A/N: So, my very first song fic. There are no lyrics that interrupt the dialogue, but if you do search up the song, I've incorporated them into the story as best as I could. The song is called 'A Clingy Boy Sticking for 15 Years' and is for Vocaloid, and I highly, HIGHLY recommend that you do NOT read the lyrics yourself until you've finished the story. Please, don't. For me?
I've never put a disclaimer, but I feel like I should here, since I'm actually using a song and a manga. So, I guess I don't own anything. Unfortunately.
Please read and enjoy!
XxX
Lal Mirch sat at her desk, frowning down at a sheet of blank paper. Her pen tapped the desk once, twice, three times, but she couldn't think of what to write. She stared unseeing down at the white parchment, thinking, feeling, and trying to put her emotions into words, but it was hard. She couldn't write down everything she felt. If she did, she felt like the words would burst on the page, splattering ink everywhere, unable to hold her feelings.
Finally exasperated, she put the tip of her pen down resolutely on the paper and began scribbling out words. She let the words flow, rambling about random things and trying to order them in some coherent form.
Colonnello,
I don't know what I'm writing, nor do I know why,
But I feel like if I did not put them down, away they would fly,
Forever out of my grasp if I did not tell them to you,
But here I am now, and I guess this is my cue.
She felt incredibly silly. She was writing to a man that she loved (so, so much, but she never really admitted it to herself until now), and not only was she spilling her feelings like a teenage schoolgirl, she was doing it in rhyme, as a poem. She definitely felt foolish.
The first time I met you, I didn't know how to react,
So I covered my emotions and scolded you as you slacked,
But as the years went by, slowly and inevitably,
I began to fall for you, and I loved you fondly.
There, she'd said it. Well, she'd written it. She didn't have the courage to say it out loud, for all her brashness. How did one say these things out loud? She shook her head and scowled, scratching her chin with her pen before realizing she'd accidentally marked herself.
Goddammit.
She definitely felt foolish.
XxX
That was the first time she'd ever written anything to Colonnello, and it was the first time she admitted her feelings out of the sanctuary of her mind and heart. She could imagine his snickers and teasing grin as he read the poem before grinning fondly at her. She could see it in her mind's eye.
The poem was still tucked safely in her desk drawer.
That was the first year in which she started her expedition out into the land of poetry. She wrote and wrote, still feeling silly, but unable to stop her earnest feelings from spilling over her lips and into the paper. Everything she was too afraid to say was penned carefully.
This continued for fifteen years. For fifteen years, she'd been writing these letters, wishing that she could just send them to Colonnello and let him know that she loved him, she just couldn't say them aloud. Instead, she burned them, once a week, hoping that her words would burn into the air and somehow carry her feelings to the former rain arcobaleno. She knew this was a futile hope and immature thinking, but she wished, oh how she wished.
It hurt to say them aloud, to see those words drift from her throat and dissipate into the air of the Vongola mansion.
XxX
That first year, she was reckless and wrote each and every day without fail.
It didn't really matter if she was at the Vongola mansion or if she was on a mission of some sort. She still wrote out her feelings and hid the results of her work promptly afterwards, stowed away to be burnt at the end of the week and wishing that he could receive them.
Sometimes her poems were complete and utter shit, and when she read over them, she nearly laughed at how horrible she with her words. They were awkward, clunky, and with a single-minded determination, she forced each line to rhyme, even when it felt unnatural. However, she could not deny the fact that, even if the poem was miserably written, the words held the power of her love (oh god, she could not think that again, that was way too cheesy). She firmly steered her mind away from the growing sappiness in her brain and took out another sheet of paper, starting the poem with easy grace and proceeding to let the words flow out of her. Afterwards, she even licked the envelope closed and the stamp onto its corner, and then she sent away her letter via flames, her heart's spit and all.
God, she felt like such a fool.
XxX
The second year since she'd began writing, she was still reckless. When she was writing, she began ignoring everything around her, focusing only on the point of her pen and the ink on the paper. This was, in fact, a very dangerous thing. During missions, when she began writing, she would forget that she was in the middle of a potentially fatal zone. It could begin hailing bullets upon her hiding spot, and she wouldn't notice. In fact, in one particular instance, she kept writing even as smoke invaded her nostrils, writing until one of her subordinates had shaken her roughly, screaming in panic as fire spread around their hiding spot.
She had grimaced and barked out orders, transforming into a strong commander in a split second. She had guided them out safely, with only minor wounds, but her pride as a commander suffered a devastating blow that day. She herself had escaped with the flames licking at her heels, fanning out her own rain flames to stifle the heat.
She vowed to pay more attention to her surroundings, cursed at herself for falling so deeply into this new hobby of hers, and very nearly cried that she had nearly sacrificed her and her subordinates' lives for writing out her feelings that would never reach the man she loved.
XxX
In the third year, the novelty of spilling out her guts to paper died, and she calmed down. She'd reached the limits of literature and felt that if she wrote any more, she would lose her feelings. She tapped her pen and stared at her laptop. Clicking on her email, she scrolled through mission offers from the Vongola Decimo, who'd grown to be a man that everyone could be proud of, and reports from various colleagues and subordinates. She groaned and looked at the pile of poems that had steadily grown at the bottom of her drawer.
Halfway through the last year, she had begun to feel sentimental about her creations, and instead of burning them, had begun hoarding them, hoping that one day, she would draw the courage to send them. These poems were significantly more sophisticated and better written than anything she'd written in the first year.
She drew the top ones out and reread them, wondering if anybody who read the would be able to experience her own heartache and dedication to Colonnello. She sighed and proper her cheek on her fist.
"What are you sighing for, Lal?" a voice asked from her doorway, and she spun, her heart pounding.
It was only Tsuna.
"Nothing," she muttered bitterly. Tsuna raised an eyebrow and stifled a chuckle. She wished that this Tsuna would cower like the Tsuna from ten years ago in the face of her coldness and curt attitude, but alas, this Tsuna was much more comfortable with her moods.
"I don't think it's nothing. What have you got there?" he asked, tilting his head and striding (without permission) into her office. She sighed again, exasperated. While she didn't grudge the brunet for walking around the mansion like it was his (which it technically was), but she would appreciate some form of respect and courtesy. She wouldn't hold it against him, though, because this was Tsuna, the one who was a strong and charismatic boss, always looking after his subordinates like they were family. Which they probably were, Lal thought, since Tsuna didn't have much of his actual family left.
"Are these poems?" the Decimo asked, surprised as he scanned the lines. His face darkened somewhat at seeing the man they were addressed to, and after reading them, he focused his eyes on her. She felt like a bug being pinned and displayed, vulnerable and much too weak.
He said nothing about her feelings, though, and put the poem back down. He looked at her with gentle eyes and said, quietly, "You could probably put them up, Lal. They're really good, and I'm sure a bunch of people would enjoy them."
He would probably enjoy them went unsaid.
Lal hummed. "I could," she answered evasively.
Tsuna smiled his sad smile and laughed. "Well, I'll leave you to your own business now."
"Didn't you need something?" Lal asked, suspiciously eyeing her boss. Tsuna's smile became a grin, and his carefree laugh echoed around the room after he was gone. It made the room feel a little warmer, knowing that the head of the Vongola would just drop by his subordinate's office to check up on her and not for business.
Lal put her poems, void of Colonnello's name but still honest to her feelings, on a blog she created that night, and as she finalized and published them, her shoulders felt a bit lighter.
XxX
In the fourth year, Lal wrote for a magazine that had become interested in her, and she started branching out into other issues other than her untold love for Colonnello. She wrote about the world, about people, about the bitterness of war and the joy of peace, about how a corrupt organization always had hope to become something more (Tsuna, after reading this particular poem, raised his eyebrows and grinned brightly at her, appreciative and thankful that he had finally done something to change the mafia into a more law-abiding organization).
She'd taken on less missions and instead focused more on her poems. Her poems began to become prose, and her prose into narratives. She wrote whatever she felt like, and her style was smooth flowing, like the gentle pitter patter of the rain falling and flowing over cobblestone streets. She began to have followers and admirers, none of which knew her true identity. She sent anonymously, under the penname "Azure Kaleidoscope" (she was shit at coming up with names, so screw her).
Lal never stopped writing poems to Colonnello, though, the oblivious bastard.
XxX
These four years, she wrote her love to Colonnello. She'd sent them to him by burning the words, hoping that the ashes and smoke would reach his heart, and she published her sonnets. She never got a reply.
XxX
By the fifth year, Lal was a pro poet. Azure Kaleidoscope became known through the literary world for poems and short stories, all touching the hearts of people all around the world.
Perhaps the most disturbing, however, were the fan letters and emails she began receiving.
Dear Azure Kaleidoscope,
I know that you have a love for someone very dear to you, but I would just like to tell you that, should you ever give up your affections, I would love to have a chance with you. You seem like a sensitive man, and I would love to get to know you. Please email me back should you change your mind.
Sincerely,
A Dedicated Fan, and hopefully something more
She didn't know whether to burst into laughter from thinking that anyone thought she was a man or strangle this fan for assuming that her love would ever die. The imbecile, she thought, and promptly deleted the email.
Did anyone ever thing that her feelings were not earnest? Did they think she was writing to some fictional character, declaring things that she would have never declared ten years ago, to strangers around the world? She scoffed at them. If they thought she could change her feelings in the snap, she'd have done it so long ago, before she ever let her heart fall in love. Idiots, the lot of them, so inexperienced if they thought she could.
She also felt like an idiot, though, for still writing those poems to Colonnello, who would never see them.
XxX
The sixth year, her body was ruined in a mission that had taken a turn for the worst. As she lay bleeding against the wall, not a bone unbroken or an organ undamaged, she wondered if giving into the cold numbness that was slowly creeping up her fingers and toes was worth it. She didn't have much regret (other than never telling Colonnello that she loved him, but she was past the point of no return now), so she wondered if she could finally give in. She was not a young woman anymore, but rather a jaded, war experienced soldier. What could offer more to her? She'd spiller her feelings in her writings, and so there was nothing left unsaid.
She thought of her poems and their subject.
Colonnello had always been a nice man, entirely too cheery and playful for a grown ass man. It was embarrassing to be around the guy, and she could believe that this was the man she'd grown to love. He'd always had a love for life, committing to everything with the vivacity of a fifteen year old. It made her tired mostly, but sometimes she'd appreciate that life in his blue eyes and the humor in his smirk.
He probably wouldn't want her to give up like this, though. She thought that he would probably rage at the world and beg her to keep living. It was his personality.
She dragged herself to a safer shelter, for him, and waited for rescue.
Yamamoto Takeshi and Gokudera Hayato arrived shortly after, with Sasagawa Ryohei in tow, his sun flames already lit and ready to heal.
Colonnello would be glad.
XxX
The seventh year, Lal was in perfect form. She'd reached the pinnacle of her creativity and her writing and…god, she sounded like an advertisement. She snorted as she read the article detailing her rise from an amateur to a professional, and she snorted again at being thought of a professional. A professional mafioso, perhaps.
She toyed with her pen, the same pen she's used to write her very first poem. She'd never had the heart to throw away the empty shell, so she kept replacing the ink cartridge. It was scratched and worn, but she kept using it. She felt kind of silly for sticking to a pen, of all things, but as she grew older, she began finding memories in the oddest things.
(There was that statue in the hallway that Colonnello had accidentally broken and freaked out about, so Lal rolled her eyes and found some super glue and stuck the hand back on the statue. Colonnello looked at her as if she was an alien, and when she'd snapped an irritable inquiry, he'd grinned and announced that he was rubbing off on her.)
She smiled slightly at the memory and began writing.
Colonnello,
You are, my love, like extreme ironing.
You take the greatest pleasure in the most inane things,
But I love the life you inject into everything.
You have the enthusiasm of a bunch of suicidal lemmings.
She smirked at her verse. Let it never be said that she did not have a sense of humor.
XxX
The eighth year was a normal for Lal. She didn't change, and neither did her schedule. She occasionally took missions and socialized, but she mostly wrote. Her poems turned whimsical, and while her audience seemed incredibly perplexed at where the sophisticated (wo)man had gone, she only laughed in her faces. She wasn't writing for them, she thought smugly, but for herself.
She still thought of Colonnello, and some of her thoughts turned dark when she thought of her cowardice and her inability to speak her love to Colonnello. However, she usually bounced back easily. These dark moods had lasted enough time during those first years, and she had had enough of them. No more regret, Colonnello wouldn't approve.
She penned another poem, comparing him to a sumo wrestler and called him fat, although she'd probably still love him even if he was. She then, in a sudden bout of inspiration and complete randomness, compared him to an AMPA glutamine receptor. She didn't exactly know what that was, but it sounded like something important that had to do with the human body, and knowing Colonnello, if he was an AMPA glutamine receptor, he'd probably mess up his job. In fact, he'd probably cause his human cancer on accident.
She continued these comparisons, but never did she stop writing.
XxX
She still hadn't sent her poems written of her love to him. She also didn't ever receive a reply.
XxX
Then the ninth year struck, with all the subtlety of a freight train and the gentleness of a charging rhino.
The mission she'd been sent on had been deceptively easy, and she'd allowed herself to get cocky. This cost her, and as she blacked out as pain exploded behind her eyes. She learned after she woke up that she'd suffered a blow to the head, which explained the utter emptiness and lack of knowledge. She had amnesia.
She'd forgotten her own name. When a man with pained brown eyes visited her, face narrowed in grief and pain, she wondered if she knew this man.
"Hello, my name is Sawada Tsunayoshi," the man introduced. He grimaced at the blank look in her eyes, and she tried to smile reassuringly, calm and gentle. He seemed even more alarmed at this expression, and she wondered if she'd done something wrong. Was she not supposed to smile at company?
"Nice to meet you, Sawada-san. I'm…"
And here she trailed off, perplexed and stumped. What was her name?
"Your name is Lal Mirch. You're one of my friends and a close co-worker," Sawada said gently, sitting down. He grabbed her hand, trying to convey his sincere emotions. She didn't know how to read his eyes, and though he seemed expressive and very open with his emotions, she felt like he was hiding something.
"I see," she replied slowly.
They sat in awkward silence for a while, with Tsuna growing more and more uncomfortable and pained with each second. He abruptly stood and smiled a fake smile.
"I'm afraid I have paperwork to fill. You understand," he attempted to joke, and at her blanker look, he flinched. "Right, you don't."
He was about to step out of the room before Lal (that was her name, apparently) asked a question that made him freeze.
"Excuse me, but who is Colonnello?" she asked, and her heart beat a little faster, and her palms began to sweat. What was this reaction? Who was Colonnello, to cause these feelings to bloom in her stomach.
"Colonnello…" Sawada trailed off, glancing over his shoulder uncertainly. "He's one of your best friends," he said quietly.
Lal blinked before grinning dazzlingly. She figured it out, these feelings in her chest and the blush on her cheeks. "I'm in love with him, aren't I?"
Instead of looking surprised and pleased with her sudden revelation, Tsuna looked even more pained. He cracked a grin. "Yeah. You are."
He left promptly, but Lal didn't notice the fleeing figure, entirely engrossed in this new, but familiar, man in her thoughts. She couldn't imagine what he looked like, but she vaguely felt soft warm rain and a blinding grin.
XxX
Through the tenth year, through the eleventh year, Lal's memories did not return. She learned much, though. She saw a picture of her love, and she felt excitement at this man that she loved. She found her poems, and she wondered how the hell she managed to write something like this. She laughed at the poems that she found that were utterly silly, and she reflected that for her to write such things, she must love him very much.
She also wondered why she'd never sent these poems, these letters addressed to Colonnello, and chalked it up to shyness. Lal hadn't met this man in person yet, but she was so excited and waited with her letters for a love that she could not remember, but a love she could still feel.
XxX
Through the twelfth year, through the thirteenth year, Lal's memories still hadn't returned. She learned even more. She learned that she'd killed before, that she'd been on life-threatening missions. She learned why the people were so uncomfortable with her. Apparently she'd never been a woman of words, instead scowling and preferring to order her subordinates around. She had been scarily efficient, though, according to some, and a good leader.
She sometimes wished she could remember these memories, but she shook them off. She didn't quite care, as long as she had Colonnello and her love for him. In fact, her love for Colonnello seemed to be the only thing she had left. Her position as head of CEDEF was handed over to another person, who'd looked at her with sympathetic eyes, and though her reflexes remained, she didn't know how to fight, how to react when enemies were bearing on her and allies needed her support.
Colonnello was all she had, and she dedicatedly wrote letters and poems to him.
XxX
Even by the fourteenth year, her memories still hadn't come back. Every day became frightening and uneasy. She still hadn't met Colonnello, she just wanted a glimpse of him, a word with him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, she loved him so, so much. She was distressed. Maybe Colonnello was avoiding her because she couldn't remember him. Maybe he didn't like her anymore because she wasn't the same woman as before. Maybe he didn't love her.
She felt distressed. She just wanted to meet Colonnello, to convince him that even though she was not the same woman, she still loved him. Her feelings never died. She'd show him all of the poems she had written and everything she'd collected.
Lal knocked on a large door, the Vonvola Decimo's office. As she heard a muffled 'come in', she shuffled inside and smiled shyly at the boss. Tsuna, as she'd been told to call him, raised an eyebrow and smiled back.
"Lal, what can I do for you?"
She needed reassurance.
"Does Colonnello not love me anymore?" she asked, somewhat desperately, and Tsuna's entire demeanor shifted. His face grew tight, and he answered vehemently.
"No. Colonnello would never stop loving you."
"Then where is he? Why won't he talk to me?" Lal nearly cried, striding forwards and leaning over the desk, yearning clear in her eyes.
Tsuna flinched, whether at her question or her proximity, she didn't know, but he kept his eyes firmly on hers. He hesitated slightly before answering.
"He's on an overseas mission. He has been for the past fourteen years. It's completely undercover. I can't give you details, you must understand, but don't doubt that Colonnello wouldn't tell you he loved you in a heartbeat if he could."
Lal felt herself relax, and she gifted him with a smile. Tsuna strained to smile back, and Lal didn't notice.
She returned to her rooms, her heart lighter. She would wait for him, even if it took forever.
XxX
In the fifteenth year, her memories returned. She remembered everything.
"YOU LIAR!"
Tsuna calmly stared at the enraged former CEDEF boss, fingers interlaced and eyes regretful. His right hand man, Gokudera, held her back with a firm hand, although his eyes were also sad. However, he wouldn't allow this woman to hurt his boss.
All Lal wanted to do was punch this son of a bitch's face in.
"You goddamned fucking liar!" she screeched, and she attempted to break her captor's hold by twisting violently and dropping. Gokudera, however, was rightly known to be strong and loyal, and he kept her wrists him his hold firmly, his mouth a firm and straight line.
"I couldn't tell you," Tsuna replied.
"You couldn't tell me? Why not?!" she screamed, and she burst into tears.
"Do you know how much it would break your already unstable state, to know about Colonnello?" Tsuna snapped, losing some of his patience. "You pined for him after you lost your memories, and he was the only thing you remembered. He was your lifeline. Do you think I had the heart to tell you?"
Lal slumped, her hair shadowing her leaking eyes. She shut her breath, and her breathing stuttered.
"You should have told me. You should have told me."
"I'm sorry," Tsuna offered.
When Lal left the office, she collapsed in front of her desk, filled to the brim with her love and overflowing with poems that she'd written over the past six years. Her hope, her joy, her liveliness, all crushed when she'd spotted that thrice damned statue in that hallway, with a crack running through its wrist and the signs that someone had attempted to glue it back.
She remembered now.
She remembered that Colonnello had died fifteen years ago.
XxX
The poems she wrote were full of anger, bitterness, rejection, and the death of that spark in her heart. They screamed rage at the world, and they cursed at Byakuran for killing her beloved, at herself for not managing to save him, at Tsuna for not telling her, at fate for letting her live when Colonnello had died.
If only she had become the arcobaleno. If only she'd bore the burden of being a cursed infant, to die at the Millefiore's cursed weapon and poison. If only, if only…
She wondered, cold to the core and numb, if her love ever reached Colonnello. She laughed bitterly and killed her delusions.
Colonnello would never know. Because he was dead. And she'd been deluding herself for the past fifteen years.
She glared at the pile of letters. She wondered sardonically if she should keep writing. Maybe if she kept writing, the pile would reach the sky, into heaven, to Colonnello. Or hell, wherever he was. She barked another laugh.
She moved the poems away. She moved every single last one. They began migrating to Colonnello's old room, out of her sight. She forced herself to confront reality as she faced the musty room, that she was only pining, that she was being weak and such a fool. She felt like she did that first year, but even more stupid. Writing letters to a dead man, god, how desperate could she get?
Every day, the pile in Colonnello's room, covered in dust and devoid of his smell, grew, and the pile in her room shrank.
XxX
She couldn't see him anymore after he died, and she'd still kept loving him. She deluded herself into thinking she could meet him again, and after her accident, she truly believed that she could meet him again. And he disappeared again, right when her memories returned. How ironic.
The poems grew a thick layer of dust. Finally, in the sixteenth year, she sent those poems straight to Colonnello's room, straight to where his personality had been the most private. She'd finally sent her letters and her declarations of love.
And there was still no reply.
XxX
A/N: And there you have it. I tried to foreshadow, but at the same time, I tried subtlety. How did it come across as? Was it too obvious? Please review, I really want to know what you think of this.
So PM me songs that you want, and I'm drawing songs out of a hat at my own leisure. PM, and do not put your request in a review please! Any genre, any language (hopefully with easily searchable lyrics), any artist. Unfortunately, my imagination went into this story, and I'm utterly too lazy to write a chapter for Of Paper, Hair, and Gods. Sorry, guys, hopefully I'll get the motivation this weekend and update. It's been a rough week.
So I wrote this while listening to the second opening to Attack on Titan. There's this one hour version of it on Youtube, and I'm utterly unashamed to say I've listened to it three times now. It's so fucking good, I can't stop listening to it.
Please review, and thank you for reading!
Best regards,
haplessgrapefrut