Where they both traitors in the beginning? Maybe, maybe not. They'd never wanted this life; they'd never wanted to be in the mafia. Enma had often told the other that he'd dreamed of running away from it all and Tsuna could relate. How often had he felt that way himself? Had they been traitors for that? That desperate hope of running away? No, he rather thought they hadn't. For they were both still here, weren't they?
Tsuna sighed at that thought, staring down at the ring that he was twisting around and around in his hands. It was a nervous habit, he knew, but one he had troubles breaking. Around and around, around and around. His fingers pushed at the ring, turning it in circles. Yeah, he thought, gazing down at the ring, they were both still here. They'd both stayed instead of running and maybe that made them brave, maybe that meant they'd taken a stand and were real men now. Or maybe it just meant that they were fools for not getting out while they could. Ah, yes, those traitorous thoughts still came back. Everything comes back. They come back and they stay and they haunt you.
His eyes flickered over to the telephone, his fingers never stopping the push-turn motion. He thought briefly about calling Enma, Enma who would know what he was talking about, who would sympathize with his thoughts because he had them too. But it was only a brief thought. His friend of…Christ, what was it now, nearly ten years…yeah, his friend of nearly ten years had been sounding odd every time Tsuna had called lately. Sounding distracted and distant, cutting every conversation short. Maybe Enma had lost the traitorous thoughts, maybe he just didn't want to talk anymore, but whatever the reason, Tsuna knew his friend was slipping away.
How would Tsuna know that millions of miles away, Enma's eyes were fastened to the telephone on his desk, praying for a call and hoping it didn't come. Enma, whose traitorous thoughts got worse every day, who longed to hear the Tsuna's voice and yet pulled away every time he heard it. Enma's hands pushed and tugged at his ring, turning it in perfect circles around his finger. It was his nervous habit as well. His eyes shifted away from the silent telephone, his mind unsure of whether to embrace or reject that silence. His family was under strict orders not to bother him.
Tsuna was wrong in thinking his traitorous thoughts had died. No, they hadn't died, not one bit. He still envisioned running away from it all, though he stayed day after day. Because in his visions, he wasn't alone in his running away. No, in his visions he had a hand to hold, a warm, smiling face to look to. In his visions, he had another warm body in the bed beside him at nights, a strong pair of arms to embrace him and take away his worries. His eyes flickered to the only painting in the room. It was a beautiful work of art, taking up most of one wall, a masterpiece by a new breakout artist. It showed beautifully the cursed lovers, the destruction of Troy behind a handsome Paris and a glorious Helen caught in a tight embrace. He'd had to have it when he'd first seen it. Because he knew what those lovers must be thinking.
"Because I'd be your Helen any day, Tsuna."