FIC: Egocentrism [khr; 5986; 1/1]
Title: Egocentrism
Author: Cella [shortitude]
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Rating: Teen, implied things
Characters: Haru, Gokudera
A/N: Prompt was "shared loyalty/second best" - I adapted it. No summary; I'll be posting all these in the same place. Eventually.
Egocentrism
It's one of the worse things to hear coming from your husband's mouth on your wedding night.
You'll always come second.
He says it as he's putting on his suit in a haste, as you watch him from your large presidential suit bed, as he tells you he has to leave before the honeymoon can even start, because he's the Right Hand, and whenever the boss needs something done well, it's him he calls. He says that he's fought long and hard to earn himself that title, and that feeling of belonging. And you sit, half naked with your wedding dress discarded on the floor (a simple thing, your own design, easy to take off), and wonder if this is what life will be like from now on.
But you knew what you were signing up for, didn't you?
You'd known even before falling hard for him, when your eyes and your heart and your everything belonged to Tsuna. Tsuna with his gentle gaze and his warm hands, who would've never pushed you up against a wall, never growled against your lips, never made you want to bite and kiss at the same time. Tsuna who'd always had eyes for one girl, just like you'd only had eyes for him, and that girl hadn't been you.
The thing was - the thing is - you could move on. That was a possitive trait to have in a nitty-gritty world like the one you're stuck in now, thanks to your friends and your family. You adapt. You adapted to heartbreak by picking up the pieces after alloting the sufficient time to mourn. You adapted to being part of the outside branch of the Vongola by studying harder, training more, and becoming an indispensible tool and member of the famiglia. Up until you were Miura Haru, the programmer. Up until you were Miura Haru, the Intel Expert. You adapted to being a spy for a mafia family by - well - not thinking about the true extension of the work you did. (You didn't pull the trigger, you just found the intel on the locations of the boss' enemies.)
You adapted until you couldn't adapt any longer, until you refused to - until you realized it was starting to weigh on your personality, your life, your moral code. And then, you compartmentalized. You taught others what you did, you delegated, and you just became the supervisor. A little quirky, a little loud, a little too smart, but all-around loved.
Then - then you loved again. It took you years to get to that point, and a story more complicated than even Bianchi's deadly recipes (though those had been involved, as well). And here you are now.
The life you always wanted. Married, loved, in love. In a beautiful bedroom, on a beautiful tropical island.
Alone. And always second best to the one man who's been leading all of your lives around (blindly, at times) since the moment you met him.
But you'd known what you'd signed up for. It just doesn't mean you'll accept it with an obedient bow of your head.
You check out of the hotel, sign the cheque with a flourished little Hayato H. and board the next plane to Japan. And when he finds you again, when he's stopped shouting out his rage for all this supposed abandonment, when he asks why on all that's sacred as fuck you're back at headquarters and working on the next security update instead of sunbathing in Bora Bora, you will return his sentence, with all the love you can muster - because, in the end, you didn't marry without love -
You'll always come second.
When he asks who will be first, showing signs of jealousy, unaware of the hypocrisy of it all, thinking that it's Tsuna again, you will answer the one thing that will keep you sane in this marriage from now on.
Me.
Author: Cella [shortitude]
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Rating: Teen, implied things
Characters: Haru, Gokudera
A/N: Prompt was "shared loyalty/second best" - I adapted it. No summary; I'll be posting all these in the same place. Eventually.
Egocentrism
It's one of the worse things to hear coming from your husband's mouth on your wedding night.
You'll always come second.
He says it as he's putting on his suit in a haste, as you watch him from your large presidential suit bed, as he tells you he has to leave before the honeymoon can even start, because he's the Right Hand, and whenever the boss needs something done well, it's him he calls. He says that he's fought long and hard to earn himself that title, and that feeling of belonging. And you sit, half naked with your wedding dress discarded on the floor (a simple thing, your own design, easy to take off), and wonder if this is what life will be like from now on.
But you knew what you were signing up for, didn't you?
You'd known even before falling hard for him, when your eyes and your heart and your everything belonged to Tsuna. Tsuna with his gentle gaze and his warm hands, who would've never pushed you up against a wall, never growled against your lips, never made you want to bite and kiss at the same time. Tsuna who'd always had eyes for one girl, just like you'd only had eyes for him, and that girl hadn't been you.
The thing was - the thing is - you could move on. That was a possitive trait to have in a nitty-gritty world like the one you're stuck in now, thanks to your friends and your family. You adapt. You adapted to heartbreak by picking up the pieces after alloting the sufficient time to mourn. You adapted to being part of the outside branch of the Vongola by studying harder, training more, and becoming an indispensible tool and member of the famiglia. Up until you were Miura Haru, the programmer. Up until you were Miura Haru, the Intel Expert. You adapted to being a spy for a mafia family by - well - not thinking about the true extension of the work you did. (You didn't pull the trigger, you just found the intel on the locations of the boss' enemies.)
You adapted until you couldn't adapt any longer, until you refused to - until you realized it was starting to weigh on your personality, your life, your moral code. And then, you compartmentalized. You taught others what you did, you delegated, and you just became the supervisor. A little quirky, a little loud, a little too smart, but all-around loved.
Then - then you loved again. It took you years to get to that point, and a story more complicated than even Bianchi's deadly recipes (though those had been involved, as well). And here you are now.
The life you always wanted. Married, loved, in love. In a beautiful bedroom, on a beautiful tropical island.
Alone. And always second best to the one man who's been leading all of your lives around (blindly, at times) since the moment you met him.
But you'd known what you'd signed up for. It just doesn't mean you'll accept it with an obedient bow of your head.
You check out of the hotel, sign the cheque with a flourished little Hayato H. and board the next plane to Japan. And when he finds you again, when he's stopped shouting out his rage for all this supposed abandonment, when he asks why on all that's sacred as fuck you're back at headquarters and working on the next security update instead of sunbathing in Bora Bora, you will return his sentence, with all the love you can muster - because, in the end, you didn't marry without love -
You'll always come second.
When he asks who will be first, showing signs of jealousy, unaware of the hypocrisy of it all, thinking that it's Tsuna again, you will answer the one thing that will keep you sane in this marriage from now on.
Me.