Side-stories
Side-drabble 1
Gokudera fell in love when he was sixteen, and ready to throw his life away. She was beautiful, and strong, and kind and generous and not very bright but that was okay because it made her only more appealing, and she could never, ever, be his.
He was content with that, because he thought that even if she couldn't be his he would always be hers. Always be close to her and serve her, and never, ever touch because the starving man watching the banquet could never, ever look away. (Gokudera was not actually all that bright either.)
Imagine his delight when he found out she spoke Italian, though rustily, as though she had not used it in many years. Something that stupid Yamamoto couldn't share with her.
"Boss, you're so good at this."
"I stayed with Un- ah, the Ninth for a while."
"He taught you?"
"Ah- no," she said, and a shadow passed over her eyes. Gokudera was horrified. How could he? He pried too much, presumed too much familiarity. He stuttered around an apology, but Tenth answered him in Japanese.
"The ninth wasn't the one to teach me," she said, then smiled brightly. "Gokudera-kun, let's go find Lambo and Fuuta, okay?"
They did not converse in Italian again.
Side-drabble 2
The teachers started it. Or, y'know, one teach started it, and the boys picked it up as a joke and then, like, everyone was calling Sawada Natsumi No-good Natsu, and what the hell, even if it is kind of mean, it fits. Bad grades, bad sports, bad attitude.
It isn't like the freaking ice queen cares.
And it's not like we never tried to talk to her. Like, some of us knew her, you know? From back before she went to live overseas. Same neighborhood and all. And, when we tried to talk to her, have lunch with us like a normal person when she came back in the middle of the first year of junior high, she just stared at us like we were aliens or something. Didn't say a word. Every time for a week. And, like, whatever. You don't want to deign to talk to us? Fine, bitch. We won't talk to you.
And, yeah, I guess she is kinda cute, if you like that sort of thing- all petite and adorable. Plenty of guys liked her when she first came. But she wouldn't even give them the time of day. If they sent her letters, she just ripped them up and threw them away. Like she couldn't even bear to touch them, much less read them.
I mean, bitch. Even if you have a boyfriend or whatever, at least say something, you know? It takes balls to confess.
It's kinda a pity. Cause she was perfectly nice before she went overseas. A little air-headed, but okay.
And whatever happened overseas turned her into a first-class bitch.
(And Natsu puts her head up and casts her eyes down and won't cringe but trembles and remembers, it's weak to let them see you cry.)
Side-drabble 3
"Voooiii!" shrieked Squalo, impressed by the Vongola mansion in spite of himself. "Xanxus! Where the-"
"Silence," came a girl's voice with the worst accent Squalo has ever heard. She was tiny, with long wavy brown hair and an annoying adorable face, fairly shaking with indignation. She's- asian? And completely out of place. She stood at the top of a grand flight of stairs, and failed pathetically at glaring at Squalo.
"Your pronunciation," said Squalo with dignity, refusing to be cowed even by someone as obviously a mafia princess- of the Vongola family, no less- as this. "Is shit. Where's Xanxus?"
The look she gave him, pure ice and contempt, might have come from the man himself. "Sleeping. No one is allowed to disturb him." She turned her head in another of Xanxus's mannerisms, muttered something to herself in some foreign language- huffy and garbled to Squalo's ears, the syllables running into each other like rain. It mightbe Japanese, but Squalo's knowledge of Japan, Japanese and sundry may be summed up thusly: they have sword masters.
She puts up a good front, but Squalo's met better, nervousness vibrates up her spine. She might be mimicking Xanxus- and more power to her, emulating the Ninth's son- but she has none of the bone-deep arrogance of privilege that Xanxus exudes like he breathes. Still, it's a pretty good smoke for all that. "Tell him to get the fuck down here. We've got hell to raise."
Bristling, she opened her mouth- and promptly shut it again, as a large hand landed on her head. "Stop your fucking caterwauling," Xanxus snarled by way of greeting. The girl looked like a child beside him, and she looked up at him like one, all adoration and anxiety and a touch of reverence, like a really well-trained dog. "Get the fuck out of my house," he said, "and get one of the drivers."
Squalo strode away with an eyeroll for Xanxus's inability to be even remotely civil. He turned back to fix that girl in his memory- whose daughter must she be?- and Xanxus was kissing that girl.
His hand had slid from the top of her head to pull and hold her to him with his fingers threaded through her hair, and he'd moved a step below her so that their ridiculous height difference was no longer so bad. She'd closed her eyes and leaned in with an expression of bliss.
Squalo got out there like the hounds of hell were on his heels. He forgot the girl soon enough for news of an unbeatable sword school in Japan, but not before he had time to be surprised at something he could not possibly have noticed: Xanxus, rude and careless and indifferent to everything, touching that girl as though she was as fragile and precious as glass.