GELATO WARS
Author Note:
Hi there! Welcome to my first (and hopefully not last) fanfic for my beloved fandom of Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
This is meant to be a birthday present for my friend! Now here's my individual message to her: Have a rainbowtastic birthday full of anime fangirling and fluffy goodness :3 I really hope I didn't slaughter your favorite pairing. Don't keel me if I did ;A; But anyway, you're OLD now ahaha~
Now, about the story! There is some light Cozart x Giotto x G, which can also be interpreted as friendship if wished. The "Gelato Wars" incident takes place prior to the Vongola Family creation, back when the three are still teenagers.
Normally I don't write yaoi, but as this is a special birthday gift, I'll make an exception. So then, shall we begin?
Don't forget to tell me what you think in a review!
The incident of the Gelato Wars was completely unheard of in the long annuls of Vongola history, although to the Vongola Primo Giotto himself, it was unforgettable. Perhaps it was the value of the memory itself that prevented Giotto from sharing it. Nevertheless, he never admitted how deeply he prized the memory to anyone, not even to G, who had been with him at the time, but that was for other reasons. Following that incident, after all, G had been left unable to eat even a single bite of gelato with a straight face ever again.
It occurred years ago, back when the Vongola was still a half-baked dream in the minds of the then- teenage Giotto and G. Cozart had still been with them, and it was partially because of him that Giotto prized the memories so much. After the incident, the three of them would come to argue over whose fault the Gelato Wars truly was, and at the very end Giotto had been forced to concede that it was a shared guilt. If they hadn't helped out Franco, their merchant friend, after he had been brutally attacked, then there would have been no free gelato. But what fine gelato it had been, equally tasty as the memories of that day...
It was summer, another blistering summer of suffocating humidity and dripping sweat. The attack on Franco had occurred a few months ago, and he was recovering well, so much that he was back to selling his wares. Wandering the streets as always, Giotto and G were on their daily trip down to the Franco's place. Without his trusty ice drinks, they wouldn't last an hour in the blazing weather.
When they arrived, they found that, to their surprise, Franco was not alone. Instead, a familiar red-head stood besides the merchant, holding an unopened glass of the ice drink that they had came for.
"Cozart!" Giotto was delighted at the sight of his friend, and was too busy greeting him to notice that only ice drink left was the one clutched in Cozart's hand. "What are you doing here?"
"Just here to check on how Franco's doing," Cozart replied cheerily, glancing at Giotto and G. "Aren't you two burning up, standing out there? Come stand in the shade."
"Where's Franco?" asked G. He glanced around, instinctively lighting a cigarette as he headed into the shade of the building. No sooner had G asked when Franco, looking as healthy and relaxed as prior to the incident, emerged from the shadows of the open shop.
"It's good to see you, G, Giotto." The older man nodded at both of them in respect, a smile forming across his now-scarred face. "And of course, Cozart as well."
"How's your leg doing?" asked Giotto quietly. He had not, and never would, forget what had befallen his friend. G watched, admiring his friend's caring side.
Franco only laughed. "Same old. But don't worry about me. If there's anything you should worry about, it should be your drink." He glanced slyly at where Cozart stood, the bottle still clutched in hand. "You haven't opened it yet, have you?"
"Nope." Cozart shook his head lightly and set the drink back on the table. "It's the last one, isn't it? We can share."
G frowned, not liking the idea at all. "That's too small to share. Giotto can have it."
"It's alright. You two can share it." Giotto, too, chose not to take it. "Right, Franco?"
Franco only chuckled. "You youths squabble over everything." His face darkened. "Although I suppose it's not only the young who do that in this town." He was silent for a moment before his expression cleared and turned much lighter. "You know what, since none of you will accept it, though I know you all want it, why don't we do a contest? Then you'll work for it and won't feel bad being the one to take it."
"Sure," agreed Cozart. "What type of contest?"
"Well, since I owe you guys from last time, why don't I treat you all to an eating contest?" For a moment, the three teens could have sworn that Franco's face was momentarily devious. "I've just had a new shipment of Italy's finest gelato. And since it's all hot outside, it will be perfect! And simple, too. Whoever manages to finish the most gelato wins!"
Giotto considered for a bit, then grinned at his two friends. "Sounds good to me!" Cozart nodded in similar approval.
G, on the other hand, wasn't pleased at all. He had evidently eaten a full meal before he had left, and was bloated. "Great," he grumbled, taking another annoyed puff from his cigarette.
Unfortunately for G, either his opinion was ignored or Franco had no idea what sarcasm was, for the older man just smiled and ushered them into the shop, shutting the door loudly behind them. Franco had evidently planned the gelato eating contest beforehand- a long table with exactly three chairs, three bowls, and three spoons was set up in the corner. Piled besides it were cartons and cartons of gelato, most of which still sat in a huge box of slushy ice.
G warily asked himself whether he was crazy for doing this (he probably was) before sitting down on Giotto's right. Right for right-hand man, he thought to himself. Cozart took the seat by Giotto's left, while Franco stationed himself across the table from the three, where he could easily access the gelato.
"Here you are." Franco, with the natural elegance of a waiter, slid the metal bowls across the table. The bowls were piled with heaps of the finest gooey goodness that would be quite the rare delicacy to buy, even for Giotto and G. Nevertheless, the thought of eating all of it made them all swallow hard.
G, not wanting to disappoint Giotto, picked up his spoon gingerly and took the tiniest of a spoonful into his mouth. (It should be noted that he never removed his cigarette, and how G managed eating with it still in his mouth would forever be one of his greatest techniques and secrets.) He swallowed, then nearly choked. To him, with its sickening sweet taste and slimy texture, gelato was revolting. But taking one glance at Cozart and Giotto besides him, both who were grinning away like schoolgirls and shoveling spoonful after happy spoonful into their mouths, G suddenly felt fired up. He began to cram mouthful after mouthful into his mouth, trying his best not to choke and spit it out.
Meanwhile, both Cozart and Giotto had finished their first bowls and were going head-to-head, or in this case bite-to-bite, in the contest. In attempt to make Cozart slow down a tad, G, still struggling with his first bowl of gelato, yelled across the table. "Keep eating fast, Cozart, and you'll freeze!"
Cozart simply shrugged and continued shoveling. "It's gud," he mumbled from a huge mouthful. "Dunt wurry."
G simply scowled. "What's the time limit?" he asked no one in particular, not even bothering to eat any more. He glanced over at the others and, seeing Giotto with such gelato stains on his cheek and a glob stuck on his blond hair, G was struck by a very random idea. He snatched up the packet of napkins on the table, pulled one out of the packet, and wiped it off Giotto's cheek with an awkward tenderness.
Giotto turned slowly, dropping his spoon back into a pile of gelato. The gelatodevoured it whole, the entire spoon disappearing inside the gigantic glob except for a tiny silver sliver. As though stunned, Giotto stared at G for a second before turning and noticing the sunken spoon. G could have sworn-or maybe it was just a trick of the lights?-that a faint blush formed on Giotto's cheeks. But whatever it was, it was gone in a flash, as Giotto instantly sprang into action.
"G," he told his trusty friend with a sly grin, "It's been nice competing against you. But no more."
"Wha-?" was all G managed before he received an entire bowl of gelato in the face. He spluttered helplessly for a full minute before realizing that it was Giotto who had done it. He managed to wipe the blob off his face, though some still stuck onto his hair and a mouthful had forced itself down his throat. Annoyed, G threw the stained napkins onto the table and, huffing, turned to his friend. "What was that for, Giotto?"
Giotto grinned. "You declared war the minute you interrupted my gelato-eating."
G scowled, then noticed that, while both he and Giotto had stopped the eating for good-natured bickering, Cozart was watching with a smug and amused expression on his face, cheeks still full of gelato. Clearly, he still wanted to win. Well, that was fine with him.
A sudden lightning-bolt of inspiration blasted through G's mind, and he stood, dumbstruck. He swiveled his head slowly to look at Franco. Not one to think out things carefully, he spoke slowly, as if pondering as he talked. "Franco...The winner is who 'finishes' the most gelato, right...?"
Franco watched him with a puzzled expression, refilling Cozart's bowl. He was evidently on his third helping, while G had not even finished one. "Sure. What's the matter, G?"
A slow smile that only made its appearance when G was to do something especially destructive formed across his tattooed face. "Move for a bit, Franco."
The older man looked confused, but he did as G said. As soon as he was a safe distance away, G sprang into action and instantly lighted his cigarette, tossing it into the region where all the cartons of gelato were gathered. Only then did Giotto and Cozart look up. But by then, Franco had already caught on to what G was doing and watched with his eyes literally bugging out.
"W-What are you doing, G?" stammered Franco. "My gelato! Don't-!"
But it was too late. The fire instantaneously began to spread from the smoldering cigarette to the cartons of once-icy gelato. G grinned at his companions for the first time that day. "You said finish, not eat."
"Not so fast, G!"
The table was down in a flash, and Cozart stood triumphantly on the other side of it. He had moved so swiftly that G had hardly registered his movements. Cradled in his arms were many cartons of gelato. Cozart studied them for a minute, thinking out his next move, before smashing them to the ground with a single Dying Will Flame.
Poor Franco gave a single cry of "NOOOOOO!" that resounded throughout the room, but was promptly ignored by all three teenagers.
"This calls for war!" declared Giotto, also leaping for the piles of gelato that had not been destroyed by Cozart or G. He, too, went into Hyper Dying Will Mode, sending cartons of exploding ice gunk everywhere in the air. G groaned as a ball of gelato landed in his hair and stubbornly stayed there. It was raining nasty, rainbow-colored gelato everywhere. Great.
It was officially chaos. Franco's desperate cries were utterly unheard and he fainted out as a few cartons of gelato were accidentally launched towards him. They exploded in his face. When he woke up much later, with his shop half-demolished ("I'll never treat those youngsters to gelato ever again, mark my words!"), he would see the world out of a dried puddle of pink bubble-gum flavored gelato.
Meanwhile, the three boys were now grappling over the cartons and destroying them, not caring that the puddle of gelato had increased to their heels. "Gelato flood," noted Cozart calmly as he kicked G's foot away from a carton that he was about to step on. G only snorted in response.
It was explosion after explosion, as though the gelato destruction frenzy had become a domino effect. But that wasn't the worst part of it all. Soon enough, with all the random flames erupting through the room, it came to be that only one carton of gelato had been left untouched, and this particular one rested on top of Franco's cabinet. All three locked eyes upon their last prey, and in harmony they surrounded the poor carton and leaped for it at once.
With both Giotto and Cozart using their Dying Will flames to propel themselves, they should have known that it wasn't a good idea. It was too late, however.
Before they knew it, there was an excruciating pain as they smashed into one another, face onto face. Giotto had the odd sensation of something warm and soft brushing against his cheeks, but everything spun into stars and he both found himself crumpling to the floor.
The next moment, Giotto realized that he was directly under Cozart- and, to top it off, they were face-to-face. A better phrasing would be nearly lips-to-lips. They were so close that, one more inch, and their mouths would have been glued together in the perfect kiss of the century.
G, who had been one step too late and had luckily (or in his opinion, maybe not so lucky?) dodged the collision, watched with so much astonishment that his newly-lighted cigarette dropped straight onto the floor. His mouth slackened still, he managed to stagger over to Cozart. With a tad more harshness than he ought to have, G yanked him off Giotto and dumped him onto the ground.
"Get off him!" he yelled, unable to control himself. "You almost- You almost squashed him!' He did not admit that perhaps he had been worried about something else entirely.
Cozart, on the other hand, was entirely stunned and stared off into nowhere. He was so dumbfounded that he did not bother to even wipe his mouth. The only subject on his mind was that he had nearly kissed Giotto. Giotto, his friend... And yet, Giotto, with those stunning orange eyes, the silky blond hair, the perfect dignified face...
Meanwhile, G was now crouched over Giotto, watching in panic. "Are you okay, Giotto?" There was no response, and G was even more worried. He just couldn't bring himself to admit that he was worried how the near-kiss had affected Giotto's brain, not whether Giotto was hurt or not. "Hey, say something, Giotto!"
"Huh?" Giotto groggily mumbled. Then his orange eyes snapped back into focus and he stared at G, as though remembering something from a long-forgotten dream. "Oh! G! I-" He broke off uncomfortably and couldn't help but turn to look at Cozart. A slow, very obvious blush was now appearing across his face and Giotto looked away to hide it. G couldn't help but feel bitter, very bitter indeed.
Cozart staggered to his feet and started to shuffle towards the direction of the door. He began to raise a hand for a goodbye, then stopped abruptly as he remembered something. Pausing near the exit, he frowned and swallowed hard as he scrutinized the mess they had made on the floor. "We'll have to clean this up, won't we?"
G sighed loudly and ran a hand through his tousled scarlet hair. He lit another cigarette and smoked it heavily. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."
Needless to say, the three teenage mafiosos-to-be were not the best of cleaners. Nevertheless, they attempted to tidy things up a bit, mainly consisted of G sweeping away the mess and swearing viciously while the other two attempted not to look at each other. But they soon remembered the last carton of gelato, which remained safely atop the cabinet.
It was only then that Giotto and Cozart dared to look at one another again. "Let's get it down," Giotto suggested, trying to be casual. "Let's share the last one together to celebrate."
"For the end of the Gelato Wars!" added Cozart. The two broke into smiles and then straight into laughter.
G just folded his arms and glared. But he hadn't been forgotten.
Cozart and Giotto, putting aside their shared moment for just the second, pried the cap off together and raided Franco's drawers for three more bowls and spoons. Then, seating themselves in the center of the mess, they sat down to share the final carton. Even G, who would rather not have any more of the "delicacy," was given some.
"Come on, G!" Giotto couldn't help but tease his old friend as he watched him twitch nervously at the sight of the gelato. "It's really good. Don't you want any? Or will I have to spoon-feed you?"
"Sp-Spoon-feed?" stammered G. He turned scarlet at the thought of Giotto feeding him and then scowled, looking off to the side. But for whatever reason, he felt a lot better after that, even though Giotto had almost been kissed by Cozart Shimon.
As for Cozart and Giotto, the rest, as they say, was history. None of them ever remembered the ice drink that started it all, and its fate would never be known. But both would smile whenever they ate a bite of gelato, remembering that day so long ago when a war was ended using a truce of some slimy dessert from a battered carton that had cost so much to obtain.