TW: Suicide mention.

noun: truthfulness, candidness

Tsuna's cold, frozen to the bones, and his weak voice barely registers over his heart beating in his ears. "Don't tell me... Mom...? Mom is—"

"That's not what I said," Reborn cuts him off. "We can't be sure of anything yet."

Tsuna doesn't hear him. Tsuna doesn't believe him. A war is happening, a Vongola hunt, what else could it mean they couldn't establish contact?

His mom is—oh God, oh God. His mom is—his mom.

"Why?" Tsuna chokes out, not really a question. His dad brought her to Italy. As if he didn't know—how could he not know of the disastrous state of things, of all places to bring her, why— "Why did he do that?" Tsuna chokes out again, clearer, louder, harsher; to no one in particular, to his dad, but he isn't there.

Why hasn't he made contact with them yet? Why couldn't he protect her? Always away as far as Tsuna can remember, looking back so rarely they're father and son in name only, and what for, when a hitman walked into their home anyway, and now his mom is—

"Tsuna!" Reborn slaps him, and the pain burning his cheek grounds him back to reality. "Put yourself back together," he says, not unkindly, but not kind either. "Don't think you're the only one affected by this. If anything, you're one of the lucky ones."

Tsuna's anger burns hotter, but Yamamoto speaks before he can, "Bianchi and Fuuta are gathering intelligence. Our other allies, however... Longchamp and his family, Mochida as well, have been missing for two days... Most of the friends we've made these past ten years have been eliminated."

"Including Yamamoto's father," Reborn says, and Tsuna can't have heard him right. He looks at Reborn, waiting in the deafening silence for him to repeat himself, waiting in the heavy, suffocating silence for him to apologize for his cruel joke. Reborn stares back. "Would I lie about something like this?"

"No way..." Gokudera breathes out. He shifts at the corner of his eye towards Yamamoto, and Tsuna finds himself doing the same.

Yamamoto doesn't look back at either of them, standing straight, his arms crossed on his chest. Same old Yamamoto, with shadows in his eyes like sadness and guilt, digging his nails into his arms, gritting his teeth. It barely keeps the pain and anger at bay, and he looks nothing like the Yamamoto he knows.

"Oh no, oh no, Yamamoto..." Tsuna's voice sounds too loud in the silence of the room, even when he can barely let the words out. "Oh God, Yamamoto, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

How could he have ever thought they were the same—how dares he call himself his friend, when he couldn't even tell his suffering at first glance, let alone all the others after that?

Tsuna steps forwards on shaky legs, unsteady, his sight blurry with tears. He reaches out to Yamamoto, as if he has any right to that, when he couldn't even tell, he couldn't tell—

He trips, but catches himself on his hands and knees, and doesn't feel the pain flare through his knees, doesn't feel the cold floor against his hands. Tears roll down his cheeks, and he can't bear to raise his head, can't bear to look at Yamamoto again.

"Tenth..."

"I'm so sorry," Tsuna says again, his voice weak, his words meaningless. Whose fault it is, Yamamoto was dragged into the mafia to begin with? "Yamamoto, I'm so sorry, so sorry..." Who was it, Yamamoto stayed in the mafia for?

"Don't." Yamamoto kneels in front of him, cradles his face, and lifts his head up to look him in the eye. He smiles. "Come on, Tsuna. Not with me, not for me. Aren't we friend? There's nothing about this you have to apologize for." He smiles, same old Yamamoto, ever the cheerful one.

Tsuna grabs him by his jacket, and shakes him. "What are you smiling about?" he cries. "Your dad—!"

[Yamamoto tried to kill himself once, not so long ago for Tsuna, for so much less than that.

How painful it is behind that smile?]

"We have other more pressing matters to focus on," Yamamoto says gently, but his voice leaves no room for arguments. He coaxes Tsuna's hands away from his jacket, then dries his eyes with the hem of his sleeve. "This is no time for any of this, but I'm glad you don't understand."

"What are you saying...?" Tsuna whispers, defeated, because he doesn't understand, but he does.

Yamamoto helps him up back to his feet, smiling still, and it doesn't fool him anymore, but it did.

[How much practice he has behind that smile?]

Yamamoto averts his eyes from him to Reborn, his smile slipping away for a serious expression, and maybe in some twisted way he's grateful for the current urgent state of everything.

Tsuna understands, but he doesn't want to.

[This is what ten years of mafia do to you.]

Tears brim in his eyes, apologies push against his lips, but he bites down on them.

No amount of apologies will bring Yamamoto's father back to life.

A/N: I'm sick and feel like shit, so I'd love to hear about your thoughts more than usual.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Any and all review are appreciated.

Thank you for reading!

- Hope