It took a long time for Tsuna to wake up.
He drifted, gently, slowly, floating among promises of silence and dreamless nights. Lethargy was a great weight in his limbs, one that called to him and tried to lull him back to sleep. He fought it. A niggling sensation – quiet and cold and insistent – demanded that he opened his eyes.
He did.
A white ceiling loomed over him. It was pretty normal, all things considered. Smooth and even with a couple of fissures running across its paint. There was nothing special about it, nothing that could have explained the insidious feeling growing in his chest.
Tsuna pushed up to a sitting position. Blankets and covers pooled around him in a small mountain of cozy softness. A glance around revealed four walls and one large window. Blue curtains and a dark floor with matching pieces of furniture. Books stood in precarious piles beside the bed, leaning unsteadily to the side as if they were on the verge of collapsing.
Oh. Right.
Tsuna knew this place.
It was Cinzia's room, where he'd slept the night before they'd gone to meet ...
("If you must be angry at someone, then be angry at me, Tsunayoshi.")
Panic slapped Tsuna, hard.
He instantly reached for his Flames.
And hit a wall of frosty ice.
What the –
Tsuna reeled back, the blood draining from his face. He scrambled for answers, throwing a volley of rapid questions at the warm presence inside –
But.
There was nothing there.
Only darkness.
Silence.
Cold.
The whispers were gone.
"No," Tsuna whispered.
Goosebumps bloomed all over his skin, and he wrapped his arms around himself. A string of disconnected memories started to surface in his mind, carrying images and sensations, sounds and scents.
He remembered angry voices. The heat of Flames slamming together. A blond man who had turned around and left without a backward glance.
And a hand.
Rushing toward him.
Smacking against his forehead as orange fire lashed out.
No!
Tsuna bolted for the door. He flew off the bed, eyes on his target, and –
He tripped.
Lost his balance and crashed into a small night table. His arms flew wide and slammed into a pretty lamp. He tried to catch it, missed completely, and it shattered on the floor loudly enough to splinter eardrums. Glass and porcelain scattered everywhere. Little shards went sliding under a vanity desk and ended up peppered all over the thick carpet in front of the bed.
Tsuna collapsed on his hands and knees. He stared, frozen, his thoughts going entirely blank, and almost didn't notice when the bedroom door swung open.
Ottone strode in, only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of Tsuna.
"God dammit," he gritted out.
Long legs quickly ate the space between them, and Tsuna abruptly found himself dangling in the air, carried to an armchair by the big hand that held the back of his sweater.
Ottone dumped him on a pile of plush pillows and stomped back to the doorway.
"Cinzia!" he shouted.
"Coming!" The woman appeared seconds later, arms full of clothes and bags swinging around her elbows. "Is he awake? Is he alright?" Her eyes landed on Tsuna. Whatever she saw on his face made her pale. "Oh."
Clothes and bags tumbled to the floor as she approached.
"Hey," she said quietly. "Doing okay?"
Tsuna didn't answer.
His teeth were chattering, and the tips of his fingers tingled as if he'd stuck them under cold water. Everything was slow, sluggish, coming to him from behind a screen of heavy smoke confusion.
No.
He wasn't okay.
"Yeah." Cinzia's lips thinned. "That's what I thought."
"He's cold," Ottone said from behind her.
"No kidding."
"I'm going to turn the heater on. You put more clothes on him."
"Got it. Come here, buddy."
Cinzia dragged Tsuna closer and proceeded to maneuver his limbs into another pajama bottoms, two more sweaters, and wrapped a scarf around his throat. Tsuna tried to struggle, but his arms and legs felt unsteady, like his whole body had become a big lump of uncoordinated clumsiness that just wouldn't work right.
By the time Cinzia had finished to pull another pair of thick socks on his feet – here we go, you should start to feel better soon – Ottone had come back and was sweeping the shards from the broken lamp in a dustpan.
"Don't worry about the lamp," Cinzia said, following Tsuna's eyes. "It was ugly and I didn't like it anyway."
"I did," Ottone muttered.
"Shut up." Cinzia hissed. Then she did a startled double take. "Well, damn."
That got her a narrow-eyed glance.
"You're holding a broom," she explained slowly.
"And?"
"And no one's been struck dead by lightning yet."
"Fuck you!"
Tsuna stared at the pair, their voices washing over him without really registering. He clutched the front of his chest, wishing he could reach under his ribs and claw at the gutting emptiness there.
So cold.
As if someone had shoved a knife in his stomach to carve him open, as if they'd poured ice into his bloostream. It was like the ground had been swept from beneath his feet, like gravity itself had changed and shifted while he wasn't paying attention.
There was no blood or bruises on his body. Nothing was broken or sprained or twisted. He wasn't hurt.
Just damaged.
Tsuna sort of wanted to scream.
No, wait.
He was screaming.
Cinzia flailed a little beside him. "Hey, hey, hey! Calm down!"
Tsuna dug at his throat, his fingers scratching and scraping with blunt nails. The ice was under his skin, it was inside, somewhere no one had ever touched before, not the scientists, not Nero, and Tsuna –
He wanted.
It.
Out.
"For fuck's sake."
Big hands closed around his arms and gave a little shake. Ottone's face appeared, pale and tight.
"Stop with the dramatics," the man snapped. "You're safe."
He was.
What?
With ice on his breath? With silence ringing in his head? Screw that. Tsuna didn't feel safe. He stopped screaming though, if only because he'd used up all the air in his lungs.
"They're gone," he gasped, the word bubbling up from the pool of horror roiling in the pit of his belly. "My Flames, they're gone. I can't feel them anymore. They're gone, they're gone!"
Fix it, he wanted to beg. Fix me.
Ottone knelt down. His hands slid up Tsuna's arms and tightened around skinny shoulders.
"I know," he said. "It sucks and it hurts and you're scared as hell right now. I know. But I need you to hear me out, brat."
Dark eyes held him in firm staring contest, hard and resolute, and Tsuna found he didn't have the strength to look away.
"I promise you," Ottone continued, his voice a low rumble full of determination. "You're going to be fine. Cinzia and I, we'll look after you. You're not alone. We'll help. It'll be okay."
"But – but they're gone," Tsuna repeated, because the monster had just vanished and Ottone didn't seem to quite grasp the gravity of such a loss.
His Flames had always been so big. So strong. So angry. They'd felt indestructible, something overwhelming and unbeatable – and of course Tsuna had wished them to go away. Over and over and over again.
But not like this.
Never like this.
"It'll get easier," Ottone said. "It'll get better."
Tsuna didn't believe him.
Not for a single second.
.
.
Time passed slowly, and nothing got any better or easier.
A layer of ice still covered the soft organs under his bones and no matter how many clothes he put on, no matter how many covers he used at night or how long he stood in the sun, Tsuna just couldn't get warm.
And he was always falling.
Standing up became something of a health hazard, as did walking around for more than couple of minutes at a time. He couldn't seem to put one foot in front of the other without stumbling, as if every step was a dangerous balancing act. His depth perception disappeared without warning, leaving in its wake a trail of shattered plates and broken objects.
Cinzia and Ottone took his sudden clumsiness in stride. The two of them never complained, never let on that he was a source of annoyance, that there would be consequences. They only helped to clean up the mess and moved on without a single remark.
Even when a batch of patisseries fresh out the oven lied scattered on the floor of Little Trinci's front shop.
"I gotta say, that was one hell of a dive," Cinzia said brightly. "But nothing's broken and you're not bleeding all over the place, so I'm still giving you a ten for style and execution."
The tips of Tsuna's ears burned.
"Sorry," he muttered, fumbling with a couple of croissants.
Cinzia waved a dismissive hand in the air. "It's fine. Happens to everyone."
Everyone.
Right.
Tsuna wasn't sure, but he was willing to bet that not many people could trip on their own feet and slid across the floor until they hit a wall.
A small part of him, buried deep down in the back of his mind, cynically wondered how many times he could be forgiven for messing up their work. His blunders were increasing in numbers by the day. Cinzia and Ottone's patience should have been stretched thin by now. Anyone would be exasperated if they had to suffer the presence of a lumbering moron who couldn't cross a room without breaking something.
"You forgot one."
Cinzia suddenly reached toward Tsuna.
He flinched, instinctively recoiling from a guard's blow, from a wave of orange fire that would swallow the world.
Cinzia froze, hand held half-way to the croissant that had rolled by Tsuna's left ankle.
There was a beat of utter stillness, then she casually picked up the pastry, saying, "Maybe you should go back and see if Ottone needs help."
That was an excuse, an opportunity to escape and hide away before the first costumers started to come in.
Tsuna didn't care if that made him a coward – he unlocked his jaw and pushed out a tiny sound of agreement. "Hn."
They finished to pile the wasted pastries on a tray, and he hurried back to the kitchen through the double door.
Ottone – wearing a neon pink apron – looked up at his entrance. He flicked a quick glance at the tray Tsuna held, then turned away without a comment. He was kneading a small ball of dough, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing the way his muscles shifted and rolled as he worked.
"Are your hands clean?"
A small shake of Tsuna's head.
"Then what the hell are you waiting for?"
Tsuna almost leaped forward in his haste to get to the sink. He washed his hands rigorously, meticulously, and went to join Ottone.
"Wait."
The man's voice stopped him.
Ottone jerked his chin at the table behind them.
"Take a look at today's paper first," he said.
The newspaper was folded next to a row of baking utensils. Tsuna picked it up. Letters sprawled out everywhere in dizzying formations, gathering at random to create words and sentences he couldn't even begin to decipher.
Nero hadn't had the time to teach him a lot, after all.
The thought burned like acid, and Tsuna tore his eyes away.
"I- I don't understand," he said, dreading the thought of failing a test.
Ottone stretched the ball of dough, pushing it downward and forward with the heel of a hand in one smooth stroke.
"Those places that were burned down to the ground," he said. "The mansions, the private properties – you see them?"
"Yes?"
"They all belong to the Estraneo."
Tsuna's fingers abruptly clenched around the newspaper. His attention went back to the front page. Several pictures displayed big buildings and houses going up in flames, smoke heavy and dark as it drifted up into the sky.
Estraneo.
Tsuna knew that word.
It meant Famiglia and dark cells, Jenoah and people in white coats.
"No one's looking for you anymore," Ottone continued. "No one's left to look for you. They're gone." He pinned Tsuna with a hard look. "So now you can try to sleep at night for a change and stop looking like a damn zombie. Those bags under your eyes are starting to get fucking disturbing."
Tsuna blinked.
Opened his mouth and closed it.
He absently touched the bruise-like marks under his eyes as a strange buzzing sound started to fill the space around him .
"Right." Ottone nodded, once, then turned around. "Now come help me with those baguettes."
Tsuna did, moving on auto-pilot.
The rest of the day unfolded in a fog of frustrated distraction, but he managed to get through it without killing anything small or breakable. He kneaded dough and carried fresh batches of pastries to Cinzia. He scrubbed baking racks and work tables until his back was sore and his arms felt like they would fall off.
The bright afternoon light slowly died, turning darker and dimmer as night approached. Back in the front shop, the last costumer left and Cinzia briefly showed up to grab a mop and a bucket. Soon, the roller shutters were lowered, lights were turned off and they all trudged up the stairs to the small apartment above the bakery.
By the time dinner rolled around, Tsuna was ready.
They sat around the table in the dining-room, and questions fell from his lips as though they were poison.
Who.
When.
Why.
Ottone answered without hesitation. He explained how two mafia Famiglias had gone to war over the past couple of days, how the result had been a foregone conclusion from the start because very few Famiglias in the underworld could ever hope to stand up to the Vongola, and the Estraneo had never been one of them.
Cinzia chimed in several times, to point out that the whole thing had been sparked by an accident in one of the Estraneo's bases, that some children had escaped, and that they'd been found by the police. Parents had been called, one of whom had been from the Vongola.
No one said anything about Tsuna's family, and maybe he should have asked anyway.
About Timoteo. About Sawada.
Except –
("Sorry," a blond man said as he closed the door.)
– the words just wouldn't come out.
Cinzia grabbed Tsuna's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"The files they had on you were destroyed," she said. "No one will find you. No one will know."
Ottone's eyes were fierce as he added, "Don't worry about those assholes anymore."
Tsuna thought about a small cell and groups of faceless children. The cold kiss of a scalpel cutting his skin open and the burn of drugs running in his veins. Sick kids gone half-mad in the dark. White coats and charts and beeping machines.
Tsuna remembered a single chair sitting in a white room. He remembered Nero. He remembered ashes.
Ottone and Cinzia were still watching him. Distantly, he realized that they must have been waiting for a reaction.
Shock? Relief and tears?
Tsuna just felt empty.
And cold.
He was always so cold.
"Do you understand?" Cinzia asked. "Everything's fine now."
Tsuna could only watch her smile, and think, liar.
.
.
Once upon a time, there had been a monster inside Tsuna.
It used to burn, so warm and bright and fierce it'd felt like it would never die.
The Flames had always been there, right there, flickering close to his heart like a second pulse. They were made of anger and Will and lived deep down in his soul. He would close his eyes, fall and fall and fall, and then look up to stare at a swirling inferno that blazed hotter than a thousand sunrises.
And Tsuna – broken child holding the broken pieces of a broken star, little boy scared of the world and for the world – he had tried so hard to keep it all away from the surface. The Flames had provided protection, yes, but their strength had also been lethal.
And yet.
Now the monster was gone, buried under a layer of ice and frost that glistened like raw diamonds, unfelt and unseen and remote, and it was like there was nothing left of Tsuna's life but the charred heart of a dead volcano. He would close his eyes and be surrounded by darkness, an eternal night that knew neither the glittering of stars nor the warmth of daylight.
Tsuna took a deep breath.
He dreamed of standing alone in the middle of a barren landscape covered in ice. Maybe that was for the best. He would learn to live without fire and fangs.
After all, no one Outside could burn.
.
.
"No," Ottone said, then again with more bite. "No."
"Oh, for Christ's sake." Cinzia rolled her eyes so hard it looked physically painful. "What did you expect when you signed up to adopt a kid?"
"I don't remember signing any goddam papers!"
"Semantics? That's the card you're playing right now?"
Ottone scowled.
He crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance, as if bracing himself for the charge of an enraged bull. Tsuna glanced at Cinzia. The woman certainly looked determined to flatten anyone stupid enough to stand in her way.
"I'm not going," Ottone repeated firmly.
"December." Cinzia sharply gestured at the window behind her, then pointed at Tsuna. "Little boy." She glared. "Stop being an ass, we're going Christmas shopping."
"No."
"Yes."
Ottone pulled in a long breath, looking like he were gearing up to fry Cinzia right where she stood with one scorching curse.
And Tsuna panicked.
"I don't mind not going," he cut in, his voice a rusty little creak. "I-It's fine!"
Cinzia startled, as if she'd forgotten he could talk – which was not exactly surprising, given that some days getting Tsuna to align more than two words together was like trying to pry teeth out of his mouth. Without anesthetics. And using a pair of old pliers.
She groaned. "Tsuna."
It only made him panic harder.
"R-really," he insisted. "I don't – I don't care about Christmas. We can just stay here, right? Please?"
He didn't even fully understand what Christmas was anyway.
From the numerous ads he'd seen on TV, it apparently involved an awful lot of gift wrapping, expensive foods, and crowds of people packed tight in tiny spaces. Even if Ottone hadn't looked angry enough to breathe fire every time it was mentioned around him, the whole thing still just seemed unnecessarily complicated.
Tsuna didn't like complicated. Or a pissed off Ottone.
Because what if it made the man reconsider and decide that Tsuna was too much trouble after all? What if he realized he'd taken in a walking disaster of a kid who kept breaking his things?
Tsuna had been living with Ottone and Cinzia for several months now. And it was nice.
He'd grown to enjoy Ottone's grouchy ways, how he would complain and glare and snap at everyone but always made sure that Tsuna helped himself to a second serving during lunch and dinner. Cinzia in general was an overwhelming force of nature, one that bullied him into nice sweaters and thick pants and comfy pajamas, and she could even coax a smile out of him even when the silence in his head became loud enough to make him scream.
They felt warm and real, like a pair of bright flames vibrant with colors, so different from the washed-up ghosts he'd grown up with. Tsuna didn't want to leave. He was terrified by the possibility of making a mistake and watching Cinzia and Ottone's backs as they walked away.
("Sorry," the blond man said without a second glance.)
"I really don't mind," Tsuna whispered.
"Ha." Ottone threw Cinzia a triumphant look. "See? Even the brat doesn't want to go."
"Please." She put her hands on her hips with a huff. "Tsuna wouldn't ask for help even if he was sinking and drowning."
Ottone blinked.
He looked at Tsuna, thunder gathering on his brows.
Tsuna smiled back hesitantly. The expression felt wrong – his cheeks were sort of tight, and the corners of his mouth wouldn't stop trembling – but he kept trying because he'd recently concluded that people Outside smiled a lot when they wanted to defuse a tense situation.
Ottone stared.
Tsuna stared back, widening the tremulous curve of his mouth.
Which didn't get the expected result. According to Tsuna's observations, Ottone wasn't supposed to pinch the bridge of his nose and let out an explosive sigh.
Cinzia's pointed look of see what I mean didn't help either.
Ottone swore. He whirled around and went to grab the coats hanging from the hooks by the front door.
"What are you doing?" Cinzia called happily.
"What does it look like?" Ottone snapped, throwing a green parka at her.
Cinzia snatched it mid-air. "Like I've just won this round," she said, radiating smugness. "Because I'm awesome and I'm always right."
"Don't smile so much," Ottone shot back. "You'll get wrinkles."
Cinzia's outraged squawk followed him as he walked back across the living room. He promptly pulled a blue coat around Tsuna and shoved a hat over his head.
Tsuna could only stand there, stiff and uncertain as he gaped at the man, wondering what part of the conversation he'd missed to bring about such a change.
"Where are we going?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Christmas. Shopping." Ottone growled, sounding as if each word was a personal insult. "Shit."
Yeah, that exactly.
Tsuna looked down, biting his lips.
Another mistake. Another failure.
Why couldn't he do anything right?
There was a pause above him. The heavy weight of eyes watching him.
Tsuna winced.
Dread bubbled in his belly. He needed to do better. To be better.
Ottone buttoned up his own coat and grunted, "It's fine. Stop looking like I've just kicked your puppy." He turned toward the empty hallway stretching out behind the couch. "And what the hell are you doing anyway? You said you wanted to leave before traffic gets bad!"
"Don't be a jerk!" Cinzia yelled from the depth of the apartment. "Every lady needs a moment or two before she's ready to show her face to the world."
"I don't see any fucking lady in this place!"
Heavy stomping followed that declaration.
Cinzia appeared in the doorframe, eyes flashing. "Oh, you did not."
Ottone gave her a flat look.
Cinzia's nostrils flared.
The pair descended into another bout of squabbling and somehow, between one insult and the other, Tsuna found himself sitting at the back of Otton's car, hot air blasting in his face from the heating system.
They spent the rest of the day shopping for Christmas.
Tsuna found that he agreed with Ottone.
He would have preferred to stay home.
.
.
"Oh, God," Cinzia snickered. "You're so bad at this I feel like I should be crying."
Ottone, sitting on the edge of the couch, let out an annoyed growl. "It's not over yet."
"You're driving the wrong way, you idiot."
Ottone swore, jerking the controller violently to the right as if he were trying to punch someone in the face. On the TV, a sleek racing car crashed into a tree. There was a loud boom, an explosion of confetti, and a feminine voice announced a dramatic 'Game Over.'
"This game is shit." Disgusted, Ottone tossed the controller away.
Cinzia smirked. "Do you bow to the master?"
"Like hell – you're just a goddamn cheater."
"Wait." Cinzia suddenly leaned forward, staring. "Are you pouting?"
Ottone's glare could have melted iron.
Cinzia cackled. "You are!"
Tsuna sat a little to the side, watching the on-going feud with wariness. He was surrounded by heaps of bright colored gift wrappers that glittered and winked in the early morning light. Clothes, stuffed animals, and books with pictures were strewn all around him – Christmas presents that apparently belonged to him.
The sight of them made him slightly nauseous.
Christmas, Tsuna had concluded days ago, was an exhausting, scary, and completely inescapable tradition. He sort of wanted to sleep and not wake up until all the craziness had gone away.
"If you hadn't rammed into me to take that corner, I could have won!"
"Should have tried harder to avoid me, then." A long, taunting pause. "Old. Man."
"That's it." Ottone stabbed a finger at the television. "I want another game. And this time, I'll crush you."
By that point, the pair was facing each other on either side of the coffee table. Cinzia's face was a mask of gloating satisfaction while Ottone looked like he was ready to throttle her with his bare hands.
They looked… ridiculous.
Like two friends having fun, perfectly content to lower their guards because they knew it was safe to do so. And despite all the offending words and the baiting and the squabbles – it was amusing to watch them.
Tsuna giggled.
The sound, soft and high-pitched, was so unexpected it almost startled him out of his own skin.
Cinzia and Ottone froze mid-argument. Their eyes swiveled in Tsuna's direction. He slapped a hand over his mouth, and stared back with wide eyes.
Adults usually didn't react very well when Tsuna laughed around them.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Cinzia blinked, and slowly turned back toward Ottone.
"Fine, let's do this," she said, flipping her hair over a shoulder. "But get ready to have your ass kicked again."
Ottone's glare came back full force. "Start bragging after you actually win."
Cinzia's lips curled into a lazy smile.
Another game was started, and soon the two of them were once more sitting on the couch, engaged in a virtual race that filled the living-room with the sounds of engines and screeching tires.
Cinzia jabbed her controlled at the screen, a look of intense concentration on her face, and Ottone had to duck to avoid a blow.
"Stop waving this shit around like it's a fucking machete," he snapped.
"It's working, isn't it?"
The race ended two minutes later, and Cinzia's won again without much difficulty. She beamed so hard Ottone had to turn away with a muttered curse.
"Want to try?" he asked Tsuna, waving the controller at him.
Tsuna hesitated.
Yes.
He wanted to.
It looked like fun.
Tsuna gave a tiny nod and was immediately hauled on the couch between Cinzia and Ottone. They showed him how the controller worked, how it made his car move in the game, what he had to do to win.
He still lost.
So badly that by the end of the day, he was laughing again.
No one said a word about it, but Cinzia's smile was wide and bright, and even Ottone's eyes had softened.
.
.
Once upon a time, there had been a monster inside Tsuna.
It used to talk to him, soft and loud and steady, and it'd felt like it would never stop.
The voice had always been there, right there, a whisper fluttering around his mind like a guardian angel steering him in the right direction. It was made of colors and sensations that carried more meaning than words, more nuances than speech. He would close his eyes, listen and listen and listen, and sometimes he would get to hear some of the secrets the universe loved to keep for its own.
And Tsuna – little ghost haunting the walls of a haunted cell, afraid and hopeful and angry all at once as his body became the toy of giant puppeteers – he had latched onto the voice and refused to let go. The Flames had scared him, yes, but their whispers had kept him sane.
And yet.
Now the monster was gone, muffled by a layer of ice and frost that was as hard as titanium, unheard and unseen and remote, and it felt like the emptiness in Tsuna's head had become loud enough to kill. He would close his eyes and waver on the cutting edge of a great abyss, inches away from the fall.
Tsuna let out a sharp breath.
He dreamed of standing alone in the dark, surrounded by complete stillness and icy silence. Perhaps that was for the best. He could learn to live without the reassuring presence of a sixth sense.
After all, no one Outside had voices in their heads.
.
.
Tsuna gaped.
Large stands full of perishables stretched far on either side of him. Fruits spilled out of their cases, colorful and so numerous he couldn't even start to count them. Vegetables winked at him from their boxes, bright and cheerful as people's hands drifted over them.
Tsuna clutched Cinzia's hand in a white-knuckled grip.
It was his first time going to an open-air market and so far the whole experience was staggering.
There were just too many people.
Talking, shouting, laughing. Hurrying from stalls to stalls, dragging shopping baskets behind them, carrying heavy bags overflowing with fresh breads and bottles of wine. Local farmers yelled, competing against each other in the hope of attracting more customers and it only added to the bustle-and-hustle atmosphere.
It was overwhelming.
Tsuna looked around him and tried to keep his knees from knocking together. He felt the same astonishment that filled him each time he went grocery shopping with Cinzia and Ottone.
How could there be so much food in the world? And how could it be gathered in one place?
"Come on," Cinzia said from beside him, sounding very far away. "Let's go."
She dragged him down different aisles, easily dancing around the stream of people. Cinzia was in her element as she paid for her purchases – honey and jams and oranges and lettuces. She reminded Tsuna a little of an overactive bee buzzing from flower to flower as it gathered pollen. He could only hang on for dear life and hope he wouldn't be swallowed by the crowd.
"Okay." An eternity later, Cinzia carefully placed in her bags a big wedge of cheese wrapped in paper and peered at her shopping list. She nodded. "I think we're good. One last stop and we can go home."
Sweeter words had never been spoken.
Tsuna almost went boneless with relief. The end of the nightmare was in sight.
Cinzia came to a stop in front of a butcher stand at the back of the market. One of the ladies working behind the display case greeted them.
"Hey, guys. What can I get you?"
Cinzia's hand suddenly dropped on Tsuna's shoulder and pushed him forward. "You do it," she whispered. "Go on."
What.
Tsuna froze, abruptly feeling as if he'd been brought to the center of some unknown stage, naked and utterly unprepared.
The stall-keeper smiled at him.
Tsuna almost melted in a puddle of stark terror.
He started to shake. Icy fingers crept up his chest, his throat. They tightened like a noose that slowly strangled him. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.
Cinzia prodded his back with a finger. "Buddy?"
He looked up, dazed, and met narrowed blue eyes. Cinzia was frowning at him, her previous grin gone.
And Tsuna hated it.
He hated to see her worried for him, hated that leaving Little Trinci made him sick to his stomach, that even after months and months spent Outside, he still couldn't handle an unexpected conversation with a stranger.
Tsuna forced his attention back on the stall-keeper. The woman was still smiling. Cold sweat ran down his back.
Say it, he thought fiercely, mentally prying the icy fingers from around his throat. Just say it.
He knew what Cinzia wanted to buy, had helped her to write that damn list. But his mind was a whirl of disjointed impressions that barely made any sense at all, and for some reason only the word tamago rose from its depth, again and again and again.
Cinzia's hold on his shoulder was tightening. She started to pull him closer to her side. Worry and guilt radiating off her in thick waves, and the idea of failing – of being a burden – finally gave Tsuna the extra push he needed to act.
He cast a wild look around him, was hit by a burst of genius inspiration, and pointed at a featherless chicken.
"I-I want to buy its babies!" he blurted.
The lady paused. "Its… babies?"
"To cook them," Tsuna squeaked out. "In a cake?"
That got him a blink.
Behind him, Cinzia let out a choking sound.
"We'd like to buy a dozen eggs," she quickly cut in. "Please."
Tsuna looked up at her.
She glanced at him, snorted, then firmly pressed her lips together and managed to hold it together as she paid for the eggs. They went back to the car, put everything in the trunk, and got ready for the trip back home.
Cinzia started snickering the moment she sat behind the wheel, and didn't stop as she pulled out of the parking lot and drove back to Little Trinci. Tears were running down her cheeks by the time they walked through the bakery's back door and climbed the stairs to the apartment above.
"Ottone!" she called, dropping the shopping bags on the table in the dining room. "Where are you?"
"Shut the fuck up, I'm busy!"
"But you've got to listen to this!"
Chortling, she skipped down the hallways toward the bedrooms.
Tsuna buried his face in his hands.
.
.
Once or twice a month, Tsuna felt like he was being watched.
It was not the same sensation he'd had before Timoteo had put ice under his skin, that electrifying spike of alarm which had told him exactly where, and who, and why. The feeling was different now. Subtler. Fainter. More uncertain. Like the sudden sense of unease that would trickle down his spine as he walked passed an open window, or the goosebumps that abruptly appeared when he went out with Ottone or Cinzia.
And he saw them.
Sometimes. If he was fast enough.
A dark suit disappearing around a corner. A silhouette melting back into a crowed street. Shadows moving around him.
Like right now.
Tsuna glanced up sharply.
The people walking by Little Trinci paid him no attention as he stared suspiciously at them. Adults looked down at smartphones as they moved, and children chattered and bounced around like little balls of loud enthusiasm.
Tsuna frowned.
"Let it go," Ottone said from behind him.
The man was dragging down the roller shutters for the night. Tsuna was in charge of sweeping the sidewalk in front Little Trinci – well. He was mostly trying not to impale himself on the broom handle. Cleaning was really just a bonus.
"Ignore them," Ottone said, locking the shutters. He gave the metal grate a shake then stood up. "They'll go away soon enough."
They, who? Tsuna almost asked, but as always the words remained stuck in his throat.
In his mind, for maybe the thousandth time, he watched a wide back walk away.
("Sorry," the big man said as a door swung shut in his wake.)
Tsuna scowled, turning his attention back onto his task. He vigorously swept a couple of cigarette butts away, as if each swing could banish the man's voice from his head.
Then he somehow slipped on the completely dry pavement, lost his balance, and fell flat on his nose.
Ow.
Ottone laughed.
.
.
Another Christmas passed, then spring and summer.
Tsuna had been living with Ottone and Cinzia for more than two years now, and somewhere along the line he'd turned eleven.
Which, according to the adults in his life, meant middle school.
They had taught him his letters and numbers as best as they could, and Tsuna had thrown himself into learning with the hard-minded focus of someone who'd been denied knowledge all his life. The whole process had been nice, involving fountains pens and bright-colored pencils instead of the dry reports of scientists measuring the growth of his Flames.
So.
Apparently, Tsuna was going to be a student.
Cinzia enrolled him in a nearby school, claiming it was located in a calm neighborhood with good kids and competent teachers and nice buildings.
He was going to meet so many people, she'd said. It was going to be great.
("He needs friends," Tsuna had heard her say one night while he hid behind a half-closed door. "To be with children his age and to make bonds. He's a Sky. He needs it. That fucking seal can't change that.")
And reluctantly, cautiously, Tsuna was forced to admit that though she hadn't been completely right, Cinzia wasn't really wrong either.
School wasn't the unmitigated disaster Tsuna had envisioned.
Except for PE classes. Those were hell.
His teacher was crying by the end of the year.
.
.
The man's long strides were quickly carrying him down the street.
He was rather small, wore a non-descript black suit and tie, but his curly blond hair was distinct enough to be recognized even among the flow of pedestrians. He paused at a crosswalk, waited for the light to turn green, then headed South and away from the downtown area.
Tsuna hurried after the stranger, his heart beating like a hammer in his chest.
What was he doing? he thought half-hysterically as he darted behind a parked car and peeked over its trunk.
No, seriously.
What the hell was he doing?
Another street. Another crosswalk. A turn and they entered a small alley that spiraled deep into the bowels of a decidedly not nice neighborhood.
Tsuna licked his lips nervously.
He should have ignored the shivers running down his back that had betrayed someone's eyes on him. Should have kept his head down and continued on his way to Little Trinci. He'd grown used to it over the years – to the random moments where strangers would hide close by and observe him for an hour or two.
But not this time.
Tsuna didn't know why, but no.
Not. This. Time.
Something had made him react, had made him look up and turn around – and the hunter had become the prey.
The city around them grew quiet. Pieces of broken glass started to litter the ground as the sidewalk turned smaller. An acrid smell rose in the air, that of saturated sewer and old trash bags. It was getting late. Tsuna tried not to wince at the thought of Ottone and Cinzia waiting for him at home. They would have words for him and his little escapade.
The man suddenly entered a parking lot. It was empty, except for a black SUV parked under the flickering light of an old lamppost.
Tsuna ducked behind a rusting dumpster and crept forward until he was crouching beside an old truck. He risked a glance around its side. And abruptly froze.
The back door of the SUV had swung open and a tall man had unfolded from its seat.
Blond hair and tanned skin. Blue eyes and a light stubble.
Sawada.
Tsuna jerked back, his jaw locked, hands balling into tight fists.
It felt – it felt like falling. Sort of. Like plummeting directly into the frozen depths inside and discovering that it wasn't empty after all. That beside the ice and the silence, there was something else there.
Something dark and vicious and angry.
"Sir." The man who'd followed Tsuna around bowed his head in greeting.
He handed out a thin file. Sawada snatched it and scanned the first few pages of the report.
"Is that all you've got for me?"
The smaller man gave him a phone. "With all due respect, sir," he said. "There was no need for you to come all the way here from headquarter. Nothing out the ordinary happened and –"
Sawada glared.
The other man's voice died mid-sentence. He ducked his head down, shoulders hunching. Sawada stared at him for a moment longer, then focused on the phone in his hands. He slid a finger over the smooth screen, as if flipping through a series of pictures.
Tsuna's eyes narrowed. He had a pretty good idea about whose pictures had been taken. The edge of his vision started to darken, tinted with a hint of red as outrage spread in his veins.
Sawada had said sorry, hadn't he?
He'd said sorry, and he'd turned around, and he'd walked away.
("Sorry," said the blond man before closing the door.)
So he had no right, no right at all, to be in that parking lot and to look at those pictures.
The feeling in Tsuna's chest swelled. It made him want to growl, to hiss, to lash out – and suddenly, out of nowhere, a realization hit him like a bucket of frozen water in the face.
Because.
Once upon a time, there had been a monster inside Tsuna, right?
He used to think it was made of hate and fire and ghostly voices that lived deep down in his bones.
It had always been there, right there, a blazing fire struggling to unleash its hurt and wrath upon anything that breathed. He would squeeze his eyes shut and be faced with a choice, let go and let me out and let me burn, and no one would ever know how close he'd come to stop fighting, to give up and watch as the end of the world came with the roar of orange Flames.
Tsuna took a small step back.
Somehow, the movement was enough to draw Sawada's attention and Tsuna – lonely boy who'd thought no and please and wait as he was left behind by someone that should have cared – he suddenly understood that he'd been wrong all along.
His Flames may had been sealed under a layer of ice and frost, unseen and untouchable and forever out of reach, but the monster had never been shut away. It had just gone to sleep, content to hunker down and bid its time as Tsuna bloomed under Ottone and Cinzia's care.
Sawada's eyes collided with Tsuna's. The man's lips parted. He blinked. Swayed forward.
"Tsuna," he said, and his voice was strangely hoarse. "Tsuna."
Tsuna's lips pulled back over his teeth, like a striking serpent baring its fang. He glared, watching his father in the dim light of weak electricity, and shook with the need to hurt him. To make Sawada feel even an inch of what Tsuna had been through, was still going through.
Oh, yes, he'd been wrong. The monster had never been in his Flames. The hate and rage came from him.
Tsuna turned around and took off.
Somewhere deep inside, there was a crack, and fissures spread across the surface of smooth ice.
.
.
And here's chapter 6. Kinda hard to write.
It was great to read all of your reactions last chapter. I didn't expect that many of you to be so annoyed with Timoteo and Iemitsu. I, huh, just tried to keep their responses to Tsuna's reappearance realistic?
See you next chapter.