And Thus
or, more precisely, 4 scenes that never happened (and one that did)
1.
Underneath the pile of rubble, he knows he will find his answer. If only he has more time and more strength for this, then he could... he could… He shudders, and the thought is left unfinished as a fresh wave of frustration and shame drowns the shores of his tired heart and threatens to slow his equally fatigued hands. He bites his lower lip and keeps digging, if only to ignore the numbing 'ifs' that remain scattered in his mind. He's never believed in God, but, at this moment, he learns to pray and hope, even if his prayers are insufficient and poorly phrased and his devotion waning as each minute passes. A miracle, his mind whispers in supplication, is what he needs most right now, if any miracles are to be had.
It takes half an hour before he can release the breath he's been holding, but he cannot, for the life of him, do more than laugh. The sound is one he's never heard before – at least, not from his own lips. He laughs until he isn't sure if he's quaking with fear or trembling in relief. All this, he thinks, is inconsequential, and his nerves and his emotions are jumbled together until he isn't sure anymore if he's sane or not.
Fuck, he whispers, and it echoes in his mind forever, the final word of a broken man.
Behind him, Hibari is a daunting presence. He appears so suddenly that Gokudera has to brace himself for anything; he never really knows what Hibari will do next. The man crosses his arms over his chest and asks, in that cold, detached way of his, if it had been worth it.
The heap in his arms that he once considered indomitable, undefeatable, is solid and terrifyingly real, an anchor to sanity, if he does have the fortune of knowing it again. When you were alive, I was, too. Now you are dead, and I am not.
He is at a loss for words, but only for a moment. An hour's worth of condensed recriminations and a lifetime of loneliness fall heavily upon his shoulders, an impossibly tangled knot of frustration and love, the undying, traitorous feeling in his chest, made more maddeningly intricate by the time he spends trying to undo it. 'After' is too unbearable to think of.
He comes to a stand, careful to hold the body in his hands close to himself, if only for the physical assurance that there is still something left, something to hold on to, and meets Hibari's hawkish gaze without flinching. His response goes unheard as a series of buildings behind him explodes in a valediction; that, or a promise of revenge.
It tastes anything but sweet.
2.
"Sawada-san," the young man begins uncertainly. Such a meeting between two members of powerful families with a shaky alliance is, Sawada supposes, a thing of great importance to those who care well enough for reputation and stability. He doesn't.
But this one does. Sawada inclines his head to the direction of the chair nearest him, if only for the assurance that such near proximity could help him settle the other man's nerves, or, in the less desirable case, inform him of any plans on his person. His name is Gokudera Hayato, a gifted pianist and an able fighter, in his own right, but (Sawada glances at the folder jammed into his desk drawer unceremoniously) an illegitimate child. What could his father have been thinking when he sent him?
Never mind that, he reprimands himself as he returns Gokudera's greeting with a smile and an urge to sit, it didn't matter before.
Sawada brings his fingers to his lips, an unconscious habit that Reborn conceded made him look as if he were pondering a grave situation. Did Gokudera remember him, he wondered, as the boy who was useless and tormented in his younger years, before he grasped the power he did not want in the first place?? Did he remember that he saved him, once, and that he was the only person who he ever gave the permission to say his first name? Perhaps, (and this made Sawada's lips curl into a displeased slant) his father did, all the better to remind the Vongola of what was due his son.
"Good morning, Gokudera-kun," begins Sawada with a precarious lilt in his voice as he struggled to remember the formalities drilled into him ever since he was brought to Italy as a child, "would you like some tea?"
The Vongola was no traitor, but he'd be damned if he didn't see the grip Gokudera had on the stick of dynamite under his coat.
3.
The day Tsuna realizes that he can do nothing to prevent his own death is the day that he sees him for the second and last time. In habit, Gokudera carries in his pocket a freshly plucked flower, as if in preparation for a visit to a grave. It is a penance, or a ritual, for an unspoken mourning, or a celebration of liberation. But what is freedom with no sense of self, or worth, or anything of value to cherish?
Tsuna asks him to accompany him to the place where they met, and he shows nothing of his consternation. It has taken days to fight for a way to prevent a mass suicide. It takes but a few minutes to commemorate the first few steps towards this goal.
The air is thick with somber feeling. Tsuna seems to feel it, too, and feels the weight of death all the more strongly in the face of his resting place. He buries his face in the juncture of Gokudera's neck and shoulder, lets himself cry without making a sound, and Gokudera's body feels more aware of his presence than ever. Stop, Gokudera wants to say, I'm the one who will be left alone anyway. Loving Tsuna has never been a give and take affair. He feels that it means everything and nothing, and that he is simply so tired.
"Can I keep it?" asks Tsuna, self-consciously. "The flower, I mean."
Gokudera nods, and it is as if he is giving up his dreams, his life, and his heart all over again.
His heart whispers to him: you can never stop loving him.
4.
They eat out at every restaurant in Rome the first time they go there together. It's not a vacation, Tsuna thinks ruefully, but he can at least pretend it is. If there's one thing that could damage Gokudera's badass image, it's the look on his face after displaying his culinary talents (or, precisely, the lack of it). Tsuna's learned to ward Gokudera off any future attempts at that direction, so he has little choice but to depend on the services of other people.
They take to wandering around the streets in search of a clean, well-lighted and decent place. Gokudera has this pre-conceived notion that every passerby who so much as brushes past Tsuna (or, at the very least, even manages to look at him) is a rapist bent on violating Tsuna's innocence. (If Tsuna had more courage or more spunk, he would have asked if it were all an excuse to hold his hand. As it is, at least Gokudera's grip is tight and warm, nothing like a subordinate's touch, or a friend's.) Tsuna knows better than to ask any questions.
Once they do find a new place to their liking, there's always something wrong with it. But even if Gokudera gripes about the small servings or the disgusting man in the corner who's been eyeing Tsuna, it gives Tsuna the feeling that they're on dates they've never had before.
Tsuna brushes away a chocolate stain at the corner of Gokudera's lips with his thumb, and Gokudera stares at him a little, in surprise, but beams at him anyway, so happily that Tsuna can't help but smile back, even if he really, really wants to bury his face in his hands in embarrassment.
5.
"Hayato-kun," Tsuna murmurs, and Gokudera half-opens one eye to look at him, "what do you want to do when you grow up?"
The earnest and curious stare directed at him causes him to shift uncomfortably in his place, but he blames it entirely on the blades of grass poking his sides. A quick glance at his watch tells him that, in ten minutes, the truant officer will come and drag them back to school after being subjected to a beating with his tonfa if they don't find another hiding place soon, but it's too nice outside to compel him to move, much less to participate in meaningless conversations with other people. But it's Tsuna, his best friend, and everything he does and says is never meaningless.
Gokudera offers him a lazy smile and covers Tsuna's hand with his. When he speaks, his voice is cracked but sincere. "I want to be with you forever."
Tsuna makes a small, pleased sound, and blows at Gokudera's bangs – a childish gesture, but loving in nature all the same. "I think I'd like that very much."
I want to feel the softness that changed my destiny.
-Neruda, Sonnet LXXXIX