Finally, after an hour, Gokudera managed to stumble his way from his chair to the bed, an expanse of nine feet. And Yamamoto couldn't have been happier for him—the look on Gokudera's face was just…simply amazing. His eyes lit up and he smiled in a way that Yamamoto had only ever seen reserved for Tsuna, and it was incredible. Gokudera didn't even mind when Yamamoto hugged him; in fact, he might have even leaned in and hugged back, if only for a moment.

The doctors gave him a pair of crutches to use, and Yamamoto knew that even though he was still pissed at being dependent on something, Gokudera was glad to be free of that damned chair. Being trapped, forced to rely on a metal and plastic chair to get around; it was torture to someone like Gokudera Hayato, someone used to having his freedom. Yamamoto was happy for him, and happy to see him back on his feet, even if it was painful.

When it was time to head back to the apartment, Yamamoto took the wheelchair with them, if only as a backup. Gokudera absolutely loathed the thing, but it would be good to have it just in case. Yamamoto walked beside Gokudera, managing to keep pace with him without making it seem like he was intentionally staying slow; Takeshi had faith in the bomber, but if Gokudera fell, he would always be there to catch him.

Always.

The moving was slow and shaky, and once they reached the elevator and the doors closed, Gokudera leaned back against the wall. He closed his eyes and let out a hard, shaky breath.

Yamamoto pretended he didn't see, just like he'd pretended he hadn't seen the tears of frustration and the sweat on his brow. This was hard for Gokudera, physically and mentally: it had been months since he'd used his legs and in that time his muscles had forgotten what to do, and now he was scared that he wouldn't be able to walk anymore. The subconscious is a strange, mysterious, powerful force that wields unbelievable control over the body and conscious mind.

Gokudera had recovered by the time they reached ground floor, but was struggling when they made it to Yamamoto's red and black Challenger; Gokudera's motorcycle—a Yamaha RD350LC, the sexiest bike on the planet—was in storage at the Vongola base. Yamamoto lent him his arm as Gokudera slid into the passenger's seat, and flashed him a grin when the bomber growled something about not needing help. He went around to the driver's side and got in, starting up his baby; he'd picked the car with Gokudera in mind.

"You know," he said as he pulled out into the street, "I'm happy for you, 'Dera. I know how much this means to you, being able to walk again."

His voice was soft, but Gokudera heard him loud and clear in the confines of the car. The Italian bomber snorted and looked out the window at the passing streets of Namimori—shops and restaurants he knew, was that Sasagawa with his sister and the Kurokawa girl?

"You have no idea what it means, yakubaka," he said bitterly.

Yamamoto glanced at him, admiring his profile. "Actually, I do. Remember when Kaoru attacked me in the locker room? They told me that the chances of me walking again were extremely low. I know exactly how you feel; I remember. I remember how happy I was when I took my first steps, because it meant I could protect Tsuna and the Family." And you, he added silently, always you.

Gokudera turned, his regret written on his face, and Yamamoto cracked a smile. This wasn't a time for apologies; this was a happy day.

"Hey, don't look at me like that. Smile, huh? This is a great day; you're back on your feet. That's what you want, right?"

Yes, Yamamoto was happy for Gokudera. He knew all too well the joy of walking again after almost losing it. Yamamoto didn't blame Kaoru because he understood the other boy, they were friends; he would never, ever forgive the men who did this to 'Dera. But as happy as Yamamoto was, he was also dying a little inside. How long until he moved back into his own apartment?

How long before Gokudera didn't need him anymore?

Yamamoto didn't want to think about it too much, because if he thought about it, he'd remember how empty his apartment was going to feel after Gokudera moved back out. He shared the two bedroom with Jirou and Kojirou, and he loved them of course. But Rain Flames manifesting as animals couldn't take the place of a person, especially a person he loved.

He would remember how he was going to miss having to share the bathroom, or listen to Gokudera grumble about "stupid college," "stupid professors," and "fucking stupid finals." Yamamoto had reminded him that it was his choice to keep taking his online classes during rehab; Gokudera had promptly told him to fuck off.

He would remember how he spent so many nights sitting in the hallway with his back against Gokudera's door—because it wasn't the spare bedroom anymore, it was Gokudera's bedroom—listening to the room's occupant sobbing quietly to himself. He'd wanted so badly each and every time to go in and hold Gokudera—to pull him into his arms and kiss away the tears.

So he didn't think about it too much, because it hurt to think about it.

He just said, "What about stopping for ice cream?"

Gokudera looked at him incredulously. "Are you fuckin' serious?"

Yamamoto grinned at him and laughed. "Of course! I'm always serious about ice cream."

Gokudera rolled his eyes and sighed, dropping his head against the window with a thunk.

"Sure, why not?"

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I don't know why I'm still saying this, but please review!

The button's just right there, and it won't even take a minute to give this author a little encouragement.

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