Tsuna was twelve years old and he was plotting murder.
Rain fell heavily outside. The pitter-patter of fat drops of water hitting the windows was loud and never-ending, a constant reminder that the bad weather hadn't let up in days.
Tsuna didn't care, and neither did Ottone or Cinzia. They were all sprawled on the couch, controllers in hands and feet propped up on the coffee table. A box of donuts laid open between them, surrounded by half a dozen bags of candies.
"Stop jumping around," Ottone muttered, eyes glued to the TV.
"And what?" Cinzia retorted. "Just wait around for you to shoot me dead like an idiot?"
Seeing the two of them focused on each other, Tsuna carefully pushed a couple of buttons on his controller. He brought his character around the ruins of an abandoned building and made the little soldier creep along a collapsed wall.
Do it, he thought. Hurry up and do it.
This was his shot at revenge, his chance to right all the wrongs done to him over the years.
Just. Do it.
Tsuna abruptly went on the offensive. He launched a couple of grenades, fired a round of bullets and –
His target whirled around. There was an explosion, followed by a deafening series of ra-tat-tat as a machine gun opened fire. Tsuna's screen winked out with a shower of cheerful sparkles. He'd lost.
"Brat." Without looking away from the game, Ottone reached over and cuffed Tsuna on the back of his head. "It's ten years too early for you to ambush me."
Then his own half of the screen went up in flames as Cinzia gunned him down from the other side of the street.
"Yes!" She let out a triumphant whoop. "That's how you do it."
Tsuna and Ottone could only stare.
She cackled. "You're both adorable. I love to squash you like juicy little bugs."
Ottone immediately demanded another game, even though it would only result in a series of crushing defeats that would have him grumbling about fucking cheaters for the rest of the day.
"No thanks." Cinzia lounged on the couch. "I'm just going to enjoy being awesome for a while."
Ottone twitched. "Fine," he clipped, glancing at Tsuna. "It's just you and me, then."
"O-okay." Tsuna gave a determined nod and squared his shoulders. "I'll do my best."
It quickly became apparent that his best wasn't nearly enough. No matter how hard Tsuna tried to blow up his opponent, he never quite succeeded. It was very frustrating.
"Come on," Cinzia said from the sideline three minutes later. "You've got this, you can do it – secure the perimeter, now!"
"I'm trying," Tsuna said, exasperated.
A weight landed on his back. He let out a wheezing sound as Cinzia wrapped her arms around him.
"On your right," she hissed. "On your right."
Tsuna jerked his controller forward and narrowly ducked under a stray missile.
"You're heavy," he complained. "Go away."
"Look out, he's coming!"
Ottone fired at Tsuna. His health bar took a dramatic hit.
Cinzia mumbled under her breath, "Why, you little –" then aimed a kick at Ottone. It landed on his hip and almost shoved him right off the couch.
Tsuna stabbed a button. His opponent dropped dead. Ottone blinked at the TV, once, twice, before giving them an incredulous look.
"Did you kick me?"
"I was just helping Tsuna."
"He's old enough, we don't need to let him win on purpose anymore!"
"You've never let me win," Tsuna interrupted, thinking back to the various ways he'd been virtually murdered over the years. "Ever."
"Shut up," Ottone snapped. "It builds character."
"And you're stalling." Cinzia put a hand on her stomach. It let out a loud ramble. "You've lost twice in a row, so go get the damn pizzas already. That was the deal."
"Grilled chicken for me," Tsuna quickly added with a bright smile.
Cinzia raised a hand. "I want the classic pepperoni. The big one. With lots of cheese."
Ottone glowered at them for a moment, as if he were seriously considering homicide.
"You little shits are eating anchovies, and that's it," he grunted.
Cries of protest immediately erupted.
"Wait!"
.
.
Tsuna was dreaming.
Sort of.
Everything hung in eerie stillness around him, dark and devoid of any warmth. The air was so cold it hurt to breathe, as if tiny needles were mercilessly prodding and poking at the softness under his ribs.
Tsuna squatted down on the ice.
His toes brushed the jagged edge of a crack that ran across the landscape like a long and ugly scar. Was it larger than when it'd appeared the previous year? A glance around revealed more crevices. They had certainly multiplied over the last few months, like a spider web spreading out in all directions.
Tsuna cautiously peered down into the abyss. It betrayed no hint of the Flames that had once burned there, no sign of the heat and fire that had seemed huge enough to consume him. That was fine. Tsuna knew better than to expect anything else. He blew out a sharp breath, telling himself that the tightness in his throat was from relief.
Still, it would be nice to wake up now. There was nothing for him in those dreams, nothing but ice and silence.
And.
A spark of Flames.
Tsuna froze.
A flicker of orange slowly floated in front of him, shining in the dark, warm and familiar and so very fragile.
It shouldn't have been possible. The ice had killed his Flames. They were gone.
So how –
Tsuna lunged.
He reached for the spark, and it winked out of existence right before he could touch it. His hands lashed out, far too slow and clumsy, and he ended up clawed at empty air, blunt nails biting into his palms. Tsuna could have screamed out of sheer frustration. He whirled around, frantic, searching for another trace of orange fire.
There was none.
Could he have seen wrong? Imagined the whole thing?
Tsuna crept closer to the nearest crack and looked down again.
Darkness. Frost. Silence.
He stared harder and – there.
So far down below that he almost missed it, something was glowing faintly. Tsuna squinted, and the light seemed to grow brighter in response. A distant roar filled his ears, like the sound of fire leaping higher as it reached for the sky, like Flames burning hotter and wilder as they struggled to be heard.
(Destroy-the-ice!)
Tsuna startled. Slipped and hit the back of his head on a hard surface. There was a burst of pain behind his eyelids, a dizzying moment of disorientation.
He jerked awake.
Half blind, Tsuna dove for the lamp on his night table. Light flooded the world, revealing a familiar bedroom. He grabbed his blankets and retreated to the middle of the bed, wrapping himself in a warm cocoon. It took a long time for his heartbeat to slow down, for his shaking to stop.
Tsuna was thirteen and he'd never forgotten about the monsters hiding in the dark.
.
.
The group of Asian people scrambled down the street, a buzz of excited conversation trailing after them, strange and foreign but oddly fascinating.
Tsuna followed warily.
Another fire-rapid exchange of unintelligible words reached his ears, a mess of isoide and kaachan and chotto-matte.
Strangely enough, it felt like he should have understood. Like he should have known.
Memories teased him, fluttering just out of reach. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear a woman talking, someone he'd called mama a thousand years ago. A sensation of craving bloomed in his chest, and Tsuna grabbed it in a stranglehold and refused to let go.
He burst into Little Trinci's kitchen ten minutes later, yelling, "I want to learn Chinese!"
His exuberant declaration was followed by a moment of ringing silence.
Ottone slowly looked up from where he was putting the meringue topping on a lemon pie. He frowned. The expression froze Tsuna dead in his tracks as if he'd stepped onto fresh concrete.
"I-I mean," he stuttered. "P-please?"
"You've got money I don't know about?" Ottone asked flatly. "Because private lessons are expensive."
Oh.
Right. Of course.
Tsuna's whole fortune amounted to exactly nothing. His grand plan of being bilingual by the end of the year crashed and crumbled to dust in less than a second.
He looked down. "I don't," he mumbled unhappily.
Ottone's snort said how impressed he was with that answer.
Tsuna fidgeted, wanting to negociate, to bargain and beg, because having to give up on that tiny link to Before made him nauseous.
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
Don't ask for too much, a voice whispered in his ears. Or they'll leave you. They'll make you go away.
Tsuna took in a shaky breath and stayed silent.
Ottone sighed. "Come here," he called.
Tsuna peeked at him through his bangs.
"Now," Ottone barked, and Tsuna scrambled around the table work.
It took them a couple of minutes to figure out where the tourists from earlier had come from – not from China – and Ottone ended up paying a tutor three times a week.
Tsuna was thirteen and his head was full of memories.
.
.
There was a man sitting on the floor of Little Trinci's front shop.
No, wait.
That wasn't the important part.
There was a man sitting on the floor of Little Trinci's front shop and he was bleeding all over the place from a wound in his mid-section.
Tsuna gaped.
The stranger wore a black suit, torn and soaked through with crimson, and there was a gun glinting ominously on his lap. A teenager was fussing over him, apparently unconcerned with the weapon as he pressed a dishtowel against the man's side.
"Stop moving," the boy snapped.
"Worried, Lucio?"
"Dream on, old man."
A strangled sound erupted from Tsuna's throat.
The teen looked up. Paused.
"Who –" he started, only to be interrupted by heavy footsteps.
The kitchen door swung open and Ottone appeared, looking very pissed off and ready to take out bystanders with a teaspoon.
His eyes landed on Tsuna. He scowled. "What are you doing here?"
Tsuna was kind of asking himself the same question.
Why – seriously, why – hadn't he stayed in bed?
"I ... heard people talking."
A muscle jumped in Ottone's jaw. "I told the asshole to keep quiet," he growled, coming to a stop in front of the wounded man. He nudged him with the tip of a foot. "Hey. You still alive?"
The man stirred. "Fuck you. I haven't kicked the bucket yet."
"Figured as much." Ottone sat down against the wall. "I've just made the call. They'll come to pick you up in five."
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me. The bills for cleaning all those bloodstains aren't gonna be cheap."
"Bastard."
"Go to hell."
Tsuna blinked.
Fighting was good. Wasn't it?
If the man had the energy to argue with Ottone like an old married couple, then surely he wasn't too badly injured –
The teenager shifted to the side.
A glimpse of red-covered skin was revealed. There was also a hole. A tiny, dark, and very suspicious-looking hole.
"Is that a bullet wound?" Tsuna asked, his voice two octaves higher than normal.
Ottone poked at the man's belly. "It's fine," he said. "No artery was hit, and the bleeding has almost stopped. You'll be alright."
"Screw that. It hurts like hell." The man batted the offending finger away with a grimace. He jerked his head in Tsuna's direction. "Who is he anyway?"
"My brat," Ottone answered, and even with a stranger half dying in Little Trinci, even years and years later, Tsuna still felt a little thrill running down his spine at those words – a claim and a fact all rolled up into a simple declaration. No pause, no hesitation. Just, my brat.
"Hmm." The man eyed Tsuna curiously, his face deathly pale in the dim light of the lampposts outside. "Kid doesn't look too bad." A smirk. "Didn't get your ugly mug – ow!"
Ottone wiped his bloody finger on his pants. "Stop whining like a little bitch, Lorenzo."
"It hurt, asshole!"
"Still whining."
"Fuck. You."
And the bickering started again.
Which was fine.
Whatever.
If the man wasn't going to panic about his wounds, then neither was Tsuna. He turned around and kind of floated to the nearest chair. He collapsed on it, feeling a little light-headed.
For the most part, Ottone and Cinzia lived like regular civilians. They worked and paid their taxes, traveled during the summer holidays and enjoyed watching some TV before going to bed at night. There was nothing in their daily routine that could link them to the like of Sawada or Timoteo. Tonight was the first time anything out of the ordinary had happened in six years.
It was a little terrifying.
The man – Lorenzo – let out a groan.
"Can I help?" Tsuna asked. "Get you anything?"
Watching someone leaking blood all over the floor was starting to feel awkward.
"Ha." Lorenzo let out a snort. "Cute, kid."
"Help's on the way." Ottone waved Tsuna's offer away. "You can go back to bed."
As if sleep was even remotely possible.
Tsuna didn't move and Ottone didn't make him leave.
Time slowly ticked by. More often than not, Tsuna found himself glancing at the clock above the register machine. A small part of his brain idly wondered why no one was calling an ambulance. Someone had been shot, hadn't they? By all right, Little Trinci should have been teeming with paramedics and cops demanding to know where, and when, and who.
Tsuna easily dismissed the thought. It had been years, but he still remembered what words like mafia and Famiglias meant. Secrecy. Isolation. Conflicts resolved with fire and gunpowder, away from daylight and civilian laws. Tsuna knew all about it. He still had the scars.
"Hey.
A shadow suddenly fell over him. Tsuna looked up, his mind snapping back to the present.
The teenager stood in front of him, a thoughtful frown on his face. "What's your name?" he asked.
Tsuna stuttered out an answer, noting that the boy was pretty tall, with black curly hair and dark eyes. His skin was pale, though it had a healthy glow that hinted at a darker suntan during summer.
Tsuna scrambled for a name. "And you're, huh… Emmanuel?"
The teenager gave him a flat look. "Lucio."
Tsuna flushed, because of course he'd get that wrong.
Without waiting for an invitation, Lucio dragged a chair over and sat down. For a moment, neither of them talked as they watched Ottone holding the dishtowel against Lorenzo's wound.
"Is he really your dad?" Lucio abruptly asked. "Ottone, I mean."
Tsuna hummed an affirmative.
"As in, the little brother of Coyote Nougat, right?" Lucio insisted. "Nono's Storm Guardian? From the Vongola Famiglia?"
Yes, yes, and yes. Unfortunately.
Tsuna shrugged. "He's retired?"
"Wow." Lucio whistled. "That's, like, being part of the inner circle or something."
"Not really –"
"He must know the Vongola boss then. Hell, he must be friend with him. Can you imagine that?" Lucio paused. "Wait. Do you –"
"No." Tsuna's voice came out fast, sharp, an automatic denial that rose from the sleeping monster inside.
Implying that Timoteo was a friend made him want to hit something.
("I need a few moments with Tsunayoshi.")
"We're not mafiosos," Tsuna said, softer this time, because Lucio was eying him strangely. "We're not like them."
Not like you.
Their little family did not belong to the underworld. Ottone and Cinzia had kept him far away from the mafia, and that was fine by Tsuna. He wanted nothing to do with those people.
Lucio was still giving him strange looks.
Tsuna felt the tips of his ears starting to grow hot.
Before he could stammer out a question to steer the topic back onto safer grounds, light suddenly flooded the front shop, blinding and painful after so long spent in semi-darkness.
Cinzia stood in the doorway, wearing her lacy nightdress as if it were armor.
"Do you mind if I crash your little party?" she asked sweetly, each word full of razor blades. "I'm afraid I didn't get the invitation."
Tsuna winced. Forget Lorenzo and his bleeding side, they were all going to die.
"Shit," Ottone muttered from somewhere in the background.
Tsuna was fourteen, and he wanted nothing to do with the mafia.
.
.
Silence and cold.
Darkness and glaciers.
Tsuna was dreaming again.
Ice glistened beneath his feet, hard and flat and damaged by jagged cracks that crisscrossed over its surface. They were definitely bigger now – had grown larger and deeper over the years as if straining to push the ice apart, to forge a passage that lead all the way down into the center of the universe.
Tsuna shivered.
Sparks of light danced all around him, drifting like fireflies caught in a small breeze. He held out a hand and one of them landed on his palm. It was warm, so very warm. Tsuna savored the sensation, even as guilt choked him with ghostly fingers. A war ripped his insides apart as he stood there, tearing at him over a choice that had to be made time and time again, every second of every night.
(Break-the-ice!)
Tsuna jerked away from the orange lights. He stumbled back from the crack, squeezed his eyes shut, and for one dizzying second, he let himself fall.
His eyes snapped open a heartbeat later. He was back in his bedroom. The clock on his bedside table read four am.
Well.
Tsuna let out a deep breath. The air he released came out as a white cloud, as if he'd just breathed ice into the room. For a long moment he just lied there, visions of glowing lights and ashes playing out in his mind.
Then he coughed, and it hurt like hell.
Tsuna blanched.
"No," he told himself firmly. "No."
It probably would have been more convincing if his voice hadn't sounded like the scratchy croak of a dying possum. Tsuna's pulse skyrocketed. He hated it – hated how being sick brought him right back to that place of steel and glass and chemicals, where he'd had no control over his own body.
He rolled over, burying his head under the blanket.
Tsuna was fifteen and denial wasn't just the name of a river.
.
.
The candle lights danced merrily above the cake. Its chocolate icing looked smooth and sweet and absolutely delicious.
Tsuna leaned closer.
The little flames shivered with his every breath.
"Go on," Cinzia said.
Ottone stood a little to the side, aiming a camera at Tsuna with a disgruntled expression. He'd been glaring at the world ever since Cinzia had threatened him with bodily harm if he didn't take the best goddamn pictures ever.
"Don't forget to make a wish," he said.
Tsuna blew out the sixteen candles.
Smoke rose in the air and Cinzia clapped loudly. A flash went off as Ottone aimed his camera. Soon the cake was cut, and plates were passed around.
Tsuna was smiling so big his cheeks hurt.
He hadn't made a wish. Everything he needed was right there.
.
.
"Who's Nero?"
The question caught him by complete surprise.
Tsuna jerked around, his heart beat kicking up to a thunderous drum.
Lucio looked back at him. He winced.
It was Easter break and the two of them were hanging out in Tsuna's room, reading comics and enjoying a quiet afternoon without school or homework.
"Sorry," Lucio said, shoulders hunching a little.
"Where did you hear that name?" Tsuna asked sharply.
"You…" Lucio hesitated. "You talk in your sleep. Sometimes."
Ah.
Tsuna stilled.
He couldn't remember dreaming about Nero recently, but Lucio had come over often enough during the past three years that it wouldn't really be a surprise if he'd heard some mumblings at some point or another.
Nero was like a shadow after all, a little ghost that never drifted far from his thoughts, a scar that had never really healed. Of course, Tsuna would see him when he closed his eyes. Of course, he would call his name.
"Forget it," Lucio said quickly. "You don't need to talk about–"
"It's fine," Tsuna cut him off. He flopped back onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. "Nero is – he was …"
Friend. Anchor. Sun.
Mine.
Tsuna settled on saying, "He was like a brother."
But.
That wasn't it either, was it?
Nero had been so much more, could have become so much more. Even now, almost nine years later, the loss of that unexplored potential still robbed the breath out of Tsuna. It made him feel as if there was a hole near his heart, like an ache that woke him up at night and kept him awake with visions of white rooms and charred bodies.
Lucio let out a small noise of acknowledgement. He stared down at his comic, hiding behind its cover as if trying to shield himself from the hurt his question had caused.
Tsuna's lips stretched into a smile.
He was okay.
Really.
He focused on his surroundings, looking at his clothes and books and games. His eyes fell on a pair of textbooks, dog-eared and wrinkled from use. It was strange to think he would be finishing high school in less than three months. Graduation was approaching fast, and Tsuna couldn't honestly say he would miss being a student.
The sound of a car engine drifted in from the open window.
Lucio perked up. "Is it your dad?" he asked.
Tsuna shook his head. "Neighbors."
"Oh." Lucio's fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on his book. Then, "Can I stay over for dinner tonight?"
No, was Tsuna first reaction, immediately followed by a heartfelt, hell no.
Lucio had come back the day after Lorenzo had been shot to bring news of the man's full recovery – and he'd never really left. He'd started to show up frequently, stars in his eyes and worship in his every word as he interacted with Ottone like some sort of over-eager puppy. Somewhere along the line, he'd become friend with Tsuna.
Lucio belonged to the Beccio Famiglia, a small mafia group that lived a one-hour drive away from the bakery. Though technically allied with the Vongola, they weren't high enough on the totem pole to be of any relevance in the grand scheme of things. Lucio, as the first born of a low-ranking member of his Famiglia, regarded Ottone and his mysterious past with the same adoration some kids reserved for rock stars.
Fanboys, Tsuna had discovered, were a real pain in the ass.
He was not dealing with that right now.
"I'm hungry," he said quickly. "Are you hungry? Because I am. I'll go grab something."
He stood up and aimed for the door.
Lucio tackled him right as his toes brushed the floor in the hallway. A strong arm wrapped around his neck and held him in a chokehold.
"Hey!" Tsuna let out a squawk of protest, feet pedaling in the air.
"Come on, I can stay, right?" Lucio growled. He waved a box of chocolates in the air with his free hand, the one that wasn't strangling Tsuna. "Look, I even brought him a present!"
Chocolates.
These were chocolates.
Tsuna sputtered. "You're completely crazy." He flailed a little, making a weird sort of tap dance in his attempts escape. "And let go!"
"I'm a surportive member of the younger generation," Lucio said without missing a beat. He tightened his hold. "Don't stand in my way."
"I'm not!"
Tsuna twisted sideway, and managed to wriggle free. He took off at a dead run toward the living-room and – to the surprise of absolutely no one – promptly tripped on a rug. He went flying over the dining table and crashed on the other side with a yelp.
Lucio caught up with him just as he managed to untangle himself from the chair he'd knocked over.
The teen squatted down beside Tsuna and smirked. "Nice landing."
.
.
"Call me before you go to sleep, understood?"
"Yes, I'll–"
"And lock the door behind you. Don't leave the windows open."
"I know." Tsuna gave Cinzia a light push toward the exit. "You've been repeating yourself for ten minutes."
Cinzia shrugged off his hands and surveyed on last time the small apartment. She nodded to herself. "Yeah, I think we've got everything covered."
Ottone stood in the hallway outside, stewing with impatience as he held the front door open. "Jesus, leave the brat alone. He'll be fine."
"Of course, he'll be fine. I raised him."
"Then what the hell are you panicking for?"
"Shut up," she snapped. "It's a tradition, alright? I'm supposed to be fussing right now!"
"Bullshit. You just like the drama."
Cinzia stabbed a finger in his direction. "If you don't stop being a killjoy right this instant I'm moving away to live with Tsuna."
Ottone checked his watch. "Be my fucking guest. I'm sure the bathtub will be very comfortable."
"Asshole."
Tsuna groaned. He was sweaty from a day of lugging around pieces of furniture and unpacking boxes. He just wanted to collapse in bed and sleep for a week.
"Guys…"
"Okay, okay." Cinzia rolled her eyes. "You two are no fun." She grabbed Tsuna's shoulders and yanked him down to plant a resounding kiss on his forehead. "Be well, stay safe, and remember – if you need us, we're right around the corner."
Tsuna smiled. "I know. Thank you."
"Right. One last thing then." Cinzia dug into her handbag and shoved something small into his hands. "Here, take this."
Tsuna glanced down – and found himself staring at a box of condoms.
Cinzia patted his cheek. "Don't forget to use protection," she crooned.
Tsuna slowly looked up, horrified.
Could – could someone actually die out of sheer mortification?
"Cinzia!" he yelped, ears burning. He flung the box away as if it were a viper and basically kicked the woman out of the apartment. Cinzia let herself be pushed away, cackling the whole time like a second-rate supervillain.
Tsuna sort of wanted to hit her with a pillow. He settled for slamming the door hard enough to shake the walls.
"Really?" he heard Ottone grumble through the wood.
A snicker. "I had to. Did you see his face?"
Their footsteps grew fainter and fainter, and Tsuna let himself slide down to the floor. He covered his cheeks with both hands and waited a minute or two for his skin to stop feeling like painful sunburns. Damn, he'd been too naïve. He'd let his guard down and Cinzia had rushed into the opening, blindsiding him with a critical hit.
Tsuna peeked at the silent apartment through his fingers.
One table with two chairs, a bed and a small TV were all crammed into the fifteen square meters room. A small kitchenette faced the window above his bed, complete with a fridge, a micro wave, and a portable hotplate.
It wasn't much, but it was Tsuna's home now.
He'd moved away the day before, though his new place wasn't exactly very far from the bakery. Little Trinci was literally two blocks down the street. It wouldn't take a five-minute walk to get there.
He'd wanted to do this.
It had been Tsuna's idea to become independent as soon as possible, to stand on his own two feet and prove to himself that he could take responsibility for his life. He would work, earn money to pay for rent. It had taken a long time for Cinzia and Ottone to accept his decision, but he'd been adamant.
Tsuna gulped.
The silence in the apartment felt intimidating.
Heavy.
Daunting.
Tsuna wrapped his arms around himself. There would be no heavy footsteps to wake him up in the morning now. No voices arguing down the hallway, no drifting off to sleep while someone's was up and moving in the living room.
It probably wasn't too late to change his mind.
He could still call and tell them that he wasn't ready after all, that he wanted to go home and never leave again. They wouldn't say no. Cinzia would be there in a heartbeat, Ottone one step behind her, ready to drag his things back to the moving truck. He could be sleeping in his own bedroom that very night.
Except.
Tsuna wouldn't do that.
He loved Ottone and Cinzia fiercely, but he'd never really forgotten how it had all started in an abandoned house with an old man saying, Tsunayoshi will be sent away. Years had passed since then, and Tsuna wouldn't take another moment of their lives, not if he could help it. He wasn't a burden, not anymore.
(Resolve-and-reassurance.)
A whisper abruptly brushed the back of his mind.
(Resolve-and-strength.)
Tsuna leaped to his feet as if he'd been electrocuted.
Nope, nope, nope.
He'd heard nothing. There was no voice in his head, no presence under his skin.
Tsuna had just turned eighteen, and he was completely, perfectly normal.
So, of course, that's when the hitman came crashing into his life and decided to stay.
.
.
Bam.
We're done with the first arc of this fic.
I can't believe it took me over 45k words to get there. Those are the basic points of the plot I wanted established for Hiraeth: a sort of civilian-raised Tsuna who's been screwed over by the mafia world time and time again. He's not exactly happy with them right now, and they better brace themselves for his reappearance. Also, faulty seal – that's going to be fun to play with.
Anyway, new canon characters are going to start appearing, first of the list being everyone's favorite hitman.
Until next time guys,
Rei.