Return on Investment Chapter 13 [Reborn!]
CRY, I SUCK AT LONG FICS---
KATEKYO HITMAN REBORN!: Return on Investment
Chapter: Head up high, hopes down low.
Theme Song: To follow!
Other Chapter Links: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16
Rating: G
Characters: Shamal, Iemitsu, Nana, Yamamoto, Gokudera, Hibari, Tsuna
Summary: Awkward drives to and from the airport, awkward talks in the library, and unsolicited advice on the rooftop.
Notes:
+ This longfic was my NaNoWriMo project for 2008, although I've actually been itching to write it ever since I returned to the fandom early on this year. It's meant to take place ten years into the new future created by Tsuna and his crew after the TYL arc, and is pretty much very AU now, given how the manga has ended up progressing (point of departure from the canon is around Chapter 215, although I've tried to incorporate bits and pieces from the chapters after that).
Chapter Thirteen. Head up high, hopes down low.
It was, perhaps, the best dream Shamal that had ever had in his life.
He knew that he was dreaming, of course, because he had been a doctor before he had ever become an assassin, and according to his most recent very clinical assessment of his physiological condition, he had been flat on his belly, snoring rather contentedly into his pillow and rather tragically without a woman under his arm (clean living and all, since he was currently under the Vongola Tenth’s roof). Hence, he was most definitely dreaming the whole sensation of waking up stark naked on a fluffy emperor-sized bed with busty boobsy school girls crawling all over him, tugging at him (him, and him-him, that is) with their manicured hands and calling him “Daddy”.
Perfectly all right with him, though, the whole dream sequence thing. He had a healthy mind, and therefore a rather vivid imagination. Whatever he cooked up in his head was nearly as good as the real thing at worst, and better than the actual at best.
And then, right before the prettiest of the lot was doing the whole Little Red Riding Hood litany on big things as she put her lips close to his family jewels, a distinct pain at the back of his head jolted him back to the real world, where he was currently sprawled on the floor, staring up at Sawada Iemitsu attempting to pull a Classic Godfather: furrowed eyebrows, crossed arms, glowering silence, lineface and all.
Sometimes, Shamal wondered why they were still friends.
“We’re late.”
“You mean YOU’RE late.”
That comment earned him a car keys whip to the face.
“You’re driving me.”
Who died and made you God?
Highly tempting to say, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to say it. Shamal knew, for a fact, that Iemitsu was perpetually armed and dangerous, and possibly more so at the moment, with less than ten minutes to move out and do the hour and a half-long drive to the airport.
“You owe me big for this, blondie!”
He planned on doing the whole fist-shaking thing, but Iemitsu was already long gone.
It’s straight to the rooftop for Hibari and Tsuna after they finished their coffee - neither of them needed to speak, even, because ten years and all the battles therein had been more than enough for Hibari to become a little more than barely tolerant of Tsuna’s presence and grant Tsuna the uncanny ability to interpret the different shades of Hibari’s silence. So they set their mugs down, gathered what they needed and left, climbing the flights of stairs and navigating through the maze of corridors that up to the highest point of the Vongola Estate.
The sun was brighter than usual, but the wind compensated for the blistering heat by kicking up a tantrum, buffeting Tsuna’s body the moment he stepped out into the open - the young Vongole lifted one arm up as he walked, shading his eyes from the light in order to better admire the sky.
The weather was undoubtedly pleasant, the most pleasant it had been the whole week. It was in those sorts of conditions that people considered going out on a picnic, or maybe a date. Or, for the radical few, off to train and fight and kill.
Hibari was coming on to him before he could get half of his other mitten on - there was no telling how and when he had managed to bring his tonfa out, and at that point, it really did not matter. Tsuna swallowed the pill he kept behind his tongue at all times, and turned about, in a rush of white hot flames, to deflect the blow. An impressed grunt. Tsuna tried not to smile.
“Nice day, isn’t it?”
Hibari’s response, of course, was written in a flurry of blows and a flash of steel.
“…So that’s pretty much it for the Triad folks. Kyouya can probably tell you more about them then I can.”
The silence had threatened to overwhelm them again, back at that corner: Yamamoto’s greeting to Gokudera had dropped off into nothing, leaving the former standing there for a good three seconds, suddenly awkward in a suit that he had managed to wear down to perfect comfort with mission after mission, watching his fellow Guardian, unable to look away. Back then, Gokudera had always been the one to cut it off first, sometimes with a mumbled excuse or more silence. It surprised him, then, the moment Gokudera had turned but did not end up leaving him out in the cold.
Help me put these away.
Now, however, Yamamoto was not sure whether that made things better or worse.
“Right. Anyway, I guess I ought to give you updates on the folks at home. Namimori’s in the clear - always has been, always will be - but the South Side’s been pretty nasty as of late.”
So there they were: Gokudera in front of another book case with another armful of titles, Yamamoto with his back against the edge of a study table nearby, watching the wind move through the trees by the window in front of him. Ten years back, Yamamoto would have been laughing and Gokudera would have been angry and all would be well.
They had both come a long way since then.
“…North Side’s not so bad, though. Bosses have been paying up - I think they’re all pretty spooked by us, with that stunt we pulled last Christmas. Reborn thinks that they might be hiding something. We could get someone to look in on it for us, while I’m out.”
There was the sound of another book sliding into place, and then the smell of cigarettes as Gokudera moved past him, heavier and thicker than usual. Yamamoto turned and studied the sight of that back, those shoulder blades poking out against the somber black of that suit. The sunlight flashed over the rings that Gokudera was wearing - one for each finger - as the latter made space on another shelf for another orphan.
Three years - three long years - since he saw those rings in a different sort of light, and against bed sheets stained with their cum and their sweat and Gokudera’s tears.
Hard to forget, really, how it felt to break an almost-lover across the knee and rip one’s own heart out at the same time.
At the moment, though, Yamamoto had run out of things to talk about and Gokudera certainly wasn’t helping in that department. The swordsman pushed himself up, straightened out his suit with a few fitful tugs.
“I should go. Friend from the circuit bugged me for a souvenir, and I have no idea what he’s talking about. I… guess I’ll see you around.”
“Let’s take the car.”
Gokudera had spoken right when he was at the door, hand to the knob and ready to give up, just like always. He turned back, unable to hide his surprise. Gokudera, though, he wasn’t looking at him. The floor was a lot more interesting that he was, it seemed.
“I’ve got some business to attend to in town anyway.”
Well.
“…All right.”
He could be thankful, perhaps, for how easy it was to smile it through.
They had likely broken several hundred road rules on their way because Shamal had driven like a weasel on crystal meth in order to make them just a little less horrendously late than they already were, and the only thing that Shamal got out of it was Iemitsu slamming the passenger door a little too hard (“Oi oi oi watch it!!”) and getting ditched with little else beyond a barked instruction to keep the car where it was. He considered, for a moment, calling out a little friend and giving Iemitsu something excruciatingly painful and humiliating but ultimately non-lethal for the week, and then he decided that it took too much effort.
So he was stuck leaning against the hood of his car like any old friend turned chauffeur-for-the-day, puffing his way through the last few sticks in his pack. He would normally be occupying himself with dame-watching, except the airport was pretty short on decent eye candy at the moment, and going inside to see if his luck was any better within the four walls of the facility was not an option if he wanted to keep his balls intact for the next flavor of the day.
An hour later, after the cigarettes were long gone and his knee was starting to do the tell-tale woman-deprived, nicotine-short bounce bounce bounce against his hand, the glass doors slid open and Sawada Nana comes clip-clopping out, nose up in the air, pulling her little pink trolley bag along with her, looking mighty displeased. And then she noticed Shamal and it’s back to being cheerful super mom-and-sudden-wife-of-a-mafioso.
“Shamal! How good to see you again.”
With the way she was cooing over Shamal and smiling and laughing and talking about all of those sweet little housewifey/old friend nothings, one would not know what to think of the fact that Iemitsu hadn’t come around in the next moment, weighed down by two suitcases. From the look on the man’s face, Shamal can tell that prior to their stepping out, he and Nana must have been arguing, or maybe he had attempted at a little affection and she had outright ignored him, as she had taken to doing since she had discovered the truth about her family.
He might have felt sorry for Iemitsu, he really might have. Shamal, though, knew women better than they knew themselves, and if there was one thing a woman hated, it was being lied to. He also knew, for a fact, that Iemitsu was an excellent liar, and Nana the kind of bird who couldn’t stand being made a fool of, even if it had been for her own good.
“…Ack! How silly of me, holding us up like this. Shall we go?”
“Sure thing.”
He winced just a little when, after making sure her suitcases were all loaded into the trunk, Nana nearly closed the door of the car on Iemitsu’s face.
Shamal decided that later, in the hours so far into the night they were pretty much morning, drinks were definitely in order.
The past ten years have taught Tsuna to value the little things in life, with the most immediate example being the refreshing feel of cold concrete against one’s back after a good workout (read: fighting tooth and nail against his strongest Guardian). The young man sprawled out, breath whooshing in and out of his lungs, too tired to lift his hand up to wipe the sweat from his nose and out of his eyes but happy, almost as happy as he had been the moment he had come around to his future wife sitting on the floor of his room.
“That was… really fun, Hibari-san.”
“Clearly, you have a death wish.”
He wanted to laugh at that, except he could barely breathe straight at the moment. He settled, then, for a smile, and an attempt to turn his head towards the only other person up on the rooftop with him. He was rewarded for his efforts with the screaming protest of every single muscle and nerve in his neck. Definitely going to feel that in the morning, yep.
“I guess you got the message I left for Kusakabe. About dinner, and all.”
No response, but Tsuna wasn’t really expecting one. He looked on as Hibari dismissed his tonfa with a dispassionate flick of his wrists and a lick of purple flame. The other man was moving away, throwing off the remnants of his coat as he approached the edge of the rooftop, bringing out his cigarette pack as he plopped down on top of the wall. Tsuna scrunched his nose up, feigning disgust the moment Hibari lit up.
“Don’t tell me you’ve picked up the habit too. I’ve got my hands full with Gokudera-kun as it is!”
“Do not compare me to your watchdog.”
Hibari Kyouya truly did look at home, Tsuna realized, against any sort of sky. It was hard to believe that someone that wild and that fiercely independent had settled, at all, for wearing the ring of a Guardian. He could ask, but he knew, somehow, that it wasn’t going to get him anywhere. It wasn’t part of the deal, wasn’t something he really needed to know in order to do what he had to do.
Hibari wasn’t exactly a friend, but he definitely wasn’t an enemy: Tsuna knew this well, after spending the last ten years with that one just on the peripheral, helping him make sure that they lived their today right and fixed their tomorrow for everyone. That was all there was to it.
“…Thank you for coming back, by the way. I know you’re busy.”
“You pay well.”
“That’s good to know.”
Was he strong enough to get up again…? Well, there was no telling until he tried. Tsuna pushed himself off of the floor, wincing a little here and there as he regained himself. To his credit, he only wobbled a little before he managed to get up proper on his own two feet.
“Mukuro will be around,” he declared, rather casually, as he dusted himself off and wiped a little blood away from his cheek. “Chrome was nice enough to inform me this morning. Promise me you’ll behave, okay? I’ll even pay you extra for it.”
Silence again, but Tsuna had long since outgrown the need to fill every quiet moment up with useless words. The young mafioso stretched, ignoring the protest of the aching muscles in his arms, and turned to smile at Hibari, perfectly prepared for the possibility that his Cloud Guardian was likely ignoring him, as per usual. Strange, then, to see that the other man was not.
“You are going to regret trusting him someday, Sawada Tsunayoshi.”
It’s an odd repetition of things long past, of another moment quite like the one they were in, only far deadlier. A test, another crossroads forcing him to take nothing more than a single path, closing off the possibility of everything else.
Don’t forget who you are, and where you came from.
“No, Hibari-san,” Tsuna quietly returned, as he left the rooftop, “I don’t think I will.”
Shamal, Nana and Iemitsu talk about small things, normal and pointless things like coffee and soap operas and the recession and climate change, because whoever wrote the Big Book on Mafioso Etiquette had not forgotten to emphasize how inappropriate it was to talk shop with a comrade’s wife in the vicinity, even if said wife knew exactly what was going on behind the scenes. Still, it’s awkward: awkward because Shamal and Nana are doing all the talking and Iemitsu might as well be invisible even when he actually tried to contribute something, awkward because Shamal’s got the luxury of the rearview mirror and he can see the gaping space between Nana and Iemitsu, a distance metaphysically larger than the actual foot and a half that spans across one side of the car to the other.
That, he realized, and not for the first time, was the reason why he kept his engagements with the fairer sex short and sweet, and why he nearly broke out in hives at the mere thought of marriage. Dames, they were too damned complicated, and no matter how tight the ass or round the hips or supple the mouth or nice the tits, they just weren’t worth the trouble in the long run. Fuck ‘em and leave ‘em: best policy to take for any sensible man who valued his skin.
…And acting like that, of course, made sure that there weren’t any unwilling victims. Sure, there was the possibility of losing a friend or two, or getting called to court, or maybe outright thrown in jail, but it was likely much better than fucking yourself up with the love thing, then fucking a dame up with the long thing, then fucking up the brats that will inevitably come into the world screaming their lungs out and grow up just enough to start looking like you and follow you both around once they can walk and keep on calling you guys - heaven forbid - their parents. Shamal was not a fan of children (they pooped/puked/cried/talked too much), but he wasn’t entirely heartless. Mutts did not deserve to get kicked around for what they did not do, especially when they had far too much on their plate to deal with as it was.
“…Mom?”
And there was one right now, right on cue. Shamal truly loved his dramatic timing.
“Hi, Tsu-kun!”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Dad, did you know about this?”
“She wanted it to be a surprise.”
“You shouldn’t have. …Oh, man, I’m such an idiot… hold on, let me get someone to help you with your bags. And Kyoko has to know that you’re here!”
“No rush, sweetie. What happened to you? You look terrible!”
“Another fight with Hibari-kun, eh, son?”
“It’s the only way he’ll ever listen to me, dad - mom, stop fussing!”
“HUSH. That is NO way to greet me after I’ve pulled a sixteen-hour flight for you!”
With the way they were talking and laughing with their son, one would have thought that over the past ten years, Iemitsu and Nana’s marriage had taken to falling very quietly apart.
They passed Hibari on the way to the garage: Yamamoto admittedly didn’t notice at first, and as such, the way Gokudera’s face changed from Shuttered Off to Fuck No This Is The Last Thing I Need Today was his only real indicator of the Cloud Guardian’s presence until he looked up and saw the latter properly for himself.
“Dinner at eight,” Gokudera growled, as he stalked past Hibari. “Main house, private dining hall in our wing. Don’t you dare forget.”
“You’re back,” Yamamoto said, as soon as Gokudera was a safe distance away from them.
“And you are a masochist.”
Hibari was long gone before Yamamoto could think of a response.
KATEKYO HITMAN REBORN!: Return on Investment
Chapter: Head up high, hopes down low.
Theme Song: To follow!
Other Chapter Links: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16
Rating: G
Characters: Shamal, Iemitsu, Nana, Yamamoto, Gokudera, Hibari, Tsuna
Summary: Awkward drives to and from the airport, awkward talks in the library, and unsolicited advice on the rooftop.
Notes:
+ This longfic was my NaNoWriMo project for 2008, although I've actually been itching to write it ever since I returned to the fandom early on this year. It's meant to take place ten years into the new future created by Tsuna and his crew after the TYL arc, and is pretty much very AU now, given how the manga has ended up progressing (point of departure from the canon is around Chapter 215, although I've tried to incorporate bits and pieces from the chapters after that).
Chapter Thirteen. Head up high, hopes down low.
It was, perhaps, the best dream Shamal that had ever had in his life.
He knew that he was dreaming, of course, because he had been a doctor before he had ever become an assassin, and according to his most recent very clinical assessment of his physiological condition, he had been flat on his belly, snoring rather contentedly into his pillow and rather tragically without a woman under his arm (clean living and all, since he was currently under the Vongola Tenth’s roof). Hence, he was most definitely dreaming the whole sensation of waking up stark naked on a fluffy emperor-sized bed with busty boobsy school girls crawling all over him, tugging at him (him, and him-him, that is) with their manicured hands and calling him “Daddy”.
Perfectly all right with him, though, the whole dream sequence thing. He had a healthy mind, and therefore a rather vivid imagination. Whatever he cooked up in his head was nearly as good as the real thing at worst, and better than the actual at best.
And then, right before the prettiest of the lot was doing the whole Little Red Riding Hood litany on big things as she put her lips close to his family jewels, a distinct pain at the back of his head jolted him back to the real world, where he was currently sprawled on the floor, staring up at Sawada Iemitsu attempting to pull a Classic Godfather: furrowed eyebrows, crossed arms, glowering silence, lineface and all.
Sometimes, Shamal wondered why they were still friends.
“We’re late.”
“You mean YOU’RE late.”
That comment earned him a car keys whip to the face.
“You’re driving me.”
Who died and made you God?
Highly tempting to say, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to say it. Shamal knew, for a fact, that Iemitsu was perpetually armed and dangerous, and possibly more so at the moment, with less than ten minutes to move out and do the hour and a half-long drive to the airport.
“You owe me big for this, blondie!”
He planned on doing the whole fist-shaking thing, but Iemitsu was already long gone.
It’s straight to the rooftop for Hibari and Tsuna after they finished their coffee - neither of them needed to speak, even, because ten years and all the battles therein had been more than enough for Hibari to become a little more than barely tolerant of Tsuna’s presence and grant Tsuna the uncanny ability to interpret the different shades of Hibari’s silence. So they set their mugs down, gathered what they needed and left, climbing the flights of stairs and navigating through the maze of corridors that up to the highest point of the Vongola Estate.
The sun was brighter than usual, but the wind compensated for the blistering heat by kicking up a tantrum, buffeting Tsuna’s body the moment he stepped out into the open - the young Vongole lifted one arm up as he walked, shading his eyes from the light in order to better admire the sky.
The weather was undoubtedly pleasant, the most pleasant it had been the whole week. It was in those sorts of conditions that people considered going out on a picnic, or maybe a date. Or, for the radical few, off to train and fight and kill.
Hibari was coming on to him before he could get half of his other mitten on - there was no telling how and when he had managed to bring his tonfa out, and at that point, it really did not matter. Tsuna swallowed the pill he kept behind his tongue at all times, and turned about, in a rush of white hot flames, to deflect the blow. An impressed grunt. Tsuna tried not to smile.
“Nice day, isn’t it?”
Hibari’s response, of course, was written in a flurry of blows and a flash of steel.
“…So that’s pretty much it for the Triad folks. Kyouya can probably tell you more about them then I can.”
The silence had threatened to overwhelm them again, back at that corner: Yamamoto’s greeting to Gokudera had dropped off into nothing, leaving the former standing there for a good three seconds, suddenly awkward in a suit that he had managed to wear down to perfect comfort with mission after mission, watching his fellow Guardian, unable to look away. Back then, Gokudera had always been the one to cut it off first, sometimes with a mumbled excuse or more silence. It surprised him, then, the moment Gokudera had turned but did not end up leaving him out in the cold.
Help me put these away.
Now, however, Yamamoto was not sure whether that made things better or worse.
“Right. Anyway, I guess I ought to give you updates on the folks at home. Namimori’s in the clear - always has been, always will be - but the South Side’s been pretty nasty as of late.”
So there they were: Gokudera in front of another book case with another armful of titles, Yamamoto with his back against the edge of a study table nearby, watching the wind move through the trees by the window in front of him. Ten years back, Yamamoto would have been laughing and Gokudera would have been angry and all would be well.
They had both come a long way since then.
“…North Side’s not so bad, though. Bosses have been paying up - I think they’re all pretty spooked by us, with that stunt we pulled last Christmas. Reborn thinks that they might be hiding something. We could get someone to look in on it for us, while I’m out.”
There was the sound of another book sliding into place, and then the smell of cigarettes as Gokudera moved past him, heavier and thicker than usual. Yamamoto turned and studied the sight of that back, those shoulder blades poking out against the somber black of that suit. The sunlight flashed over the rings that Gokudera was wearing - one for each finger - as the latter made space on another shelf for another orphan.
Three years - three long years - since he saw those rings in a different sort of light, and against bed sheets stained with their cum and their sweat and Gokudera’s tears.
Hard to forget, really, how it felt to break an almost-lover across the knee and rip one’s own heart out at the same time.
At the moment, though, Yamamoto had run out of things to talk about and Gokudera certainly wasn’t helping in that department. The swordsman pushed himself up, straightened out his suit with a few fitful tugs.
“I should go. Friend from the circuit bugged me for a souvenir, and I have no idea what he’s talking about. I… guess I’ll see you around.”
“Let’s take the car.”
Gokudera had spoken right when he was at the door, hand to the knob and ready to give up, just like always. He turned back, unable to hide his surprise. Gokudera, though, he wasn’t looking at him. The floor was a lot more interesting that he was, it seemed.
“I’ve got some business to attend to in town anyway.”
Well.
“…All right.”
He could be thankful, perhaps, for how easy it was to smile it through.
They had likely broken several hundred road rules on their way because Shamal had driven like a weasel on crystal meth in order to make them just a little less horrendously late than they already were, and the only thing that Shamal got out of it was Iemitsu slamming the passenger door a little too hard (“Oi oi oi watch it!!”) and getting ditched with little else beyond a barked instruction to keep the car where it was. He considered, for a moment, calling out a little friend and giving Iemitsu something excruciatingly painful and humiliating but ultimately non-lethal for the week, and then he decided that it took too much effort.
So he was stuck leaning against the hood of his car like any old friend turned chauffeur-for-the-day, puffing his way through the last few sticks in his pack. He would normally be occupying himself with dame-watching, except the airport was pretty short on decent eye candy at the moment, and going inside to see if his luck was any better within the four walls of the facility was not an option if he wanted to keep his balls intact for the next flavor of the day.
An hour later, after the cigarettes were long gone and his knee was starting to do the tell-tale woman-deprived, nicotine-short bounce bounce bounce against his hand, the glass doors slid open and Sawada Nana comes clip-clopping out, nose up in the air, pulling her little pink trolley bag along with her, looking mighty displeased. And then she noticed Shamal and it’s back to being cheerful super mom-and-sudden-wife-of-a-mafioso.
“Shamal! How good to see you again.”
With the way she was cooing over Shamal and smiling and laughing and talking about all of those sweet little housewifey/old friend nothings, one would not know what to think of the fact that Iemitsu hadn’t come around in the next moment, weighed down by two suitcases. From the look on the man’s face, Shamal can tell that prior to their stepping out, he and Nana must have been arguing, or maybe he had attempted at a little affection and she had outright ignored him, as she had taken to doing since she had discovered the truth about her family.
He might have felt sorry for Iemitsu, he really might have. Shamal, though, knew women better than they knew themselves, and if there was one thing a woman hated, it was being lied to. He also knew, for a fact, that Iemitsu was an excellent liar, and Nana the kind of bird who couldn’t stand being made a fool of, even if it had been for her own good.
“…Ack! How silly of me, holding us up like this. Shall we go?”
“Sure thing.”
He winced just a little when, after making sure her suitcases were all loaded into the trunk, Nana nearly closed the door of the car on Iemitsu’s face.
Shamal decided that later, in the hours so far into the night they were pretty much morning, drinks were definitely in order.
The past ten years have taught Tsuna to value the little things in life, with the most immediate example being the refreshing feel of cold concrete against one’s back after a good workout (read: fighting tooth and nail against his strongest Guardian). The young man sprawled out, breath whooshing in and out of his lungs, too tired to lift his hand up to wipe the sweat from his nose and out of his eyes but happy, almost as happy as he had been the moment he had come around to his future wife sitting on the floor of his room.
“That was… really fun, Hibari-san.”
“Clearly, you have a death wish.”
He wanted to laugh at that, except he could barely breathe straight at the moment. He settled, then, for a smile, and an attempt to turn his head towards the only other person up on the rooftop with him. He was rewarded for his efforts with the screaming protest of every single muscle and nerve in his neck. Definitely going to feel that in the morning, yep.
“I guess you got the message I left for Kusakabe. About dinner, and all.”
No response, but Tsuna wasn’t really expecting one. He looked on as Hibari dismissed his tonfa with a dispassionate flick of his wrists and a lick of purple flame. The other man was moving away, throwing off the remnants of his coat as he approached the edge of the rooftop, bringing out his cigarette pack as he plopped down on top of the wall. Tsuna scrunched his nose up, feigning disgust the moment Hibari lit up.
“Don’t tell me you’ve picked up the habit too. I’ve got my hands full with Gokudera-kun as it is!”
“Do not compare me to your watchdog.”
Hibari Kyouya truly did look at home, Tsuna realized, against any sort of sky. It was hard to believe that someone that wild and that fiercely independent had settled, at all, for wearing the ring of a Guardian. He could ask, but he knew, somehow, that it wasn’t going to get him anywhere. It wasn’t part of the deal, wasn’t something he really needed to know in order to do what he had to do.
Hibari wasn’t exactly a friend, but he definitely wasn’t an enemy: Tsuna knew this well, after spending the last ten years with that one just on the peripheral, helping him make sure that they lived their today right and fixed their tomorrow for everyone. That was all there was to it.
“…Thank you for coming back, by the way. I know you’re busy.”
“You pay well.”
“That’s good to know.”
Was he strong enough to get up again…? Well, there was no telling until he tried. Tsuna pushed himself off of the floor, wincing a little here and there as he regained himself. To his credit, he only wobbled a little before he managed to get up proper on his own two feet.
“Mukuro will be around,” he declared, rather casually, as he dusted himself off and wiped a little blood away from his cheek. “Chrome was nice enough to inform me this morning. Promise me you’ll behave, okay? I’ll even pay you extra for it.”
Silence again, but Tsuna had long since outgrown the need to fill every quiet moment up with useless words. The young mafioso stretched, ignoring the protest of the aching muscles in his arms, and turned to smile at Hibari, perfectly prepared for the possibility that his Cloud Guardian was likely ignoring him, as per usual. Strange, then, to see that the other man was not.
“You are going to regret trusting him someday, Sawada Tsunayoshi.”
It’s an odd repetition of things long past, of another moment quite like the one they were in, only far deadlier. A test, another crossroads forcing him to take nothing more than a single path, closing off the possibility of everything else.
Don’t forget who you are, and where you came from.
“No, Hibari-san,” Tsuna quietly returned, as he left the rooftop, “I don’t think I will.”
Shamal, Nana and Iemitsu talk about small things, normal and pointless things like coffee and soap operas and the recession and climate change, because whoever wrote the Big Book on Mafioso Etiquette had not forgotten to emphasize how inappropriate it was to talk shop with a comrade’s wife in the vicinity, even if said wife knew exactly what was going on behind the scenes. Still, it’s awkward: awkward because Shamal and Nana are doing all the talking and Iemitsu might as well be invisible even when he actually tried to contribute something, awkward because Shamal’s got the luxury of the rearview mirror and he can see the gaping space between Nana and Iemitsu, a distance metaphysically larger than the actual foot and a half that spans across one side of the car to the other.
That, he realized, and not for the first time, was the reason why he kept his engagements with the fairer sex short and sweet, and why he nearly broke out in hives at the mere thought of marriage. Dames, they were too damned complicated, and no matter how tight the ass or round the hips or supple the mouth or nice the tits, they just weren’t worth the trouble in the long run. Fuck ‘em and leave ‘em: best policy to take for any sensible man who valued his skin.
…And acting like that, of course, made sure that there weren’t any unwilling victims. Sure, there was the possibility of losing a friend or two, or getting called to court, or maybe outright thrown in jail, but it was likely much better than fucking yourself up with the love thing, then fucking a dame up with the long thing, then fucking up the brats that will inevitably come into the world screaming their lungs out and grow up just enough to start looking like you and follow you both around once they can walk and keep on calling you guys - heaven forbid - their parents. Shamal was not a fan of children (they pooped/puked/cried/talked too much), but he wasn’t entirely heartless. Mutts did not deserve to get kicked around for what they did not do, especially when they had far too much on their plate to deal with as it was.
“…Mom?”
And there was one right now, right on cue. Shamal truly loved his dramatic timing.
“Hi, Tsu-kun!”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Dad, did you know about this?”
“She wanted it to be a surprise.”
“You shouldn’t have. …Oh, man, I’m such an idiot… hold on, let me get someone to help you with your bags. And Kyoko has to know that you’re here!”
“No rush, sweetie. What happened to you? You look terrible!”
“Another fight with Hibari-kun, eh, son?”
“It’s the only way he’ll ever listen to me, dad - mom, stop fussing!”
“HUSH. That is NO way to greet me after I’ve pulled a sixteen-hour flight for you!”
With the way they were talking and laughing with their son, one would have thought that over the past ten years, Iemitsu and Nana’s marriage had taken to falling very quietly apart.
They passed Hibari on the way to the garage: Yamamoto admittedly didn’t notice at first, and as such, the way Gokudera’s face changed from Shuttered Off to Fuck No This Is The Last Thing I Need Today was his only real indicator of the Cloud Guardian’s presence until he looked up and saw the latter properly for himself.
“Dinner at eight,” Gokudera growled, as he stalked past Hibari. “Main house, private dining hall in our wing. Don’t you dare forget.”
“You’re back,” Yamamoto said, as soon as Gokudera was a safe distance away from them.
“And you are a masochist.”
Hibari was long gone before Yamamoto could think of a response.