The sky is grey and grey and grey. The air hangs heavy, still. There is no wind to lift the heat, and though it is nearing midmorning, the sun has yet to burn off the clouds. There is a strange air about the house, unease piling up in the corners with the dust and the grime. The house has not been cleaned for two days.
The men folk are out of the house, as they are every day at this time. The dishes from their breakfast are lying on the counter, crusted with the residue of their meals for the past two days. They are tending the fields, reaping their grain; the end of summer waits for no man. Should they leave off their task the crops will go to waste. Falling to drown in dirt, stolen by hungry beasts, rotting on the stalk; the family has just enough food to go around. They cannot afford to lose any of their precious grain.
The house is not empty, filled as it is with dust and hanging air, but the two who remain do not venture from the farthest room. The room is warmer in than out, and the sheets Kyoko lies on are soaked with sweat. In the dim, lit only by a single lamp, she seems savage, animal-like in her strain. Her faced is newly lined and with every grunt, every moan of pain, those lines grow deeper.
Sitting with her, holding her head in his lap and both her hands in his, is Tsuna. He does not wince when she spasms and grips down hard enough to warp iron. His face is drawn and pale, shoulders hunched, and his mouth is just as tight with strain as her grip on his hands. Still, through his iron mouth he is whispering to her. He croons words of encouragement every second, not once stopping for breath.
He loves her.
Kyoko is young, this is her first birth. Her labor has lasted already for two days and three nights. Tsuna has not left her side since it began. She weakens with each contraction.
Looking down at her, he is the very picture of despair.