Chapter 10
He breathed an icy wind onto the curled fingers of a sleeping Tsuna-san.
He paused, waiting for a reaction. The seconds ticked away. Tsuna-san did not give him one, still sleeping by the sway of the sandman. He leaned closer, his face almost nuzzling Tsuna-san's neck. Closer—closer—stop.
Eight centimeters, and he'd stopped. No closer.
He sat up again, his brow crinkling. He cocked his head, ashy hair falling in choppy waves. Tsuna-san still hadn't moved, breathing softly, sleepily. Eight…? He fumbled in his pockets for a cigarette, found one, and then froze. He stared down at Tsuna-san's face, still and quiet. Breathing…He clenched his fist, crumbling the cigarette in it and tossed it outside the window. The wind blew the curtains, an approval. He snorted but still stared down at his angel.
His hand lifted, slack fingers outstretched and—stop.
Eight centimeters, his fingertips hovered from Tsuna-san's skin. The angel didn't even murmur dreamily, still as death. With this distance, between his fingers and velvet skin, these eight centimeters…he could feel no warmth. With this span of space between them, so close, so impervious…Tsuna-san did not stir. As if they were two separate beings, two different lonely people in the world, as if there was no connection between them at all.
He prodded the edge of those eight centimeters of air again.
No warmth. Nothing. He could feel nothing, almost as if Tsuna-san was a ghost, an illusion. So easy to break, so easy to shatter…this strange gossamer reality he'd built, this…this breathing little angel.
Still, his fingers did not pass. He wondered if this was some sort of magic Tsuna-san had cast to keep him away. A spell of desolation and heartache. Or, if he was dreaming this boundary into existence. A bubble of withdrawal and ignorance. For what? What use or purpose? Why? Just one touch, one moment in time, once skin met skin—would this angel crack like glass, utter destruction? Contamination?
Gokudera watched and wondered how to break this wall between them.
Then he shook his head, flat refusal at the thought, and reached out to tuck the covers more tightly, whispering "…to the depth and breadth and height…"
Bianchi, Miu Miu glasses on, stepped into the room, interrupting him, "—for the Ends of Being and ideal Grace…"
He shut his mouth quickly, turning to glare at her for disturbing Tsuna-san.
She laughed at him and mussed up his hair. He jerked his head back. "What do you want, meddlesome hag?"
She dug her stiletto heel into his foot, still no break in her tranquilly smiling face. "Ara, resorting to love poems, baby brother? You sure are getting cornier in your age. What a lazy love! Put some more work into it, idiot, if you really are in the throes of Cupid."
"Whatever, says the desperate obsessive stalker of Reborn-san!"
"Ah, ah, I prefer deviously diligent housewife."
"You're not even engaged yet," he flatly replied.
She whipped out a bag of home-made pastries, "I wonder, if someone would like a taste of my marvelous—"
Gokudera was already vomiting outside the window.
She hid it again in her purse, no sign of remorse at all. She sighed at her brother, what a weakling.
He glared at her, gargling in the bathroom with the door open to Tsuna-san's room. What a bitch.
She'd been called in by Dr. Shamal to fix Gokudera's latest mess. Some sort of unrequited love, apparently, and here she glanced at the brunette on the bed. Her little brother's savior and angel…She wondered how she could fix this when she had her own problems with Reborn.
And here, Gokudera turned away from her, fingers rubbing the covers on Tsuna's sleeping form.
She sighed, stupid little brother.
"Listen, Gokudera…why do you think he tries so hard to escape? He's done three now, any more and he'll become a nuisance to the Famiglia."
His teeth clenched. "…do you think I should get them," he gestured at the wings, "surgically removed? That way…he'll at least be able to go outside—"
She slapped him, smile still in place.
"What the hell was that for?!"
"Moron. Do you even see? Do you even understand? The reason for all of this, this trouble, is because of you. Yes, you. It's your fault. Your mistake. Why is it that he nearly breaks his limbs trying to escape? Why is it that he tapes his wings so tightly, even though you've forbidden any bandages in the house, even though his wings are obviously healthy and beautiful? So tight, idiot kid, so tight that they leave red marks on him?—"
He opened his mouth, an obvious retort about to spill and she slapped a hand onto his forehead and leaned close, spitting contempt.
"Because no one has accepted them, least of all you…You think you're protecting him from the world? You think you're guaranteeing him safety and sanctuary from other people? Don't make me laugh—what do you care about them? Why do you care so much about what they think and what they can do that you go to all this trouble just to hide Tsuna? Why are you hiding him? You, the eternal idiot who never listened to his older sister, you, the completely reckless moron who went off and joined another Famiglia against Papa's advice, and now…now, you cower? From the world, for the sake of your one true love?"
His mouth grimaced, no answer.
"It's not love, not real, if you have to hide it. Not even for love's safety."
He looked away, obviously in a sulk.
Her eyes soften behind the sunglasses, "You can touch him, Gokudera. He won't crumble, he won't break. He's not that weak, not that fragile, that you need to protect him from everyone. Accept his wings and his naivety, his tangibility, and his strength. Understand?"
He doesn't say anything, although he's started to bite his lower lip, a habit picked up from Tsuna.
She stood up, shouldering her Prada purse. "Quickly, yes? Before anyone…Hmm...Life isn't a fairytale, brat. Love isn't like a damsel and some shining bastard in metal. He won't fall in love with you just because…Well, close the distance, quickly, okay?..." She stopped, not sure if she'd pushed too far. What right had she…? Reborn…
Eventually, she went away, leaving Gokudera to his thoughts and his Tsuna-san and his eight centimeters.
"…to the level of every day's most quiet need, by sun and candlelight…" he finished a bit expectant but now mostly resigned.