22- [Katekiyo Hitman Reborn] Fly with Me
Rating: Gen.
Fandom: Katekiyo Hitman Reborn
Characters: Tsuna/Reborn, a Gokudera appearance
Summary: The world, ten years later. A deathfic of St. Not-Saint.
The day the world ended happened on a bright sunny day.
Except that the sun was brightly covered in smoke and tears and the sky was the vulgar colour of grey-and-blue secrets and the sin that spun within angelwhite ribs.
And while the world never paused for unnecessary human deaths, or broken hearts and bodies that float away to newer, unreachable shores, he knelt on one knee and cradled him in his arms while the world flew by in a whirl of rage.
He coughed. Brighteyed-soft blue boy smiles at him. "It's a temporary leave."
"A temporary leave," he repeats, and the blood oozes on his clothes like a familiar friend.
"It's not permanent. It's nothing special. It's..." gentle breathing. Soft, gentle breathing, slowly reaching for the end of the string, the end of the lie, the final period at the end of this story: once upon a time, there was a little boy...
"...hey, I'll be back before you know it!" And he coughs, hacks up blood and spittle and they hit his skin in a mark of passion and momentary confession of love. How disgusting. How poetic. How malleable our hearts are when we turn to lose what we've loved so much.
(from the background: simultaneous exposition of faith and rage. Cries of no, oh God no and I'm sorry I came too late and the one he can't ever retract, the one he can't figure out how to undo: it won't be long now before he.)
It won't be long now before he--
"...before I know it."
"Yes, yes, I'll definitely be back. Yes..." he turns on his side and lies more comfortably on his lap and closes his eyes gently. Surely. "I just need to sleep for a bit. My heart hurts..!"
My heart hurts, he thought.
lying with his eyes; his hands are busy working overtime.
"Tsuna. Tsuna...."
The body hung limp and cold in his arms and the blood has dried up on his sleeves, on his expensive black suit and he still hasn't moved.
It's not fair. He said it was only temporary. He said it wasn't for real. He said he'd be back. He said--
"Jyuudaime! Jyuudai--" Gokudera. Rushes in before them and loses all of the words that he needs and doesn't need and will ever need to use in his life. He stops and collapses on the ground, bared to the bone on his knees and he tries to graps for words, tries to fish them out of his mouth but he fails; all that comes out of his lips was the strangles sound of a half-forgotten word.
Reborn looks at the world with glassy blackbeetle eyes. Leon flares from acid green to vindictive, bright chartreuse and its round eyes blink mercilessly as it took the world around and shifted, moved and took the form of a gun. Two-timing miracle shapeshifter with the recklessness of a madman, in a madman's hands. Reborn was okay now, very much okay. The sun was still dead and bright and the ground red and angry.
"Hold him."
"Wha--"
"Hold him. He's gone on a recent vacation and he's not coming back. So hold him. Hold him."
Hold him.
And just like that, he left, gun with his hands and eyes promising broken bones and deep purple and red wounds.
Listen, here: we aim to kill. We aim to kill.
Gokudera doesn't even recognize him as he moves to the shadows, into the chaos of men and machine and boxes with blackmagic flames. There goes another dead man. Walking back to his tomb. Look, now: this is where he belongs.
Fandom: Katekiyo Hitman Reborn
Characters: Tsuna/Reborn, a Gokudera appearance
Summary: The world, ten years later. A deathfic of St. Not-Saint.
The day the world ended happened on a bright sunny day.
Except that the sun was brightly covered in smoke and tears and the sky was the vulgar colour of grey-and-blue secrets and the sin that spun within angelwhite ribs.
And while the world never paused for unnecessary human deaths, or broken hearts and bodies that float away to newer, unreachable shores, he knelt on one knee and cradled him in his arms while the world flew by in a whirl of rage.
He coughed. Brighteyed-soft blue boy smiles at him. "It's a temporary leave."
"A temporary leave," he repeats, and the blood oozes on his clothes like a familiar friend.
"It's not permanent. It's nothing special. It's..." gentle breathing. Soft, gentle breathing, slowly reaching for the end of the string, the end of the lie, the final period at the end of this story: once upon a time, there was a little boy...
"...hey, I'll be back before you know it!" And he coughs, hacks up blood and spittle and they hit his skin in a mark of passion and momentary confession of love. How disgusting. How poetic. How malleable our hearts are when we turn to lose what we've loved so much.
(from the background: simultaneous exposition of faith and rage. Cries of no, oh God no and I'm sorry I came too late and the one he can't ever retract, the one he can't figure out how to undo: it won't be long now before he.)
It won't be long now before he--
"...before I know it."
"Yes, yes, I'll definitely be back. Yes..." he turns on his side and lies more comfortably on his lap and closes his eyes gently. Surely. "I just need to sleep for a bit. My heart hurts..!"
My heart hurts, he thought.
lying with his eyes; his hands are busy working overtime.
"Tsuna. Tsuna...."
The body hung limp and cold in his arms and the blood has dried up on his sleeves, on his expensive black suit and he still hasn't moved.
It's not fair. He said it was only temporary. He said it wasn't for real. He said he'd be back. He said--
"Jyuudaime! Jyuudai--" Gokudera. Rushes in before them and loses all of the words that he needs and doesn't need and will ever need to use in his life. He stops and collapses on the ground, bared to the bone on his knees and he tries to graps for words, tries to fish them out of his mouth but he fails; all that comes out of his lips was the strangles sound of a half-forgotten word.
Reborn looks at the world with glassy blackbeetle eyes. Leon flares from acid green to vindictive, bright chartreuse and its round eyes blink mercilessly as it took the world around and shifted, moved and took the form of a gun. Two-timing miracle shapeshifter with the recklessness of a madman, in a madman's hands. Reborn was okay now, very much okay. The sun was still dead and bright and the ground red and angry.
"Hold him."
"Wha--"
"Hold him. He's gone on a recent vacation and he's not coming back. So hold him. Hold him."
Hold him.
And just like that, he left, gun with his hands and eyes promising broken bones and deep purple and red wounds.
Listen, here: we aim to kill. We aim to kill.
Gokudera doesn't even recognize him as he moves to the shadows, into the chaos of men and machine and boxes with blackmagic flames. There goes another dead man. Walking back to his tomb. Look, now: this is where he belongs.