PART UN
01. Past.
He hadn’t heard the idiot walk up behind him (not because he wasn’t paying attention, of course; simply because he had been… too absorbed in thought! Yeah that was it) and it wasn’t until a friendly arm dropped onto his head that he even realized Yamamoto was there. It was times like this - when Yamamoto used him as a personal armrest, that is - that Gokudera really, really cursed his height. He didn’t always mind being on the shorter side; it was when his personal space was invaded that he really started to care.
“Get the fuck away,” he growled, nudging Yamamoto’s arm off his head before shoving his hands deep in his pockets. He wasn’t in the mood for this today.
Yamamoto just laughed and dropped his arm around Gokudera’s shoulders instead. “Hey, hey, no need to be so harsh, we’re friends right?” Gokudera sighed: same old conversation. Some things just didn’t change.
“I never said that. Bastard.” But he didn’t shove off Yamamoto’s arm. Yamamoto smiled (because that obviously meant, in Gokudera speak, “Of course! Tag along as much as you want,” exclamation point included) and kept his arm amiably draped over Gokudera’s shoulders.
It was sunny out; something Yamamoto seemed to enjoy immensely, whereas Gokudera appeared to want to find a nice dark corner to hide in. He had been walking back to his home, planning to do just that. If Yamamoto hadn’t snuck up on him, he might’ve been able to.
He figured today was just going to get worse and worse.
The reason for this thinking was the fact that Yamamoto wasn’t letting go of his shoulders and Gokudera hadn’t changed his course. Unless he was hallucinating, they were going to end up at his house. Soon. (And he wasn’t hallucinating.)
“You’re not coming to my house.” Gokudera stopped walking when he realized where they were headed, sending his best death glare in Yamamoto’s direction. After a moment, Yamamoto just smiled - a lazy, soft smile - before tightening his grip on Gokudera’s shoulders and spinning them in a different direction.
“We can go to my house then,” he said, smile still on his face. Gokudera would’ve normally taken this moment to demand to be let go but, truthfully, he wasn’t feeling up for a fight. After what happened…
Shaking his head, he let Yamamoto steer him in the direction of Takesushi. Which, Gokudera found out as he was pushed into the store, was a lot closer to his house than he remembered it being. He blinked dumbly, looking around the sushi shop, before Yamamoto ordered him to go back to where his bedroom was while he got some snacks (or got his dad to make them some).
Gokudera nodded, toed off his shoes when he reached the back of the shop, leaving them in haphazardly on top of a pair of beat up sneakers (which he assumed were Yamamoto’s, considering the style and condition; no reason to fix them, in that case) before running up the stairs to where the house was.
He’d never actually been up there; he’d seen Yamamoto run up the stair to grab things before, when they’d all had sushi at the restaurant after training, or some scheme Reborn thought up, but there had never been a reason for Gokudera to actually be in Yamamoto’s room. They’d never actually hung out outside of the family stuff, so…
After poking his head about the apartment a bit, he went into the room that was obviously Yamamoto’s (the baseball posters? Yeah, those were a dead give away) and flopped down onto the bed with a loud, long sigh.
Well. This was awkward.
He sat up, bounced on the mattress for a second, before standing and making his way towards the bookshelf. Papers and novels and what appeared to be various athlete biographies (Of course, he thought with a snort) had all been crammed into the shelf, and Gokudera honestly doubted he could get anything out of there without it collapsing. On top of the shelf were various trophies (way too many MVP awards, if Gokudera may say so himself) and action figures that appeared to not have been touched in years and, of course, various photos of friends and family over the years.
“Hey.”
Gokudera whirled around, scratching at the back of his head. Yamamoto smiled, putting the plate of sushi (oh, was that eel?) onto his desk before ambling over to where Gokudera was standing. Gokudera let his hand rest on his neck, not looking at Yamamoto, who stretched his arms above his head. He didn’t push conversation, and Gokudera was glad for that; not because he wouldn’t talk (he had to be a polite guest, after all) but because he just didn’t feel like talking.
After a few moments of somewhat awkward silence, Gokudera moved away and grabbed the plate of sushi off the desk, plopping himself down on Yamamoto’s bed and shoving a roll into his mouth. He had his back to Yamamoto, but he felt the other boy sit on the opposite side of the bed, facing away from him as well.
“You,” Yamamoto started, finally breaking the silence, “like like Tsuna, right?”
Gokudera felt the sushi lodge in his throat very uncomfortably and he coughed. The question had, undoubtedly, surprised him. Swallowing hard, he forced the food down before glaring at the floor, refusing to look at Yamamoto.
“Where’d you get that idea, dumbass?”
Yamamoto didn’t reply at first. Gokudera wondered what he was thinking; why he had brought it up in the first place.
“Well, I mean,” Yamamoto paused again, as if looking for the right words. “It’s kind of obvious. And today…” He trailed off. Gokudera couldn’t see him, but he imagined that he was shaking his head. “Today when Tsuna and Kyoko… You just looked so sad. I mean, I don’t think Tsuna noticed but it was, you know, kind of-”
“Obvious, I get it.”
Gokudera heard the shift in Yamamoto’s position and knew that he was looking at him, as if surprised he had said anything. Actually, he probably was surprised he had said anything. Gokudera wasn’t one to lay his emotions on that line, but instead had a tendency to deny them; he knew this, and he knew that Yamamoto was probably shocked.
“I do. Like the 10th, I mean. Or I did. I don’t know anymore.”
He hadn’t heard the idiot walk up behind him (not because he wasn’t paying attention, of course; simply because he had been… too absorbed in thought! Yeah that was it) and it wasn’t until a friendly arm dropped onto his head that he even realized Yamamoto was there. It was times like this - when Yamamoto used him as a personal armrest, that is - that Gokudera really, really cursed his height. He didn’t always mind being on the shorter side; it was when his personal space was invaded that he really started to care.
“Get the fuck away,” he growled, nudging Yamamoto’s arm off his head before shoving his hands deep in his pockets. He wasn’t in the mood for this today.
Yamamoto just laughed and dropped his arm around Gokudera’s shoulders instead. “Hey, hey, no need to be so harsh, we’re friends right?” Gokudera sighed: same old conversation. Some things just didn’t change.
“I never said that. Bastard.” But he didn’t shove off Yamamoto’s arm. Yamamoto smiled (because that obviously meant, in Gokudera speak, “Of course! Tag along as much as you want,” exclamation point included) and kept his arm amiably draped over Gokudera’s shoulders.
It was sunny out; something Yamamoto seemed to enjoy immensely, whereas Gokudera appeared to want to find a nice dark corner to hide in. He had been walking back to his home, planning to do just that. If Yamamoto hadn’t snuck up on him, he might’ve been able to.
He figured today was just going to get worse and worse.
The reason for this thinking was the fact that Yamamoto wasn’t letting go of his shoulders and Gokudera hadn’t changed his course. Unless he was hallucinating, they were going to end up at his house. Soon. (And he wasn’t hallucinating.)
“You’re not coming to my house.” Gokudera stopped walking when he realized where they were headed, sending his best death glare in Yamamoto’s direction. After a moment, Yamamoto just smiled - a lazy, soft smile - before tightening his grip on Gokudera’s shoulders and spinning them in a different direction.
“We can go to my house then,” he said, smile still on his face. Gokudera would’ve normally taken this moment to demand to be let go but, truthfully, he wasn’t feeling up for a fight. After what happened…
Shaking his head, he let Yamamoto steer him in the direction of Takesushi. Which, Gokudera found out as he was pushed into the store, was a lot closer to his house than he remembered it being. He blinked dumbly, looking around the sushi shop, before Yamamoto ordered him to go back to where his bedroom was while he got some snacks (or got his dad to make them some).
Gokudera nodded, toed off his shoes when he reached the back of the shop, leaving them in haphazardly on top of a pair of beat up sneakers (which he assumed were Yamamoto’s, considering the style and condition; no reason to fix them, in that case) before running up the stairs to where the house was.
He’d never actually been up there; he’d seen Yamamoto run up the stair to grab things before, when they’d all had sushi at the restaurant after training, or some scheme Reborn thought up, but there had never been a reason for Gokudera to actually be in Yamamoto’s room. They’d never actually hung out outside of the family stuff, so…
After poking his head about the apartment a bit, he went into the room that was obviously Yamamoto’s (the baseball posters? Yeah, those were a dead give away) and flopped down onto the bed with a loud, long sigh.
Well. This was awkward.
He sat up, bounced on the mattress for a second, before standing and making his way towards the bookshelf. Papers and novels and what appeared to be various athlete biographies (Of course, he thought with a snort) had all been crammed into the shelf, and Gokudera honestly doubted he could get anything out of there without it collapsing. On top of the shelf were various trophies (way too many MVP awards, if Gokudera may say so himself) and action figures that appeared to not have been touched in years and, of course, various photos of friends and family over the years.
“Hey.”
Gokudera whirled around, scratching at the back of his head. Yamamoto smiled, putting the plate of sushi (oh, was that eel?) onto his desk before ambling over to where Gokudera was standing. Gokudera let his hand rest on his neck, not looking at Yamamoto, who stretched his arms above his head. He didn’t push conversation, and Gokudera was glad for that; not because he wouldn’t talk (he had to be a polite guest, after all) but because he just didn’t feel like talking.
After a few moments of somewhat awkward silence, Gokudera moved away and grabbed the plate of sushi off the desk, plopping himself down on Yamamoto’s bed and shoving a roll into his mouth. He had his back to Yamamoto, but he felt the other boy sit on the opposite side of the bed, facing away from him as well.
“You,” Yamamoto started, finally breaking the silence, “like like Tsuna, right?”
Gokudera felt the sushi lodge in his throat very uncomfortably and he coughed. The question had, undoubtedly, surprised him. Swallowing hard, he forced the food down before glaring at the floor, refusing to look at Yamamoto.
“Where’d you get that idea, dumbass?”
Yamamoto didn’t reply at first. Gokudera wondered what he was thinking; why he had brought it up in the first place.
“Well, I mean,” Yamamoto paused again, as if looking for the right words. “It’s kind of obvious. And today…” He trailed off. Gokudera couldn’t see him, but he imagined that he was shaking his head. “Today when Tsuna and Kyoko… You just looked so sad. I mean, I don’t think Tsuna noticed but it was, you know, kind of-”
“Obvious, I get it.”
Gokudera heard the shift in Yamamoto’s position and knew that he was looking at him, as if surprised he had said anything. Actually, he probably was surprised he had said anything. Gokudera wasn’t one to lay his emotions on that line, but instead had a tendency to deny them; he knew this, and he knew that Yamamoto was probably shocked.
“I do. Like the 10th, I mean. Or I did. I don’t know anymore.”