I am your angel as you are my angel.
Seven
Orithyea
Extra 3: With Gokudera Hayato
Poor boy. He doesn't even know anything.
You can't blame the master. He needed an heir—
The boy ran as fast as he could with both palms covering each ear, mind filled with anxious thoughts. Cruel: a word so simple, yet perfectly described the people around him. Such an important truth was hidden from him. A tool, unwanted, unloved, alone. One thing he was certain of was that no one but himself could be trusted. Men and women alike would betray you, throw you away like a piece of garbage, and stomp on you like ants frolicking under your feet.
So he hardened his heart and ran away.
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.
"Oi, old man," Gokudera growled, holding the pan while glaring at the man seated, reading a magazine. "I cooked the eggs so you better damn set up the table."
"That's not a nice tone to direct to someone you're freeloading from," said the man lazily, flipping a page. Scowling, Gokudera turned off the stove and took two plates, placing an egg each on it. From the rice cooker, he scooped out a cup for them, and irkedly set it on the table. The man watched, amused at the teen's antics. "You know, Hayato. With you here, I can't bring home any girls now."
Gokudera, now seated, raised an eyebrow at the man. "And you're implying that I should leave? Is that it? You know that you can't do shit in your house, and that I have to do all the cleaning and cooking."
Shamal grumbled, "You don't honestly believe I've lived my life with only buying take-outs or eating outside, do you? Of course I know how to do those, brat."
"Really now?" Gokudera smirked.
"What happened to that kid who used to admire me so much? Even to the point of copying my hairstyle," cooed the doctor.
"Wha—" The teen flushed. "You bastard."
"How long has it been since you ran away? Seven years? You're fifteen now, I think."
"Almost sixteen years of shit."
Shamal looked him in the eye. "Hayato," he said, "I'm moving back to Italy."
Gokudera's eyes widened. Instantly, he slammed his palms on the table, the plates quaking in the process, and seethed, "I'm not going back to that hellhole. I'm staying here in Japan. I don't give a fuck about those bastards. They could all rot for all I care."
The older of the two tilted his head. "When did I say you were coming with me?" Oh. "Right. I'm leaving and I don't care what you do after that. You're fifteen now, an incoming high school boy at that."
"Look, old man. Stop beating around the bush and just get to the point. Ask me to move out or some other shit," he said, lifting his glass to sip his juice. He might as well enjoy his last breakfast at this house. Job hunting and house hunting weren't exactly his cup of tea. Shamal gave him a monthly allowance and a place to stay, in exchange for him doing all the chores around the house.
"You're not moving out."
"Eh?"
"I am."
Gokudera blinked, head thrown into confusion.
"I'm such a great guy, aren't I? No wonder girls love me." The doctor waggled his eyebrows.
"No wonder girls love to dump you."
"Maybe I should just kick you out." Seeing as he didn't have any comeback, Shamal continued, "I only have some conditions in exchange for my good deed, Hayato." Shamal rummaged through his pocket. Gokudera waited, as patient as he was, for him to continue. An expression of recognition lighted up the doctor's face then threw something white in the teen's direction. On instinct, he caught it, which was a piece of crumpled paper. Gingerly, he opened the sheet and was met with a bunch of numbers.
"Call your sister."
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.
.
On the day that he found out about the truth, he had grown to loathe his half-sister. Why had he been the one to be the unwanted instead of her? Why had he been the one to be without a mother? They had killed her, crushed her, and sapped her out of her happiness. And now, all of the hatred and anger he had came crashing back to him. He hated his father. He hated his sister. He hated those maids and butlers who kept gossiping. He hated his life.
It wasn't fair.
His grip on the telephone tightened, fist turning white at the force.
No, concentrate.
Emerald eyes closed, and a heavy breath could be heard. Once again opening his eyes, Gokudera raised a trembling pale finger to punch in the numbers.
The first ring.
Perhaps she wasn't at home?
The second ring.
He'd just tell Shamal that no one answered.
The third ring.
No, no. He was not a coward.
The fourth ring.
He tensed.
"—llo? Hello? Is anyone there?"
Gokudera suddenly jumped, not realizing that he had spaced off. "Hello, Bianchi," was his soft reply.
"Hayato? Where are you? How are you? Why didn't you contact me? We were all so worried about you. I was worried about you!"
Somewhere you guys aren't. Fine since I left the house. I hated you. Were they really? Fat chance.
"I'm in Japan," he answered, ignoring the rest of the questions.
No one spoke up for a while. Gokudera could literally feel the tension created by such a simple phone call. He waited for his sister to speak up once more. They should be the one to contact him, to find him, to beg for his forgiveness. They didn't deserve his love; they weren't capable of giving it anyway.
"Why now?" she asked quietly.
Gokudera blinked. It was because Shamal ordered him to do so, else he's source of necessities would be gone. But he knew that it wasn't because of that. He could have just applied for the job in the convenience store that was hiring across the street, crash in the bench park, and use his meager savings for food. No, he wanted answers.
"Did you know?" he asked, voice hushed.
The hitch in the woman's breath showed her complete surprise. "About what?"
"I don't have time for your bullshit, or anyone's for that matter," growled Gokudera. "Who else knew? Did they feel proud that they managed to fuck up a kid's life? I won't even be surprised to know if they were talking shit behind me. And you," he stressed, teeth gritted, "you are a traitor."
"I believed it was for the best! And it was your mother's idea," whispered Bianchi.
Gokudera's eyes widened. "That's impossible," he hissed.
"You were being treated as a true heir, weren't you?" retorted the woman. "She knew that once everyone finds out who your true mother is, they won't treat you the same, and worse, they would probably mock you. She was thinking of your future. She wanted to protect you...and so did I. Hayato," she added desperately, "I have always been on your side. Always. Please...please believe me."
He closed his eyes, the impact of her words and seven years of anger confusing him. Perhaps anger had blinded him too much from thinking clearly. A fool was how he was treated, but what's worse was how cowardly he acted. Running away? Heh. He should have faced them and released his colourful vocabulary and, if he also could, his violent tendencies.
Bianchi continued, "I won't apologise for keeping it from you, but I do apologise for any pain I caused and for failing to protect you." Gokudera opened his eyes, not saying anything. "...Hayato?"
"I know." I just pretended you weren't.
"What?"
"That you were always on my side," he simply answered. "Che. Who was the idiot who often shoved shit she called food in my mouth? Who was the one who was able to find me no matter where I hid, and then forced me to go back to the mansion and get condemned to do something I didn't want to do?" Yes, it was you. You consistently tried to get close to me, no matter how much I pushed you. "Thank you," he whispered, "and I'm sorry." He swore he heard sniffling at the other end. Sharply, he asked, "Oi, are you crying?"
"You idiot! It's been seven years. Don't you know the guilt I felt all these years? I just...I can't...I don't...," she cried.
"I'll visit you sometime, okay? But not...him. I don't think I can take seeing him again."
"I'm happy with just that. Do you have a pen and paper?" When Gokudera said yes, she immediately dictated her home address and phone number. "Call me when you want to visit. You're welcome anytime," she happily said.
"All right." He twirled the cord of the phone, unsure on how to proceed. "So...uh...thanks?"
"No, thank you, Hayato. You have no idea how much weight you lifted off from my shoulders."
Gokudera bit his lip, feeling emotional, although he managed to croak out, "Yeah. See you."
He hung up the voice, freely allowing his tears to cascade.
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.
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Gokudera didn't honestly want to attend school, making a choice to land himself in some job instead of wasting his life in the four walls of learning shit he wouldn't be able to use in life. However, one of Shamal's conditions was for him to finish his education. It was for his sake, not the doctor's. The thought of the older man being considerate and sappy towards him was heartwarming.
Not that he would ever admit that to him.
Being raised as an heir provided him with much access to different sources at home such as their vast expanse of books. Usually, when he wanted to escape from his father and the things he required him to do, he would often either play the piano or read books. He deemed it was more worthy than pretending to be a pompous heir. At least in his own world, he didn't have to pretend who he was. Even at Shamal's, who didn't look the type at all, had a large collection of books in his study, which he allowed his charge to use, claiming that at least he'd get to use his brain which was practically dead, to which Gokudera simply scoffed.
When he entered Namimori High School – since it was the one nearest to Shamal's apartment – Gokudera was utterly bored out of his mind. The lessons, he already knew, to which he begrudgingly had to thank Shamal for.
And there he met the idiotic and dense Yamamoto Takeshi.
The boy was assigned to tour him around which really pissed him off since he appeared to be the type who'd pester you until you agreed to what he was saying, so he decided to go with it and finish it.
Yamamoto was unsurprisingly a chatterbox. Every room or hallway or staircase they'd go, he would manage to say something. Ranging from nonsensical things to even more nonsensical things. He simply grunted, kind of feeling sorry for all the saliva he must be losing.
Most students that passed by would often greet him. Looks like this idiot is popular. Gokudera just ignored them, not feeling the least bit obligated to be sociable. Yet, it was the interaction with one student that pissed him off. It was obvious how disappointed Yamamoto was, the way his laugh and smile didn't reach his eyes, and the way his eyebrows were slightly furrowed in suppressed dismay. Why the hell was he pretending? He should just upright say what he wanted to say.
"That's disgusting," said Gokudera, not able to restrain his disgust anymore.
Yamamoto looked suprised at the sudden comment. "Him? It's fine. He said—"
"Not him, you."
"What? What did I do?" The way the taller boy tilted his head in confusion served to annoy him more.
Gokudera advanced slowly towards him until their faces were only mere inches away. He snarled, "The way you pretend and force yourself is pitifully revolting. If you had something to say to that guy, then you should have. It's fine," he mimicked in a small voice. "That's bullshit."
Yamamoto stood, biting his lip. "You don't know anything," he finally hissed, much to Gokudera's surprise.
"Maybe. But at least I don't let others control me like a puppet," growled the other. I'm not a doll for someone to dress up.
"I don't let them control me. I choose to do so."
Gokudera paused. "Why?"
"I'm happy this way," he mumbled.
"Oh? So you believe acting like a knight in shining armor pretending to sacrifice yourself would bring you happiness?" asked Gokudera fiercely. How can you obtain happiness for yourself when you only think of sacrifice?
"At least I think of others. You seem like you only care about yourself!" snapped Yamamoto.
"I do what I want when I want to." Gokudera's eyes flared.
"How narcissistic."
Gokudera grabbed his collar and shoved him against the wall, thankful that no one was around at this hallway. The way Yamamoto was answering was really pissing him off. He needed his eyes to be pried open. So he will, even if he would have to be forced. "Who are you?"
Yamamoto winced at the impact. "Wha...what? Yamamoto Takeshi?"
"Who's Yamamoto Takeshi?"
"Me?"
"Who is Yamamoto Takeshi?"
"I'm Yamamoto Takeshi, sixteen, a first year in Namimori High of class 1-C, a member of the baseball club."
"Where's Yamamoto Takeshi?"
"But I'm—"
"Where's Yamamoto Takeshi?"
"Here! In front of you!" shouted Yamamoto. "Look, I'm not that smart so I don't get what you're trying to—"
"Really? Because it seems to me that the person in front of me is a sad excuse of a trying hard idiotic hero," sneered Gokudera. He released his hold on the other and continued, "Now let me ask you this. Is Yamamoto Takeshi alive?"
"Y-yes...I'm alive," he answered, dazed. "I'm alive..."
"Then prove it." Gokudera turned his back. "Prove that Yamamoto Takeshi is there." He walked away.
When Gokudera wanted to be saved, no one was there. Everything he had learned to love disappeared that one day. His father, his biological mother and beloved teacher, Bianchi, and his innocence from this cruel reality. Everyone deserved to have a savior, a light.
So he will become one, in his own way.
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Gokudera may be an obstinate and stubborn person, but one thing he couldn't deny was the blossoming feelings he had managed to gain for Yamamoto over the course of the year. He may normally be a person in denial; however, he had learned to move on from not facing his problems. In this situation, he knew better than to confess. From their senseless arguments to the other boy calming him down, it had indeed been a bumpy ride.
When Yamamoto asked him why he himself felt weird and felt that his heart was being squeezed after seeing someone, Gokudera knew that the feelings he had won't ever turned into a beautiful flower. It would plainly wilt immediately, without even a single chance of growing. "Sounds like you're in love. Well, at least that's what they show in those sappy soap operas." Yes, be happy. You deserve it.
He noticed his friend's brown eyes widening and his mouth opening and closing. He idly wondered what was there to be so jolted at.
"Hayato, you like soap operas?" he asked loudly.
The fuck? "W-w-what? I never said I like those!" Not that he would deny being fond of those.
"Maa, it's fine liking those things. I still watch cartoons."
"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Gokudera muttered. "A-anyway, who's the person?" Lucky bastard. Che. Or maybe an unlucky bastard. This guy is a hundred-percent an idiot.
"Eh? What person?"
Gokudera rolled his eyes. "The one you're in love with, baseball idiot."
"Oh, that." Yamamoto grinned. "It's nothing. I must have been mistaken."
Gokudera knew he was lying, but decided to shrug it off. "You really are an idiot."
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The two were on their way home when Yamamoto suddenly announced his joining of the Vongola. Truthfully, he was astonished to learn that piece of information. The baseball player struck him as the type who'd be forever loyal to his partner. But the Vongola? "Like I give a damn," he answered.
It was three days subsequent from Yamamoto's announcement that the infamous Reborn spoke to him. He opened his shoe locker and saw a piece of paper with only three lines on it: I know how you feel about him. Come to the roof. I'll be waiting.
He dropped his bag in utter shock. He panicked, of which he was ashamed. Gokudera was pretty sure he hid his feelings well. Who could have noticed? Who could have been that observant and perceptive? Without even bothering to close his locker and picking his bag up, he ran to the roof, aware of how destroyed his dignity and composure were now.
And there he was, the culprit, a student wearing a fedora alongside with the standard school uniform, minus the blazer.
"Chaos."
"Reborn-san?" Gokudera respected this teen. He was strong, unfearing, and just – admirable. Perhaps if he was that strong, his life would've...
"Looks like someone's scared," mocked Reborn, casually petting his green chameleon which scrambled from his shoulder and down to the back of his hand.
Gokudera gulped, not wanting to be obvious that he was intimidated. "W-why did you make me come here?"
"Considering the sweat you accumulated from running, I'm certain you know why." The other rolled his eyes.
Clenching his fist, Gokudera said, "Then what do you want from me?"
"Be a part of Vongola," was the simple reply.
"What's in it for me?"
"Aside from not spreading your secret, I'll prove that your feelings are reciprocated. Good deal, yes?"
"Bullshit," spat Gokudera.
"Do you really believe so? Or are you hanging on with little hope that it is indeed as I said?"
Fuck. How does he know what the right thing to say is? "And if you're wrong?"
Reborn smirked. "Why think of something that's impossible?"