Title: Picking Up the Pieces
Theme: #86. Picking Up the Pieces
Rating: K+
Character/Pairing: 8059
Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Summary: When they were broken, they could only find solace in each other.
A/N: Tired, sleepy…sorry if it's not funny…braindead…sorry for manga timeline inaccuracies
Gokudera, as per morning ritual, sat on the grass, staring at the coffin of his boss. He ignored the feelings of wet morning dew soaking into his expensive Armani suit, the irritating chirps of nearby forest animals and tried to block out the noise of constant gunshots and screams that he kept envisioning every time he closed his eyes.
He heard a soft crunch upon the grass and glared upwards, his hand already gripping his weapon. Staring down at the matured, hardened face of the Rain Guardian, Gokudera demanded, with the rough voice of a smoker, "where were you?"
"I'm sorry, Gokudera. I missed the Tenth's funeral."
Pretending to hide his eyes from the sun, he could still feel the heated gaze from the silver-haired Italian.
"You didn't answer me."
"I was in Japan." His voice didn't falter. He wouldn't let it. "There was another Millefiore attack. My father has joined the lists of the deceased."
Gokudera averted his eyes back towards the coffin. He knew the taller man was expecting some sort of reaction, but he could not. Ever since the Tenth died, feelings of failure had cloaked around him, leaving behind numbness that he could not rid himself of.
Yamamoto kneeled down beside him, "Tsuna, sent me a letter, a few days before it happened." Putting his hands together, he murmured a quick prayer. "He said, do not feel remorse, for death is inevitable."
Gokudera suddenly swung his fist, hitting Yamamoto squarely in the face, sending the taller man flying onto his back. He could have blocked, but he didn't. "Is that supposed to comfort me?" Gokudera's eyes were angry, but at what, he didn't know.
Yamamoto smiled, but it was different from the smile ten years ago. "No," then again, everything was different ten years ago.
Gokudera stared into Yamamoto's eyes; the smile never reached it. And for reasons he could not understand, the smile made him want to punch the man a few hundred times over. "You're father's dead," Gokudera didn't know why he brought back the subject. Surely it would be pressing salt into Yamamoto's wounds, but somehow, that brought comfort to him. It was strange, feeling comfort among a sea of numbness.
"So is Tsuna."
The kisses came quick and rough. Tongues clashed for dominance, and hands were quickly tearing off clothing. They did not know why or what possessed them to commit mutual offense in front of their boss's dead body, but they knew that it was not for comfort.
They were simply broken, and helping each other pick up the pieces. And the pieces they could only hold, because repair was futile. Death was inevitable and it always came too quick.