Chapter 6

I see myself in you

Porcelain walls, marbled floors, decorative statues that had a soft candlelight glow diffused on the surface as the chandelier above the wide floor glowed beautifully. Stained glass windows that let polarized light taking on the different colours of the pieces as they reflected and refracted across the different architectural designs.

They cracked loudly amidst infiltrations, fragile as they were and strategically close to entry points for easy detections. Many of the works hung on the walls as tokens of bribery, display of weaknesses laundered around to account for debts and favours- intimidating guests, reminding them of the price they paid for living.

The polite mannerisms of the different servants that came and went. Their impeccable manners, their distant yet servile attitude that made them heed to the beck and call of their masters as they granted any and requests, whether it be verbal or nonverbal.

-Replaced often to prevent familiarity and the possibility of them deflecting as insiders, tempted or threatened by enemies. To prevent an attachment from familiarity when they were caught in the middle of a gunfight. Some as a tribute for entertaining guests, living trophies as hostages of other weaker families- to be kept an eye on and to observe a running rat that scuttled around for information that would get themselves and their dear ones out off the beast's maw.

Mahogany, ebony, maple, rosewood decorated furniture that made it seem like entire forests from different tropics were concentrated in the abode, making for a miniature Gaia, as crafted leaves made from gemstones- emeralds and rubies for making up the different seasons. Glass blown furniture's that encased its beautiful appearance at the cost of the craftsmen's eyes and lungs. Taxidermy of hunts and games, a display of power and skill for preserving life in its final moments, a sham of the magnificent creature it once was. They lived on as they died.

The extravagancy that surrounded Gokudera's childhood always felt like a masquerade, for something that delicate and elegant couldn't possibly be a part of the Mafia. The polite masks that people donned as they masked their savagery, that underlying darkness that exploited and sapped the very life of their victims in the name of conviction and chivalry as they amassed wealth an honest living could never accumulate fast enough. This mansion that they lived in was drenched in blood with air that was contaminated in deceit.

Gokudera could see past the faux pretences that the Mafia Boss, his father put as he usurped and created a place for himself amidst the nobles that rode on coattails, inheriting legacies as they tightly held onto their amassed fortune.

"This will all be yours when you grow up, Hayato."

Yes, all that blood and violence would transfer themselves onto his hands, the very lithe and delicate fingers that spun gentle tones on the piano as it played 'Clair de Lune', disarming the petite woman who looked over his prowess. Her figure slouched slightly as she sighed wistfully as the sounds permeated the practice room. It was a room without carpets or curtains that absorbed the sound, instead opting for resonating the tunes amidst the close, soundproof walls. The piano had been carefully tuned every day.

She was the sole exception, one of the few constants that accompanied Gokudera, someone he thought was far from the bloody ties that bound them together in the name of family. The piano sang with a pristine melody in bright stages in concerts and recitals. A feeling akin to stage fright was replaced as his sister with purple hair, distinct from his own silver hair, Bianchi cheered him on with her special brand of homemade food. His stomach would feel like it was eating itself from the inside as sweat pooled all over, a pain worse than mere nervousness as eyes filled with expectation, that lady's anticipation focussed on his performance. Light-headedness and nausea overcame him as his fingers took flight purely on muscle memory as he tried to shift focus to the music that overflew. Debussy's reverie filled the music hall, as the pain bled into the background as he fell into a soft companionship, an illusion of peace.

One where the lady with flawless hands with similar features mentored him with a quiet smile in a room with a piano that asked hours and hours of their time to sing of a myriad of emotions bled into the notes of composers, more truthful than he had ever seen around his surroundings.

Her hands that mussed his hair without trembling or hesitating in fear, the trigger that could set off the Boss's temper from the show of disrespect. Their apprehension at his sharp perception and intelligence. Eyes that betrayed just how much he could understand and the secrets that he had filed away for god knows what reason. Her every gesture showed him just how much she cherished him with the warm look that she showered him with like he wasn't the means to an end. The pieces that she cherry-picked for him with expectations on just how she wanted to raise him, hopes and dreams of what could be- like Haydn, Mozart and Dvorak compositions. The sudden hugs followed by squeals of "How cute!" that she'd give when she spotted a blush that dusted over his skin at the attention and praise.

Where he didn't have to notice and care for why only his sister shared features with their mother and father, while even if Gokudera looked vaguely like his father, the puzzle was left incomplete with a dangling, broken piece at his side- the one who wouldn't get replaced and would be unseen and not acknowledged. Biology, that science would whisper family secrets, but he didn't have to listen, lost in the serenity evoked by those black and white keys. He didn't have to think of the time between the end and start of the meeting, the threat that arose from her permanence and the fear that arose from wondering about the vulnerability of the civilian with inner strength and lithe body- one that was not robust nor rugged from the countless atrocities that littered in every corner of the majestic mansion. The piano room was their gilded cage, but the door was wide open for the lady, Lavina to leave as she pleased. But like a tamed bird, she would always return.

Gokudera hated the fact that he was the incentive.

Amidst those closed walls, his hands were freedom as his face was slack enough to let joy slip past without consequences. There were no other eyes here, just the two of them, two humans who simply practised music together. The bond that Hayato could showcase in the concerts, wearing a black suit- just like the mafia, no stains will show. The childish grin would escape as it grew infectious as Bianchi would congratulate him as they made plans for the celebration and this time, she wouldn't need to spill lies one after the other. Not about her missions, her occupation, her honey traps and poisons that killed people without getting her hands dirty. Nor about the origin or identity of the Lavina, the woman he stuck to like glue and without warning him about getting too close to her (for her safety).

He found himself in the spotlight, concerto after concerto, recitals, plays and orchestras. Shadows tagged behind him, hidden away from his line of sight. Bianchi brought bouquets that stood out with bright colours, always the first person to congratulate him on a performance from the backstage… with her food rioting in his stomach during the performance. They also looked bright with colours that nature employed to show how poisonous they were to consume and something Gokudera had to begrudgingly ignore at the goodwill from his sister (which made it seem like being on her good or bad side didn't matter at all, they were all going to experience the same thing. Just like how any food would end up in a stomach, only to turn into shit, but it's different!). On other times, it would be him bathing in sunlight and warm hues as four hands would play merry tunes like peppy ragtime as they went into impromptus after impromptus with laughter in the air, a melody of its own that added on to the jazz.

Sometimes his mentor would be in a playful tone as she would give him a shit-eating grin as she taunted him to concentrate while she tickled loud guffaws out of him. Bianchi would sometimes smirk as she lay across the piano surface in a gown as Gokudera would look exasperated and deeply concerned at the extra weight on the delicate instrument until she noticed that gaze.

"Hayato~ I'm not even that heavy! Even though a beautiful lady's across your piano~ You're not romantic at all! Boo! You'll not get popular with the ladies this way!~" she'd pout as her cheeks flushed and she'd take another wine glass and the tipsy handling of the glass as it hovered across the piano would send Gokudera into full alert.

The piano soon became a bittersweet memory. It filled him with rose-coloured memories. The day where she'd never make it for the class with her body mangled in a car crash without any farewells. She was unarmed with none of the protection forces assigned to her. He had been practising Chopin's Ballade No. 1 in G Minor and it had been so fitting, resonated so deeply with the predicament and the melody just went on and on within his head, his hands long stopped and shivering in disbelief.

He felt like he was hyper-aware of his surroundings as the one who came to tell him of the news was Bianchi- no one else remembered or bothered to tell him, the one who'd be most affected by the death that not raised not one eyebrow in the mansion. The red wine that Bianchi had left on the piano the last night, the one that he left for later to remove to practise- the crescendos in the piece were difficult and the mood to get the tempo and intonation right for the piece had been difficult to grasp- and yet now, it was flowing and loudly at that, ringing in his ears. His sudden movement tipped the glass as the crimson liquid dripped and seeped into the keys as the piano croaked horribly.

His eyes were wide open and his pupils expanded to their limits as his voice warbled.

"W-Why? W-was it because we're not family?"

Bianchi's eyes widened ever so slightly at the fact that he realized what she tried to protect him from. But she remained silent- an admission of truth.

He felt blood pool towards his ears as he heated up rapidly, dizzyingly. His eyes darted all over the place. The glass fell downwards with a shattering noise. So loud.

The crimson overlapped with his imagination. Now she was just a body. They were outsiders the two of them, that's why the Mafia didn't extend its arms of protection to them. That was why he was always let off the loop. Bianchi's hair almost looked bright pink, reddish in that sunset. It was red all over and Hayato could puke that very instant.

He gasped for breath as tears pooled and burned and stung him.

He slapped away Bianchi's worried hands, hair tangled onto her arms like as if blood wrapped and crawled around it, to snake towards him- death's invitation.

The guilt at the harsh action instantly clutched him as he saw her hurt gaze at the rejection. He curled into himself as he keened pitifully as screams wouldn't leave him. Not in this room of joy. It didn't belong. And he didn't belong. Nor did his mother.

He tumbled backwards and crashed into the piano. It made a horrendous cry as pieces lodged out and strings plucked disgracefully.

Ahhh…

It was the end.

It was all over.

There wasn't even a curtain call.

It was instantaneous-

For everything to be ruined in an instant.

To be so unstable that he couldn't even stand in on the ground- it was borrowed time, just as it was borrowed space. A temporary shelter.

Unwanted.

He clung miserably onto the broken piano as he sobbed, looking utterly dishevelled. Bianchi didn't move closer, sadness etched onto her visage. There was no saving this, no saving her. They could have never been mother and son, having broken out of the act. The piano was the closest thing he could have to his mother right now. There were no tears that could be shed for a lost family because it was never to be acknowledged.

That piano was the property of the Mafia Boss.

In an ironic twist of fate, his escape from the family was without fanfare. He was not pursued and that grief that haunted him turned into rage and impatience, he was spiralling into self-destruction. It was so easy to fall into destruction with his mind easily supplying ways to ruin people.

The kindness that strangers offered seemed like it was Lavina's animated corpse and Gokudera just couldn't bare accepting it or paying it in similar terms. Caustic words were the immediate reaction as he lashed out, his heart hurting badly.

He picked up smoking to get a hold of his fraying nerves, anything to bum the pain out. The sweetened poison delivered by the tongues of people in the alleyway promised an easy way out, a way to sustain a livelihood with his depleting funds, payments that were too good to be true. Gokudera couldn't care less about the consequences as he chased after, work after work, the faces that twisted in pain, mania, hysteria, grief, madness, anger, fear…

It resonated deeply as he tried to matter to the callous Mafia that could throw the both of them away without as much as a second glance. As if the beautiful memories that he had accumulated were trash, as his body grew more and more beat up the more reckless, he became and the more unhinged he became as he could lose nothing… and gain nothing.

He had nothing in his hands from the start.

There was no eternity.

But they wouldn't acknowledge him regardless of his abilities.

Ironically, he fought and begged for their attention.

The murderers and pillagers of his treasure.

There was no worth to his life. He took suicide missions, bombs wrapped up around him, poison in a capsule inside his mouth. Yet his vitality was so strong, it wouldn't kill him, only leaving behind lacerations and scars that seem to catch up with his pain.

He was so trivial; he could even treat himself with that much disregard.

There was so much self-loathing that he stooped this low for those that destroyed what he wanted to protect- his dreams, his hopes, his future.

That… that was why when he saw Tsuna kneeling in front of the flower grave in front of their home, it struck parallels. Reborn's suit amplifying his silhouette and what it meant for the bomber.

He knelt down as he took the brunette in a hug. The look those auburn eyes gave were so similar to his younger self.

"You've done nothing wrong."

"Were you listening in on us…?"

"The walls aren't soundproof."

"Then you know what I did to you. Even still…?"

"You saved me. I wanted to do what I could do for my mother. I was too late, and I couldn't even repent or take revenge- I even had the tables flipped on me." It was a raspy voice choking on regret.

"…But I made her live. And so selfishly at that."

"And what's wrong with that? I… didn't cling onto what I cherished.

…Because it was never mine.

There is a never-ending list of regrets that I can't fulfil. There are so many unfinished promises that we made. But I'm the only one left and I… can't fulfil them alone.

I… can't even touch the piano anymore."

"There was never a future for us after what I did. I trapped us in the past."

"Do you mean the future where you would be the Vongola Boss? You wouldn't be doing so much different there. Its history is blood-soaked. The Mafia is so… so very selfish and selective about what they want to protect." Gokudera spoke bitterly. "As more memories pile up, you lose your priorities and the attachment and pain fade with time. It's the curse of human adaptability. Even if you take over Nana's legacy, the Mafia's currency is violence. They will treat you as Primo's successor as best, or Sawada Iemitsu's son, worse and Secondo's second coming at worst."

Tsuna could feel Gokudera's flames pulse in resonance with the little that leaked out of him.

"I… could only destroy and ruin anything, whether it was good or bad. You were the one to reach out to a me who's like this." The silverette gave him a sad grin. "But if you still say it was a bad move. I can help you set things right.

I believe in the eternity that you create. After all, what you create is harmony and that's the natural state of equilibrium, the most stable state which won't get deviated from. A constant and an eternity.

It's definitely possible. The universe ticks towards a heat death where everything is nothing and vice versa."

At Tsuna's look of hesitation, Gokudera brought the other's hand towards his chest. The hand had threads of sky flames, leaking from the brunette. It tried to reach the other and finally succeeded in doing so. Storm flames wrapped itself around the sky flames as it submitted completely. If Tsuna were to say something right now, that strong suggestion would be Gokudera's fate, half of his foot was already in his grave.

"I'm willing to surrender my everything to you, Tsuna so that I can accompany you in death and life."

Reborn looked furious. A dark look full of the promise of incoming pain as he saw the bomber deliberately encourage his disciple's habit. The storm flames were Gokudera's gun as they could resonate and amplify enough to disintegrate through the brunette's core given how inviting and accepting the other was being. A threat and the perfect collar.

The invisible golden tendrils that wrapped around Gokudera's essence intoxicated Tsuna. It spoke of a loyalty so deep that it could fill the gigantic pitfall that Tsuna dug and dug into from the harsh pangs of loneliness.

"Have you heard of Nash equilibrium in an adversarial game. In a game of a forger against a connoisseur, the best outcome is a 50-50 guess of which is fake and which is real. That's because at that point the difference between the two doesn't exist."

Tsuna took that as a reassurance for the dollhouse that he had created, but Reborn seethed at the implied message. The bomber must have gotten information of Rokudo Mukuro and the lifelike illusions he was capable of invoking.

Reborn mouthed a message- "Do you plan on betraying the Vongola?"

That would mean that he planned on using the illusionist for Tsuna's agendas, the ones separate from the Vongola's, ones that wouldn't lead to them having a stronger loyalty to each other through the Vongola. That and the illusionist who was in demand with the Vendice would create an enmity that the famiglia would struggle against, especially in these trying times.

It seemed like to untangle Tsuna from the webs he created, he had to deal with his guardians first. While he understood how the elements stayed loyal to the sky and what it stood for, this brought a lot of complications- especially when they validate each other like this.

Gokudera clutched the boy tightly into himself with enough strength that he could assimilate the brunette right into himself. His eyes gleamed with a deathly promise as he stood in between the piano room and the mansion that represented the encompassing, overarching Mafia.

This time… this time, he wouldn't fail them.

The future that was offered by Tsuna- he wouldn't let anyone take it away from them.