FIC: Regression (Reborn)
regression (n.) - the reversion to a chronologically earlier or less adapted pattern of behavior and feeling.
Yamamoto isn’t a big drinker, but he’s throwing back the sake like a veteran; his cheeks are becoming more and more flushed, even if he still manages to sit upright.
The same cannot be said for Gokudera. He’s slumped over the bar counter, his head lolling to the side. And his eyes are darker than usual, almost grey; but it’s difficult to tell if it’s because of drunkenness or misery or both.
Tsuna is dead.
Yamamoto drains another tot of liquor, and laughs like a broken man laughs, like the world is so shitty and hopeless that it’s actually kind of funny; but not really.
“You know, Gokudera…” He joins his friend on the counter, making sure to loll his head in a direction that has them face to face. “We’re both pretty stupid.”
“Fuck you.”
Yamamoto smiles thoughtfully. “But it’s true, isn’t it? I mean, you and I are-” He blinks. “-were in the same boat all along.”
“Fuck you.”
Yamamoto is silent for a moment, as if Gokudera has actually said something of substance, something that he needs to think about. “I,” he begins slowly, trying to sort out the right thing to say through the buzzing in his head. “I think that I fell for him that day on the roof. You know-when I almost killed myself.” He lifts his eyes to meet Gokudera’s. “You?”
At first, Gokudera looks as if he’s going to respond with another ‘fuck you’. But then his eyebrows draw together, and he says, after a little hesitation, “The moment I saw him.”
Yamamoto’s mouth tilts up. He chuckles and says, “I figured.”
Tsuna is dead.
“So stupid,” says Yamamoto. “Just…so stupid. We’re real idiots.” Pushing himself up, he swings around on his stool and leans his arms against the counter so that he can tilt his head back to look at the ceiling lights. “Do you remember the fireworks, all those years ago?”
“…Yeah,” says Gokudera.
“Do you remember?” Yamamoto asks, “He was so happy. That…that big smile was on his face, and I just wanted to…”
“Me too,” says Gokudera.
“He was finally starting to smile more. Can you believe that, Gokudera? He was finally starting to see the things about himself that we always knew were there. It took ten years for him to finally feel like he was worth something.” He sighs, the lights above him wavering, almost like they’re dancing, and he gets a little dizzier. “You know,” he says, “I gave up baseball to be near him. And it would have been enough, even if he never wanted me like I-it would have been enough to just be near him. But now he’s-”
“Don’t you dare say it, you fucker.” Gokudera’s clenches his fists, his expression unchanged. “You say it and I’ll fucking kill you.”
Yamamoto laughs. “Sorry,” he says. “I got a bit carried away.”
They lapse into silence, because…
…Because Tsuna is dead. His funeral is tomorrow. And Yamamoto begins to laugh again, loud and desperate and tearful; his mask is finally breaking. He doesn’t know if he can smile anymore.
But he’s smiling anyway. His cheeks are burning and he wants to scream, but he just can’t stop. And that’s kind of funny (but not really), so he laughs some more.
He laughs until the world goes black.