Oneshot, ByaTsuna
Title: Dead Flowers
Author: Pain au Chocolat
Language: English - and a bit of Italian.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters used in this fiction. Everything belongs to Akira Amano.
Rating & Warnings: T. AU, very OOC, shonen ai, implied gay relationship. Angst, denial, might cause irritation.
Summary: What hath night to do with sleep?
Pairing: Byakuran x Tsuna
_____________________________________________________________________
DEAD FLOWERS
_____________________________________________________________________
He sits on a chair, in a beautiful, but dark room. Wilted flowers are scattered on the floor, but the boy doesn’t care. It’s night and he can see the white, plate moon through the big windows. Dressed in boxers and a T-shirt, he waits. White hair tied back loosely, the man sighs and grimaces. His plans were advancing well, so why wasn’t he happy?
Oh yeah.
Tsunayoshi was dead.
Byakuran shakes his head, pushing that thought to the back of his mind. He doesn’t believe it - it couldn’t be true. That would be so laughable, and so very, very horrible. Who had shot Tsunayoshi? Byakuran hadn’t ordered the Vongola Decimo’s death, so it had to be one of Uni’s.
But no, Byakuran is sure that Tsunayoshi was saved - perhaps the whole death was faked. Yes, that had to be the case. Beautiful, kind, strong and graceful Tsunayoshi. Byakuran smiles slightly, remembering the shorter man fondly, even lovingly. Tsunayoshi should be here soon, and the two could once again spend a sleepless night together.
He sighs, stands up, and moves towards the table, where stands a lonely bottle of whisky - Glenrothes 1974 - and fills a glass halfway, before he goes back to his chair and sips the drink carefully. The moderately smoky taste makes him nostalgic, remembering the first time he had taster it - a present from the tenth Vongola boss.
Ah, it would soon be half past midnight. Tsunayoshi is late. How rare. Maybe his wounds made him slower? Or were there just so many people watching out for him that the man didn’t manage to slip unnoticed? Byakuran doesn’t have that problem. His subordinates know when to leave him alone, and the white-haired man can go freely to this private cottage-like house - the designated meeting place of the two men.
It has a tiny kitchen, two bathrooms, a living-room and this beautiful lounge-like room. A beautiful garden of mixed flowers surround the house. To Byakuran, this cottage is more of a home than any other of his luxurious villas ever could be.
With a sigh he empties his glass, and moves to refill it.
He’d need to tease Tsunayoshi a bit, for being this late.
Why are you still waiting?
You know no one’s coming.
Byakuran grins slightly as he remembers all the battles he has witnessed - the ones where Vongola Decimo just appeared, and made people scramble away. Power oozed off him, his presence commanding respect and fear, whether or not his guardians were with him.
The co-leader of the Millefiore shakes at the familiar surge of pleasure, when he remembers that the man in question was Byakuran’s in ways that no one else will ever know. No one else will ever discover how stunning Tsunayoshi was in midst of passion, that voice moaning, whimpering and begging.
With a groan Byakuran presses his lips against the cold glass, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Why was Tsunayoshi so late? The corners of his mouth turn downwards once again, and tears prickle beneath his eyelids.
“Mi manchi, Tsunayoshi,” he whispers, fighting against the dark knowledge of how wrong things were today. Of what had happened in the morning. Shaking his head, Byakuran sighs and decides to think about something else instead. Light violet eyes lost their shine already, as the man was trying time and time again to deny the truth.
He couldn’t be dead. This has to be some sick joke.
Byakuran had become Tsunayoshi’s enemy only to ensure that no one else would dare to target the Vongola, and therefore could, in his own way, protect his lover better than many others. Or so he had thought. Until something uncalled for had happened.
“Voglio vederti stasera, amore mio,” he then says in a louder tone, desperation clear in his voice. The white-haired man feels pain different from the ache of the numerous scars he has on his body. And he’d rather those scars were cut open again, than to feel what he was feeling now. The hollow, maddening sense of loss.
The glass in his hand cracks and breaks, when he tightens his grip on it. Byakuran remembers how Tsunayoshi fell, and the only thing he could admire in that scene was that the tenth Vongola didn’t look surprised - he hadn’t been caught off guard, it seemed. Byakuran doesn’t feel the pain when the shards cut his hand, and bleeds on the wilted flowers around him.
Chrysanthemums - the so-called Flower of Death in Italy. Byakuran had boought so many of those beautiful flowers, before bringing them here, to this safe haven. His gift to Tsunayoshi.
You have nothing worth mentioning,
that keeps reminding you of him.
Silent tears fall from his eyes, but he doesn’t notice them. He looks down at his bloodied hands, shakes his head and wants to drink, but he doesn’t want to take the other glass on the table. It was Tsunayoshi’s - taking it would be like admitting that he wouldn’t need it. That he wasn’t coming.
Which wasn’t true. He was just a bit late, right?
According to the clock he has, it’s few minutes past one now.
Where was he?
Byakuran closes his eyes and imagines the tenth Vongola in front of him. Tsunayoshi’s cute smiles, the happy aura he had - has - and all those gestures when he talked and the nervous habits he had. ‘I love you’, he used to say. In Japanese, though. Byakuran always answered - and will always answer - the same in Italian. Ti amo, ti amo, till the end of time.
“Ti amo con tutta l’anima,” Byakuran tells the imagined Tsunayoshi, who smiles in response and waves slightly. A chocked sob escaped the leader of the Millefiore, and he grabs the whisky bottle from the table, and drinks. The empty, clean glass is left on the table, waiting for the man who’ll never come to use it.
Byakuran knows this - even though he doesn’t want to. Less than 24 hours ago the two had been in this cottage, on that bed, in a passionate, loving embrace. Now the other is dead. Byakuran refuses to believe this. Things just don’t go like that - don’t go wrong so quickly, so suddenly, so abruptly.
Not possible. Not possible.
Damn Black Spell to the lowest depths of Hell.
Nothing but a love torn apart,
and his picture in your heart.
What hath night to do with sleep? Byakuran couldn’t close his eyes for slumber, as the darkness of the night held so many shadows - what if one of them was Tsunayoshi? The white-haired man is aware of the madness that taints his love, but he doesn’t care. The morning is here - he sees the sun rising.
Tsunayoshi was still not there.
Byakuran falls on the floor, stares up at the roof and cries, small whimpers escaping him. He knows why Tsunayoshi didn’t come. He knows.
Regardless, he could only dream, and from time to time come here to wait, in this garden of dead flowers.
_____________________________________________________________________
END OF ONESHOT
_____________________________________________________________________
NOTES:
Mi manchi: I miss you.
Voglio vederti stasera, amore mio: I want to see you tonight, my love.
Ti amo con tutta l'anima: I love you with all my soul
Author: Pain au Chocolat
Language: English - and a bit of Italian.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters used in this fiction. Everything belongs to Akira Amano.
Rating & Warnings: T. AU, very OOC, shonen ai, implied gay relationship. Angst, denial, might cause irritation.
Summary: What hath night to do with sleep?
Pairing: Byakuran x Tsuna
_____________________________________________________________________
DEAD FLOWERS
_____________________________________________________________________
He sits on a chair, in a beautiful, but dark room. Wilted flowers are scattered on the floor, but the boy doesn’t care. It’s night and he can see the white, plate moon through the big windows. Dressed in boxers and a T-shirt, he waits. White hair tied back loosely, the man sighs and grimaces. His plans were advancing well, so why wasn’t he happy?
Oh yeah.
Tsunayoshi was dead.
Byakuran shakes his head, pushing that thought to the back of his mind. He doesn’t believe it - it couldn’t be true. That would be so laughable, and so very, very horrible. Who had shot Tsunayoshi? Byakuran hadn’t ordered the Vongola Decimo’s death, so it had to be one of Uni’s.
But no, Byakuran is sure that Tsunayoshi was saved - perhaps the whole death was faked. Yes, that had to be the case. Beautiful, kind, strong and graceful Tsunayoshi. Byakuran smiles slightly, remembering the shorter man fondly, even lovingly. Tsunayoshi should be here soon, and the two could once again spend a sleepless night together.
He sighs, stands up, and moves towards the table, where stands a lonely bottle of whisky - Glenrothes 1974 - and fills a glass halfway, before he goes back to his chair and sips the drink carefully. The moderately smoky taste makes him nostalgic, remembering the first time he had taster it - a present from the tenth Vongola boss.
Ah, it would soon be half past midnight. Tsunayoshi is late. How rare. Maybe his wounds made him slower? Or were there just so many people watching out for him that the man didn’t manage to slip unnoticed? Byakuran doesn’t have that problem. His subordinates know when to leave him alone, and the white-haired man can go freely to this private cottage-like house - the designated meeting place of the two men.
It has a tiny kitchen, two bathrooms, a living-room and this beautiful lounge-like room. A beautiful garden of mixed flowers surround the house. To Byakuran, this cottage is more of a home than any other of his luxurious villas ever could be.
With a sigh he empties his glass, and moves to refill it.
He’d need to tease Tsunayoshi a bit, for being this late.
Why are you still waiting?
You know no one’s coming.
Byakuran grins slightly as he remembers all the battles he has witnessed - the ones where Vongola Decimo just appeared, and made people scramble away. Power oozed off him, his presence commanding respect and fear, whether or not his guardians were with him.
The co-leader of the Millefiore shakes at the familiar surge of pleasure, when he remembers that the man in question was Byakuran’s in ways that no one else will ever know. No one else will ever discover how stunning Tsunayoshi was in midst of passion, that voice moaning, whimpering and begging.
With a groan Byakuran presses his lips against the cold glass, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Why was Tsunayoshi so late? The corners of his mouth turn downwards once again, and tears prickle beneath his eyelids.
“Mi manchi, Tsunayoshi,” he whispers, fighting against the dark knowledge of how wrong things were today. Of what had happened in the morning. Shaking his head, Byakuran sighs and decides to think about something else instead. Light violet eyes lost their shine already, as the man was trying time and time again to deny the truth.
He couldn’t be dead. This has to be some sick joke.
Byakuran had become Tsunayoshi’s enemy only to ensure that no one else would dare to target the Vongola, and therefore could, in his own way, protect his lover better than many others. Or so he had thought. Until something uncalled for had happened.
“Voglio vederti stasera, amore mio,” he then says in a louder tone, desperation clear in his voice. The white-haired man feels pain different from the ache of the numerous scars he has on his body. And he’d rather those scars were cut open again, than to feel what he was feeling now. The hollow, maddening sense of loss.
The glass in his hand cracks and breaks, when he tightens his grip on it. Byakuran remembers how Tsunayoshi fell, and the only thing he could admire in that scene was that the tenth Vongola didn’t look surprised - he hadn’t been caught off guard, it seemed. Byakuran doesn’t feel the pain when the shards cut his hand, and bleeds on the wilted flowers around him.
Chrysanthemums - the so-called Flower of Death in Italy. Byakuran had boought so many of those beautiful flowers, before bringing them here, to this safe haven. His gift to Tsunayoshi.
You have nothing worth mentioning,
that keeps reminding you of him.
Silent tears fall from his eyes, but he doesn’t notice them. He looks down at his bloodied hands, shakes his head and wants to drink, but he doesn’t want to take the other glass on the table. It was Tsunayoshi’s - taking it would be like admitting that he wouldn’t need it. That he wasn’t coming.
Which wasn’t true. He was just a bit late, right?
According to the clock he has, it’s few minutes past one now.
Where was he?
Byakuran closes his eyes and imagines the tenth Vongola in front of him. Tsunayoshi’s cute smiles, the happy aura he had - has - and all those gestures when he talked and the nervous habits he had. ‘I love you’, he used to say. In Japanese, though. Byakuran always answered - and will always answer - the same in Italian. Ti amo, ti amo, till the end of time.
“Ti amo con tutta l’anima,” Byakuran tells the imagined Tsunayoshi, who smiles in response and waves slightly. A chocked sob escaped the leader of the Millefiore, and he grabs the whisky bottle from the table, and drinks. The empty, clean glass is left on the table, waiting for the man who’ll never come to use it.
Byakuran knows this - even though he doesn’t want to. Less than 24 hours ago the two had been in this cottage, on that bed, in a passionate, loving embrace. Now the other is dead. Byakuran refuses to believe this. Things just don’t go like that - don’t go wrong so quickly, so suddenly, so abruptly.
Not possible. Not possible.
Damn Black Spell to the lowest depths of Hell.
Nothing but a love torn apart,
and his picture in your heart.
What hath night to do with sleep? Byakuran couldn’t close his eyes for slumber, as the darkness of the night held so many shadows - what if one of them was Tsunayoshi? The white-haired man is aware of the madness that taints his love, but he doesn’t care. The morning is here - he sees the sun rising.
Tsunayoshi was still not there.
Byakuran falls on the floor, stares up at the roof and cries, small whimpers escaping him. He knows why Tsunayoshi didn’t come. He knows.
Regardless, he could only dream, and from time to time come here to wait, in this garden of dead flowers.
_____________________________________________________________________
END OF ONESHOT
_____________________________________________________________________
NOTES:
Mi manchi: I miss you.
Voglio vederti stasera, amore mio: I want to see you tonight, my love.
Ti amo con tutta l'anima: I love you with all my soul