as he wiped the rain drops from his still-smiling face, "but Tsuna does care about you, a lot more than you think. Just saying 'Gokudera's okay' isn't going to stop him worrying about you."
Gokudera looked away from Yamamoto, water dripping from his long hair. He was ashamed, Yamamoto could tell that. However, Gokudera was still standing there, not running off to his 'Juudaime'.
'Ah, stubborn as always…'
"Well, I guess the view from the bridge is quite nice," he rose from the ground and turned to gaze out of the mesh "you can see Tsuna from here..."
Gokudera's eyes widened in interest and followed Yamamoto's gaze only to see that his worst nightmare had materialized in front of him: his Juudaime, cold, wet and shivering in the rain – and all because of his selfishness!
Gokudera sprinted off, the rubber soles of his trainers slapping against the rough, wet surface of the metal bridge. As Yamamoto stood erect in the rain, his shirt become transparent and his trousers soaked, he could hear Gokudera's desperate cries of 'Juudaime!! Forgive me! Please punish me!!' and Tsuna's almost giddy reply of 'Go-Goudera-kun?! W-Why are you crying?!!'
Liquid trickled down the dark-haired boy's cheeks. He didn't wipe it away.
"Ah! Gokudera-kun! Where's Yamamoto-kun?"
"Baseball-idiot? He's still on the bridge."
SLAM.
Yamamoto gritted his teeth together, holding back the tears, his fist still shaking.
"Oh, is he? He was really worried about you."
"He told me... that Juudaime was also worried."
'Ah, no good. It's no good, no good,' he thought to himself as the tears welled up even more and meandered down his face past his screwed up eyelids. He began to sob, silently, that way they wouldn't hear.
The view from the bridge sure is nice, but it doesn't half get you down after a while.
-----
This oneshot was originally meant to be 5927, completely and utterly. But, er... well, then Yamamoto made an appearance and as I was writing the first draft of this I just ended up ending with poor Yama all heartbroken. D':
The idea came from one of my orchestra rehearsals at a school that is divided in 2 (a bit like mine! XD ). On one side of the road is the Secondary school itself with years 7-11 (11/12 year-olds to 15/16 year-olds) and on the other is their Sixth Form/College which is years 12 and 13 (16 year-olds to 18 year-olds). The thing that connects these 2 halves of the school is this huge metal bridge over the main road that divides the school. Anyway, during rehearsal we have a break, during which we tend to eat sweets to fill up on sugar supplies to tie us through the rest of the morning. BUT, the tuck-shop, where we get our sweeties, is on the OTHER SIDE OF THE BRIDGE. So yeah, I was going to get my num-nums and crossing this bridge and I so pictured Gokudera leaning against the mesh of this bridge. HOW COOL IS THAT?! Then it started raining and I ran back to the rehearsal room, forgetting my num-nums but with 5927 on the brain.
Also, the title of this is also that of a play by Arthur Miller which everyone (except our class 'cause we're brain boxes 8B ) has to study. I know nothing about the play as I'm not studying it but the name made me think about how unrequited love is like standing on a bridge '...to look upon his loved one from afar, as if he were a mere view from the bridge, something he could only observe from a distance? Never to spot those more beautiful, more finer details? Never to embrace or touch?'
The sad thing is Gokudera's so tied up with his unreturned feelings for Tsuna that he never notices Yamamoto's. STUPID GOKU!! DAMN YOU TOO TSUNA! YOU'RE TOO FREAKIN' CUTE!!!! Enma's nicer tho'... he looks like Aoyagi Ritsuka with all them bandages X3 RIIIIIIIIITSUKAAA-CHAAAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ahem.
Anyways, I need to ask a favour of you before ending this HORRENDOUSLY LONG A/N WITH LOADS OF CAPTITAL LETTERS AND RANDOM RANTINGS AND ODD EMOTICONS ;D
Could you read this and tell me whether the sentence structure is too simple. A teacher of mine has told me my sentences always go noun-verb-...something... and that it is boring. I've tried changing it but um... it made my head hurt so much I couldn't concentrate on the writing itself. PUHWEES HELP!!
Oh and Christianity? Yeah, it's the only religion I know about in enough detail AND seeing as Goku-chan is half-Italian and was brought up in Italy I thought that he'd have been brought up with Christian beliefs.
Well, that's just my opinion XD
Thankies and I hope you enjoyed!