➡ [ fic: katekyo hitman reborn! ] 5927; Hurricane Syndrome
Series: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!; 5927
Rated: G
Summary: This is how you turn disasters into miracles.
(Written for the gokutsuna contest.)
Challenge: See this post. (cedef)
Disclaimer: Gokudera Hayato, Sawada Tsunayoshi © Akira Amano
Title: Hurricane Syndrome
( OUT OF BODY｡ )
When Reborn enters his life, Tsuna's world does a 360 flip. (He thinks it's 369 at first, but the baby pointed a(n awfully real gun) at his head until Tsuna knows he will never forget it again.) He listens to stories about a family far away. Of Europe and classy suits, mismatched ties and sunglasses that hide his homesick eyes. Under his hand, a thousand men.
This is what Tsuna's world has been reduced to, deduced to.
But he laughs it off, shaky breath slipping between chapped lips and dry eyes. Impossibly lifeless but alive. He will go to school, he thinks to himself. He will go, and the notions of babies born with guns, enemies from day one, will go away. He will come back to do homework, sleep, and it will be a normal day again.
Gokudera is the first person who leaves a heavy impact on Tsuna through the haze of smoke & fog of miscellaneous boomstick phenomena, promises to a name that's not his own.
It terrifies him.
( YOU SHRUG, & IT'S THE WORST｡ )
The thing is, Gokudera is a good friend, which is an understatement because Gokudera is one of the best (and only) friends he has ever had. But he's good bordering on great bordering on more and Tsuna doesn't know how to deal with this subtle wisp of bombshell smoke. It hits him with the impact of TNT, of dynamite.
Of storms & flashes of heated, silent lightning.
"Boss," Gokudera whispers against his ear, eyes lighting up with an intensity that Tsuna can only imagine he feels. He doesn't have a name for it, but he has a name of his own.
"Tenth," Gokudera says.
Please don't. Call me Tsuna. I'm not--
When Gokudera reaches for his hand, Tsuna shies away.
( GRAVITY｡ )
Puppydog Syndrome, Yamamoto likes to call it as he swings his bat around and stands at Tsuna's right, laughing. He infuriates Gokudera more and dodges wave after wave of dynamite while Tsuna stands flustered, hand clenched tight to keep his school bag from falling.
His right hand to his heart to keep the words from calling.
( SOLDIERS LIVE｡)
"You saved me," Gokudera replies when Tsuna musters the courage to ask why one day. Why me, why are you here. Why would you risk it all for a nobody failing to be somebody?
"Because you saved me when I tried to hurt you, to break you. When I tried to cause hurricanes in your eyes and you accepted the storm in your heart that could've killed you but made you. Because you sing out for all the outcasts, the runaways, the ones who will never make it but who will never stop trying and you see every one of them as someone of their own." Because you take disasters and make them into miracles.
Here, a dying child with the force of a storm playing through his fingers. Here, a spark forcing his heart to life, sticks of nitroglycerin lighting up his eyes. Here, a typhoon calmed under the callings of the sky.
Here, the eye of the storm. Where Gokudera can lay his head to rest and watch his explosives turn into fireworks that colour the night.
"That's silly," Tsuna says, right to his heart, left against his side. "Anyone would've done the same. Anyone could've done so much more." Someone who isn't a loser, an outcast, a coward.
Tsuna doesn't consider the fact that Gokudera may have already considered 'anyone,' turned it around in his mind like a Rubik's Cube. Like a many sided dice that held all the stories, but only one answer. That no one but Tsuna would do.
"But at the time, they weren't you."
( OFF OF YOUR MELODY｡ )
At times, Tsuna closes his eyes and opens his ears to the jiggling of metal, bells chained along the waistband of Gokudera's belt. A symphony, they chime, as the rings on his fingers knock against knees and bones. They press against another hand and jerk away roughly, meaningless words filled with meaning spilling out to fill the empty space between them. A hasty explanation, a stammered apology. Talentless talent playing along the beating of his heart. Puppydog Syndrome, Tsuna thinks and smiles.
"Ciao," Tsuna repeats, pronoucing the word with a strong 'h' as he tries to imitate Gokudera's speech, curls his r's into l's. "Buon giorno."
"Mi chiamo," he begins again, staring intently into pale eyes as Gokudera grins and cheers at Tsuna's obvious bad accent. "Tsuna. Mi chiamo Tsuna." He points to himself and looks at Gokudera expectantly.
A pause. Then, "Tsuna."
Gokudera rolls the name around his mouth like it's foreign. Like he's tasting it for the first time and he's wondering whether it fits between the first and second spaces of his teeth, against his tongue.
"Tsuna," he tests, fingers tracing the name against the ground, rings clinking away at every curve, every movement that brings him closer to the end. To a beginning. "Come sta?"
It's like the start of something new.
( SIMON SAYS｡ )
Gokudera has these moments, Tsuna thinks, exasperated, when the world is too worldly for him and the stars shine too bright and the sky is too encompassing, which is why there is never any room for him. It takes a harsh tone to bring him back. To say yes, the world is worldly because it should be and the stars are bright so people won't get lost at night and the sky will always be ready to take in as many people as there are clouds, raindrops, sunlight, thunder, & mist in the universe. Because, after all, it's all encompassing and no one gets left behind.
They will make room so no one gets left behind.
This time, it's Gokudera who shies away, who becomes unpredictable and jerks, snaps to get away in the way only Gokudera knows how. Disaster struck accidents like disbelief hung around his neck.
But Tsuna knows how to turn disasters into miracles.
"Come," he hushes, like a parent to a child. A lover to a loved one. He trembles, shakes, as he holds out his right hand and lets go of the words that he could never say.
Gokudera takes it (just like a puppy, Tsuna thinks) and presses his lips to the palm, to the vein. To the part that's connected to the heart and brain.
"Grazie," he says. And Tsuna knows he understands.
Grazie.
Rated: G
Summary: This is how you turn disasters into miracles.
(Written for the gokutsuna contest.)
Challenge: See this post. (cedef)
Disclaimer: Gokudera Hayato, Sawada Tsunayoshi © Akira Amano
Title: Hurricane Syndrome
( OUT OF BODY｡ )
When Reborn enters his life, Tsuna's world does a 360 flip. (He thinks it's 369 at first, but the baby pointed a(n awfully real gun) at his head until Tsuna knows he will never forget it again.) He listens to stories about a family far away. Of Europe and classy suits, mismatched ties and sunglasses that hide his homesick eyes. Under his hand, a thousand men.
This is what Tsuna's world has been reduced to, deduced to.
But he laughs it off, shaky breath slipping between chapped lips and dry eyes. Impossibly lifeless but alive. He will go to school, he thinks to himself. He will go, and the notions of babies born with guns, enemies from day one, will go away. He will come back to do homework, sleep, and it will be a normal day again.
Gokudera is the first person who leaves a heavy impact on Tsuna through the haze of smoke & fog of miscellaneous boomstick phenomena, promises to a name that's not his own.
It terrifies him.
( YOU SHRUG, & IT'S THE WORST｡ )
The thing is, Gokudera is a good friend, which is an understatement because Gokudera is one of the best (and only) friends he has ever had. But he's good bordering on great bordering on more and Tsuna doesn't know how to deal with this subtle wisp of bombshell smoke. It hits him with the impact of TNT, of dynamite.
Of storms & flashes of heated, silent lightning.
"Boss," Gokudera whispers against his ear, eyes lighting up with an intensity that Tsuna can only imagine he feels. He doesn't have a name for it, but he has a name of his own.
"Tenth," Gokudera says.
Please don't. Call me Tsuna. I'm not--
When Gokudera reaches for his hand, Tsuna shies away.
( GRAVITY｡ )
Puppydog Syndrome, Yamamoto likes to call it as he swings his bat around and stands at Tsuna's right, laughing. He infuriates Gokudera more and dodges wave after wave of dynamite while Tsuna stands flustered, hand clenched tight to keep his school bag from falling.
His right hand to his heart to keep the words from calling.
( SOLDIERS LIVE｡)
"You saved me," Gokudera replies when Tsuna musters the courage to ask why one day. Why me, why are you here. Why would you risk it all for a nobody failing to be somebody?
"Because you saved me when I tried to hurt you, to break you. When I tried to cause hurricanes in your eyes and you accepted the storm in your heart that could've killed you but made you. Because you sing out for all the outcasts, the runaways, the ones who will never make it but who will never stop trying and you see every one of them as someone of their own." Because you take disasters and make them into miracles.
Here, a dying child with the force of a storm playing through his fingers. Here, a spark forcing his heart to life, sticks of nitroglycerin lighting up his eyes. Here, a typhoon calmed under the callings of the sky.
Here, the eye of the storm. Where Gokudera can lay his head to rest and watch his explosives turn into fireworks that colour the night.
"That's silly," Tsuna says, right to his heart, left against his side. "Anyone would've done the same. Anyone could've done so much more." Someone who isn't a loser, an outcast, a coward.
Tsuna doesn't consider the fact that Gokudera may have already considered 'anyone,' turned it around in his mind like a Rubik's Cube. Like a many sided dice that held all the stories, but only one answer. That no one but Tsuna would do.
"But at the time, they weren't you."
( OFF OF YOUR MELODY｡ )
At times, Tsuna closes his eyes and opens his ears to the jiggling of metal, bells chained along the waistband of Gokudera's belt. A symphony, they chime, as the rings on his fingers knock against knees and bones. They press against another hand and jerk away roughly, meaningless words filled with meaning spilling out to fill the empty space between them. A hasty explanation, a stammered apology. Talentless talent playing along the beating of his heart. Puppydog Syndrome, Tsuna thinks and smiles.
"Ciao," Tsuna repeats, pronoucing the word with a strong 'h' as he tries to imitate Gokudera's speech, curls his r's into l's. "Buon giorno."
"Mi chiamo," he begins again, staring intently into pale eyes as Gokudera grins and cheers at Tsuna's obvious bad accent. "Tsuna. Mi chiamo Tsuna." He points to himself and looks at Gokudera expectantly.
A pause. Then, "Tsuna."
Gokudera rolls the name around his mouth like it's foreign. Like he's tasting it for the first time and he's wondering whether it fits between the first and second spaces of his teeth, against his tongue.
"Tsuna," he tests, fingers tracing the name against the ground, rings clinking away at every curve, every movement that brings him closer to the end. To a beginning. "Come sta?"
It's like the start of something new.
( SIMON SAYS｡ )
Gokudera has these moments, Tsuna thinks, exasperated, when the world is too worldly for him and the stars shine too bright and the sky is too encompassing, which is why there is never any room for him. It takes a harsh tone to bring him back. To say yes, the world is worldly because it should be and the stars are bright so people won't get lost at night and the sky will always be ready to take in as many people as there are clouds, raindrops, sunlight, thunder, & mist in the universe. Because, after all, it's all encompassing and no one gets left behind.
They will make room so no one gets left behind.
This time, it's Gokudera who shies away, who becomes unpredictable and jerks, snaps to get away in the way only Gokudera knows how. Disaster struck accidents like disbelief hung around his neck.
But Tsuna knows how to turn disasters into miracles.
"Come," he hushes, like a parent to a child. A lover to a loved one. He trembles, shakes, as he holds out his right hand and lets go of the words that he could never say.
Gokudera takes it (just like a puppy, Tsuna thinks) and presses his lips to the palm, to the vein. To the part that's connected to the heart and brain.
"Grazie," he says. And Tsuna knows he understands.
Grazie.