Title: Life of a Storm
Author: Iali10
Rating: T
Words: 3684
Warnings: Swearing, slightly perverted humor
Summary: A/U, No mafia. Connected one-shots. Gokudera Hayato lives in a crap apartment, has a monster cat, a perverted mentor, family issues, and is best friends with Sawada Tsunayoshi (and that baseball-idiot, he guesses). This is his life. NOT 8059 or 5927.
DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A FANBASED WORK. KHR BELONGS TO ITS OWNERS AND LISCENCE HOLDERS. I MAKE NO MONEY FROM THIS PIECE OF FICTION.
A/N: Back again~. True facts: While typing this chapter I kept getting distracted by R27comics on tumblr. I was also trying to think of a way to introduce Gamma when my brain decided to barrage me with ideas for Shamal59, which made me lol and pretty much be 'made up your mind already, brain?' Don't worry, Gamma's still showing up and romance is still a ways off so nothing's truly decided yet (I'm just leaning very strongly towards one).
Also while writing this, I decided to rewrite chapter one because it was done in my Fairy Tales style which I didn't realize because I wrote it, posted it, and went to sleep. Lol, I woke up the next day, reread it, and then headdesked. And I came up with an odd representative thing for the people in Gokudera's life. Tsuna is complete acceptance; Yamamoto is constant support; Bianchi is understanding; and Shamal is protection. I'll explain.
Tsuna is the sky element (even if it doesn't exist in this fic or not) and he accepts and embraces all. Meaning that all Gokudera's faults, his genius, his loyalty- everything he could possibly offer is accepted. It's what makes him cherish Tsuna so much.
Yamamoto will always have Gokudera's back, even if he doesn't understand the situation. He's one of those friends who will be right there next to you in jail, laughing all the while.
Bianchi is close to her brother, no matter how much distance Gokudera has tried to put between them. She's seen him at his worst and his best, and understands what makes him tick. She knows when to push and when to back off.
Shamal's is a little harder to describe. But, I guess it means that no matter how far Gokudera wanders, he knows Shamal will be willing to open his door to him and let him crash on his couch. He gave him a means to become his own person and didn't force him to go back to his father. And he's always willing to stitch him back together when he breaks himself apart (he's on his own for basic first-aid stuff though lol). I'm not even meaning this stuff romantically, you know?
Ah, enough of my rambling.
LINXNILXZERO: I presented your idea to Gokudera in chapter and he has given his response. Lol, j/k. Thanks for the review, and I'll do my best!
Daifukumochi: I get plenty of inspiration, just never for anything I WANT to work on lol *sobs*. I avoid 8059 too; I understand why people ship it and everything, but it's just never interested me *shrugs*. *eyes sparkles* I'm glad you enjoyed my characterization of Gokudera and I hope I continue to please you. It's not exactly that my heart is set on R27, but that my mental Reborn likes to hover over my shoulders and is possessive of Tsuna; but it seems that he's less interested in this story since it's Gokudera centric, so I'll try to give you plenty of 8027 moments if I can (I ship it too!).
The soft chords of piano notes danced through the warm afternoon air, the large bay windows opened to allow a breeze to circulate through the room. More notes joined together, clearly heard through the house and into the gardens; it was a peaceful melody, a little simple overall, but still pleasant to any whom listened. Swelling and ebbing, the song reached its conclusion and the last notes echoed through the room until it faded away. The room fell silent, the dark wood panels gleaming dully in the sunlight in contrast to the soft pastel blue of the walls, and the dull buzz and chirping of insects began to filter in from outside.
A woman with long, wavy ash colored air approached the piano and the young boy sitting at it, her footsteps barely making a sound on the wood floors. "That was beautiful, Hayato." When she was close enough, she laid a pale hand with long elegant fingers, pianist hands, on the boy's small shoulder and gave a warm smile that lit up her bright green eyes.
Hayato tilted his head back to look the woman in the face, a big smile on his lips and his cheeks tinted pink; his heart swelled at the simple praise and gestures. A few sincere words from this woman were worth more than the endless, hollow praise that strangers would throw at him. "Thank you, ma'am."
"You were very happy while playing weren't you?" Her pale sundress rustled as she took a seat next to him on the bench. She took a moment to push a few strands of hair that had fallen over her shoulder back to join the rest of it flowing down her slender back.
'That's because you're here,' the boy thought to himself, tilting his head down bashfully so his own silver hair hid his eyes from view, but also to hopefully hide the further flushing of his cheeks. "You could tell?"
"Of course." Delicate fingers came up under the boy's chin and tilted his up and towards her.
His gray-green eyes avoided hers for a moment before the flickered to her face to see if she was laughing at him.
She offered him a gentle smile, a hand coming up to softly pet the other's head once and then she pulled away. "Remember, Hayato; when you share your music with others you are also sharing yourself." Her hand moved to rest on the keys of the grand piano then pressed down gently to allow a few notes to trickle through the silence. "Your joy," slowly her fingers danced across the ivory teeth, "your sorrows."
Hayato peered at her with large eyes, wonder clear in them. One small hand came up to press a simple chord timidly.
The woman's lips quirked up and she moved her to press a different set of keys. "You also share your anger, but most importantly you share your love."
"My love?" His hand moved to press a different chord to match the change in notes, a lot less timidly than before.
A nod. "Yes." She continued to create a soft melody to match the young boy's part. "It's a very special gift- not everyone gets a chance to express their feelings so openly. You should treasure it."
The boy continued to press keys, but his mind was on the woman's words. Treasure it, huh? He peeked at his companion out of the corner of his eyes, thinking, not for the first time, that she looked like a beautiful angel of music. So, treasure the thing that brought them together, even if it wasn't that often? He could certainly do that!
"Okay," he chirped to her cheerfully.
She turned her head to look at him, the corner of her eyes crinkling from her smile. "Hayato…"
"Hayato," a voice half-whispered. "Hey, Hayato; wake up." Hands shook the teen insistently, the prodding getting harder the longer he didn't react.
"Mnnh." Mind finally swimming up from unconsciousness, his body jerked as it fully surfaced and then automatically moved into a full body stretch; everything tensed for a moment from his curling toes to his arms stretched out over his head before he went slack. His arm was tossed over his face to protect it from the evil morning light and, under its protection, he cracked open his blurry eyes- only to find it completely dark in his room.
"Che cosa?" he slurred out in his mother tongue, his mind still partially trapped in Italy and his past.
"Basta svegliarsi già, bambino." The voice was awfully familiar.
The arm was pulled away from his face and the silver haired boy now peered into the darkness unobstructed. "Shamal?" A note of disbelief was evident in his voice, the synapses in his brain now firing off at a faster rate for him to grasp the situation. There was enough light coming under his bedroom door to allow him to see the outline of someone kneeling next to his futon. "What are you doing here?"
The bastard chuckled. "Waking you up."
Hayato sat up and tossed off his comforter with a frown; as he woke up so did his temper. "Asshole- is the sun even up yet?!"
"Quiet, brat." A large hand with blunt, calloused fingers grabbed at one of the teen's shoulders before the fingers trailed down, following the line of the other's arm to the wrist which he wrapped firmly in his grasp. "People are still sleeping."
The teen's cheeks burned with a blush that was mostly anger- he wasn't one for such casual touches from anyone (it was still the source of many of his blow-ups at the baseball-idiot who never seemed to learn) and his need for personal space had only grown over the years due to people, mostly insane fangirls, always invading it. There was only one person that could casually touch him, and Shamal was not that person.
"And I should still be sleeping, too," he snarled back, his hand shooting out blindly to push the other away.
SMACK
Shamal grunted. "God damnit, you little-"
Judging by the hair that his fingers were tangled in, he had managed to smack the older man's forehead with the flat of his palm. It would do. He pushed harder and forced the other's head to tilt back slightly. "Let go already!"
"You," the other man bit out, his free hand coming up to grasp the wrist of the assaulting arm and, after a brief power struggle, tugged it away from his face. "Calm down."
Hayato opened his mouth to retort something like 'how am I supposed to calm down?!' but-
The older man yanked the boy roughly up and out of his futon by his wrists.
Said boy yelped and, completely unprepared to be suddenly vertical, he crashed into the warm body of his mentor. His face ended up buried in the other man's chest and he got a good whiff of laundry detergent and cologne that had not changed since the day he met the doctor.
Before the teen could recover and go back to kicking up a fuss, Shamal used his grip to guide the other out of the small, dark bedroom and into the lit hallway.
Squinting against the sudden brightness, the young man dug in his heels just outside his bedroom door. "Wait, I need to change." He was only wearing a white wife beater and a pair of ratty, black sweatpants.
"It's fine; you can go back to sleep after I leave." With a sharp tug, he continued to lead the other down the cramped hallway.
"Who can sleep now, bastard," Hayato grumbled to himself and pulled his wrists free from the older man's grasp, but continued to follow him into his kitchen. After all, he was curious why his mentor was back at his apartment so soon after his visit yesterday when he usually showed up every few weeks to make sure he hadn't gotten himself killed due to his idiocy (the pervert's words not his). So it must be something important that couldn't wait, right?
The brunet paused in the middle of the kitchen (it was actually more of a kitchenette, but neither could see much of a difference), turned to face his 'student,' and rested his hands on his hips. "Brat, make me breakfast."
A twitch. "Breakfast?"
As if not sensing the approaching storm, the man nodded nonchalantly.
The teen trembled slightly, like his body wasn't capable of containing all the sudden rage within him without showing some sign of strain, and the air around him darkened. "You wake me up," his hands clenched into tight fists and raised level with his chest, "at the asscrack of dawn," glare at maximum, "just to make you breakfast?! That's it- give me back my spare key and get the fuck out!"
"I wouldn't be saying that to my new boss~." Shamal's voice was casual and he examined his nails without worry.
Hayato stomped his foot, his face a twisted mesh of disbelief and anger, and pointed rudely at the pervert. "That's an abuse of your authority! Power harassment!"
A sigh escaped the doctor tinged with exasperation and he crossed his arms. "Listen, I have to be at the clinic at seven, but I needed to talk to you and give you something." He momentarily uncrossed his arms to pull back the sleeve of his suit jacket- charcoal gray with a pink dress shirt and wine colored tie- to peer at the expensive, silver watch on his wrist, then returned them to their crossed position. "Since I skipped breakfast to make sure I had time, the least you could do is cook for me."
"The least I could do," the silver haired boy mocked back with a scoff and crinkled his nose, but turned and walked to the sink and washed his hands and then dried them on a clean dish towel. After that he shuffled over the scuffed and peeling linoleum to his old mini-fridge, opened it, and crouched down to better scan the shelves. There wasn't much there, just a few take-away boxes, a liter of milk, and a half carton of eggs.
"All you're getting it eggs- be fucking grateful." He grabbed the carton, stood, and lightly kicked the fridge closed; it slammed shut with a rattle, but that was typical since that was how he usually closed it.
"Don't get all high and mighty, brat." There was sound of something clicking and sliding.
Curious at what the other was doing, Hayato glanced back at the doctor over his shoulder.
Shamal was unfolding the table and chair set (that the teen rarely used since it was just easier to eat on the couch) and making the small kitchen seem even smaller as it took up room. That was fine though, since the only separation between the living room and the kitchen was the hardwood floor turning into linoleum, so the table was half in the living room. It was cheap and flimsy, and the chairs only slightly better (since he wanted to avoid having the chairs collapse while he was using it).
Question answered, the younger man continued what he was doing; the carton was placed on the small available counter space, a pan was pulled from his cabinets, a spatula from one of the drawers, and his short hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail with a rubber band found on the counter. After spraying the pan with cooking spray, he cracked a few eggs in the pan and gave them a little stir with the spatula to break the yolks, turned on the flame, and then walked over to his coffee machine.
Originally, the silver haired teen had spent the first three months in his apartment without furniture, not even a futon; he moved around so frequently before then that it was a waste to spend money on furniture since the only things be brought with him was one suitcase of clothes and a messenger bag that held his laptop and mp3. When he realized that was firmly attached at the hip to his Juudaime, his first purchase (and most expensive since he picked up most of his furniture off curbs about to be thrown away) was the coffee machine, and import from Italy after he got sick of instant and the brown water some tried to pass off as coffee.
Not bothering to ask the older man- because it was hardly a legitimate question- he took out the container of coffee beans (also imported) and a grinder. Once everything was grinded, measured, and set up, Hayato watched as the first few drops of coffee collected in the pot. The clock on the front of the machine displayed 5:48 AM. Way too early in his opinion.
Unable to stop himself, the teen's mind drifted back to the dream he had been having before he was rudely awakened. It was a treasured memory, in fact all his memories of that woman were some of his best memories (the number of which had only grown after meeting Juudaime), but the dream itself always ended badly. Because in retrospect, it made him feel like a stupid child- how had he not known? It was always a bitter experience to look in the mirror and see her features reflected in his own (how could he have missed it). How often had she expressed her love only for him not to see the whole message (so stupid)? How much did she suffer being called only 'ma'am' by her only son? (Had she already been sick then?)
"Hey, you're burning it." The sharp tone cut through the air.
Visibly jerking, Hayato came back to reality. "What?" The smell of smoke reached his nose. "Sh-shit!" He scrambled over to the stove and cut off the flame, quickly stirred the eggs, then reached into the cabinets for a plate; he wasn't going to throw it out, after all it was only half burnt.
"The hell were you doing," Shamal questioned with no real venom. He had most likely seen the expression on the teen's face while he was thinking. But he wasn't going to ask about it- they never talked about things like that, not about the day he ran away, or his feelings. Because the older man already knew, and neither wanted to talk about it.
He figured that his mentor didn't really need a response so the silver haired boy just grunted. The blackened eggs were scooped on to a ceramic plate, but there was still a black, gooey mess in the pan. 'Wasn't this pan non-stick?' Apparently not since it was sticking pretty well; he stopped eyeing the pan long enough to grab a fork from a drawer and take it and the plate over to the table in front of where the older man was sitting.
"Bon apatite." The teen's tone clearly added 'or else' to the end of that statement.
"Ugh." Shamal eyed the plate and bead of sweat slid down the line of his jaw. He slowly picked up the fork, hesitated a second, then poked the charcoaled eggs.
With a click of his tongue, the younger man went over to the coffee machine; he opened the cabinet above it and pulled out two mugs, a chipped white one for his 'guest,' and a red and black striped mug- a gift from Juudaime that he hardly used out of fear of breaking it- for himself. He filled both from the coffee pot then carried both back to the table to place the chipped mug next to the doctor's plate.
A grimace was on the older man's face, his jaw moving as he chewed. Once he managed to swallow, he quickly washed the lingering taste out with a sip of scalding coffee. "You still can't cook to save your life."
Hayato bristled, paused with his mug pressed against his lips; after a moment he continued the motion and took a drink before he pulled the mug away. "Shut up; what do you expect this early in the fucking morning?" He gestured with his mug at the other carefully. "Now don't complain."
The pervert poked his eggs again unhappily with a fork. "How have you survived all these years?"
A sneer curled the teen's lips and he sat in the seat opposite the other man. Normally, his food wasn't too bad, it usually managed to be at least edible, but he had been distracted…
The silver haired boy took another sip of his coffee and savored the taste. "I still cook better than my sister."
While Bianchi was the only one from his family that he could tolerate, he still tended to avoid her since looking at her face used to give him stomach cramps; there had been a few cases of food poisoning that she had her hand in when he was younger, and it had become something of a psychosomatic response. Oh, he had managed to get over the reaction but he attributed that to years of avoiding her that allowed him to recover.
"I don't know about that. I hear that she's quite the cook now." Shamal nursed his cup of coffee ('Can't complain about that now can you?' the boy thought haughtily)
A snort of disbelief was all the answer he needed to give. His sister had put him in the hospital- there weren't words to describe just how bad her food was.
"Anyways, didn't you have something for me?"
As he eyed the food on his plate, the doctor gave a hum in affirmative. Then he quickly shoveled the burnt eggs into his mouth, chewed rapidly, and swallowed a few times in rapid succession until it was all gone, followed by him chugging what was left of his coffee.
Hayato's eyes widened before his eyebrows twitched down and his mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust. He looked away from the other man and brought his mug back to his lips for another sip. He couldn't stomach watching Shamal eat like that.
The older man finished his coffee with a sigh then set him mug back on the table. "Right; I brought your uniform for work."
"Uniform?"
But the pervert was already walking away into the living room and towards a briefcase set on the coffee table.
After setting his own mug down, the silver haired boy followed behind his mentor. There had been no mention of a uniform yesterday, so why had the other man brought it up?
It wasn't exactly a long trip from the kitchen to the living room, so Shamal was soon at the coffee table and unlocking the briefcase with two sharp clicks. The first thing pulled out was a pink nurse's cap, which he set aside, the pulled out something larger and spun towards the teen to show it off.
It was a pink nurses outfit, complete with a short miniskirt, with little hearts and medical crosses embroidered on it, and-
Hayato ripped the thing from the pervert's hold to toss it on the floor with all of his strength, and then took vicious satisfaction in stomping on the (indecent) clothing and grind his heel down. "Perverted bastard! Letch! Molester!"
The doctor's jaw dropped in horror. "No need to go that far; people will get the wrong idea!"
But the silver haired teen was in no mood for his mentor's womanizing speeches; a few more satisfying stomps of the pink monstrosity (not that the floor or his feet were particularly dirty) then he marched over to the other man and proceeded to sharply jab him in the chest with his finger.
"Don't," poke "bring," poke "your disgusting," poke poke "things into my apartment!" Poke poke poke POKE.
"Stop that." The older man smacked away the teen's hand, the used the same hand to rub at his chest with a wince. "Jesus. That's the uniform everyone wears at the clinic; you'll be out of place otherwise."
"I think," Hayato bit out between clenched teeth and crossed his arms over his chest huffily, "that having a boy wear that is worse than not matching with the rest." He looked back at the 'uniform' and sneered. "How have you not been sued for sexual harassment?"
Shamal cupped his chin in his fist, his index finger and thumb extended, and curled his lips into a sleazy smirk. "Women can't resist this face."
The teen was completely unmoved. "Just get out already."
"How uncute." Despite his words, he pulled back the sleeve of his suit jacket to glance at his watch. "I do have to get going, though." The nurse's outfit was gathered with mutters of 'unappreciative brats' but the doctor hardly handled it better; he tossed the fabric carelessly into the briefcase, added the cap on top, and closed the lid but part of the fabric peeked out in places. And yet, Shamal didn't appear to care at all, he reattached the latches without fixing it, and then picked up the entire thing.
"A nice dress shirt and slacks should be fine- we'll talk about your work hours after you schedule your classes."
Hayato really craved a smoke now, but his pack was on the desk in his bedroom. "Do I need a tie?" Damn, the entire morning had been filed with the pervert playing with him. It was pissing him off.
"If you want." The older man smirked and reached with his free hand to pat the teen on the head, ruffling the already sleep-mussed silver hair. "Thanks for breakfast, little waifu." He quickly pulled his hand away before the other could attempt to remove it violently, and then walked to the entranceway to slip on his shoes.
The silver haired boy's face flushed with its usual (at least when it came to dealing with this pervert) mixture of anger and embarrassment, then swung his fist threateningly. "Do me a favor and get yourself a real wife!"
"And deprive the women of the world?" Shamal shook his head with a 'tsk tsk!' "How cruel." With that parting statement, he opened the front door of the apartment and left, shutting the door behind him.
Che cosa? = What?
Basta svegliarsi già, bambino = Just wake up already, baby
A/N: I couldn't think of a better place to end it. Ah, Gokudera you are the worst neighbor to have hahaha! In chapter one, I realized I wrote it in my Fairy Tales style (mostly telling, a little showing) so to make up for that I've added a lot of showing in this chapter… did I go overboard? As for the Italian; don't worry, I'm not suddenly going to be dropping a lot of it in fic, it just suited the moment. I had fun with this chapter :D.