[FIC] Victims of Love
Title: Victims of Love
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Pairing: 8059
Word Count: 1300
Warnings: Angst by the bucket, character death, use of the f-word.
Summary: Everyone who ever said love was easy was a liar, and everyone who said being in love was nice was just kidding themselves.
Author's Notes: This thing is ancient; I'm fairly certain I wrote it before the TYL arc even ended and then just never did anything else with it. It's in a slices-of-life format, with the scenes in italics not necessarily being in chronological order, but the other scenes are. In reality, this started as a bunch of random scenes I wrote with these two. This is just the end result. Title unabashedly taken from a Good Charlotte song.
“Gokudera…”
“Get the fuck away from me, Yamamoto.”
“If you’d just let me explain…”
The Storm Guardian spun around to face Yamamoto. “What’s to explain? I saw you and Squalo.”
“I know.”
“Then you know why I’m not talking to you.”
~~~
It was the only time Gokudera relaxed. It had taken them years to reach this point: years of Yamamoto convincing Gokudera that they were safe when they were alone, years of fights and kisses and whispers and bandaging of wounds. Yamamoto felt they were years well-spent.
~~~
“I just don’t get you,” Gokudera mutters to the still man lying in the hospital bed next to the chair he’s sitting in. He loathes the sound of the heart monitor more than it comforts him, because while the steady beeping means Yamamoto is still alive, the sound is grating on Gokudera’s already-shot-to-hell nerves.
It doesn’t matter that the doctors didn’t think Yamamoto was going to make it until a few hours ago. Gokudera can’t focus on the possibility of losing Yamamoto until it actually happens, because just the idea of it scares him too much. He hates that as well.
“You could have had anything you wanted, you know. A career in baseball, a gorgeous wife, stupid grinning baseball-loving kids.” The world wouldn’t have denied Yamamoto any of that. No one could deny Yamamoto anything. “So why choose this? Why do you risk your life and your sanity day in and day out when you don’t have to?”
Had Yamamoto been awake, he might have thrown the question back. Gokudera has answers. Tsuna needs him, he was born to this life, grew up in this life, doesn’t know how to do anything else. But Yamamoto isn’t awake, so he doesn’t ask. Gokudera studies the other man’s face. There is a bandage on the right cheek. He wonders when Yamamoto will get the scar on his chin he remembers seeing on ten-years-later-Yamamoto, if he will get it at all. He wonders how much they really changed the future.
~~~
It’s awkward. It’s their first time-with anyone-and they don’t really know what they’re doing beyond the basic idea. But they fumble through it, embracing and kissing and groping and it’s surprisingly good.
They act as though nothing’s changed when they’re around the others. Gokudera is sure Hibari knows, because Hibari knows everything, and that Chrome is innocent but Mukuro somewhere is probably smirking, but he is somewhat comforted by the fact that Hibari has come in limping before and no one questioned it. Then again, that was Hibari. When Tsuna asks about Gokudera’s slight limp, Yamamoto steps in and blames it on a training accident.
“Nothing serious, he’ll be fine.”
Tsuna believes them, for which they’re thankful. This thing between them is too new and precious to share yet-no, not new; they’d been building toward this almost since they met. Too precious, then.
~~~
“You’re going to end up with lung cancer one day.”
Gokudera smirked, his cigarette still between his lips. “Doesn’t matter.”
Yamamoto leaned against the balcony railing. “Sure it does. The family can’t go on without the Storm Guardian.”
“Good choice of words. I’d have smacked you if you said something sappy.”
Yamamoto gave a half-hearted version of his usual laugh. “I know.”
Gokudera took another drag from the cigarette before taking it out of his mouth and tapping it against the railing. “What would you do if I died?”
“If a person was responsible, I’d kill them. If it was from some stupid preventable disease… I don’t know.”
~~~
Yamamoto watched Gokudera sleep, knowing what he was about to do was cowardly. He should wait until Gokudera was awake; wait until he was ready to hear what Yamamoto had to say. That was ridiculous, of course. Gokudera would react badly if he were awake. He would never be ready to hear how Yamamoto really felt.
So Yamamoto spoke quietly. “I know you hate me. Well, maybe you don’t really hate me, but you tend to act like it, ha-ha. I don’t hate you. Not even close. I… I wouldn’t call it love, exactly. But I really like you, Hayato. If I told you that when you were awake, you probably wouldn’t be able to decide which part of that to try to kill me for first. That’s why I haven’t said it until now. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, even if you still don’t actually know. It’s enough that I told you.”
What Yamamoto didn’t know was that Gokudera wasn’t really asleep.
~~~
Time seems to slow down around Gokudera as he registers what has just happened. The Tenth is on the ground, his bride beside him. He’s sitting up; he’s not hurt. Yamamoto is on the ground nearby, clutching his shoulder. Yamamoto is on the floor. He’s not okay. He shoved Tsuna to the ground when the shot was fired. The gunman is being apprehended now. Yamamoto is not okay. Time speeds up again.
And now Gokudera is on his knees at Yamamoto’s side, cursing under his breath at the other man’s stupidity and begging every deity he can think of to spare him. Yamamoto is just trying to smile at Gokudera, trying to produce that stupid grin he always wears but not quite managing it. Gokudera nearly gives in to the urge to slap the taller man and tell him he’s just been shot, he’s not supposed to be smiling.
~~~
“I am not some fucking princess that needs to be rescued,” Gokudera hissed as Yamamoto carried him-bridal style, of all methods-across the threshold of his apartment.
Yamamoto just grinned. “I know. You’re too grouchy and foul-mouthed to be a princess.”
Gokudera glared at the taller boy as he was deposited onto the couch, fighting to hide the wince when his newly-sprained ankle was jostled.
Yamamoto saw the reaction anyway. “Sorry.” The usual accompanying laugh made the apology slightly less effective. He went into the kitchen.
Gokudera sighed. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. “And you’re sure as hell no prince,” he called. He could hear Yamamoto’s responding laughter. The baseball player returned with an ice-pack.
“If you’re not a princess, why should it matter that I’m not a prince?” He grabbed a few pillows off the floor (they’d been shoved down and left there practically since Gokudera moved in, with the exception of times like this when they were needed) and put them under Gokudera’s injured ankle before wrapping the ice-pack around it.
Gokudera crossed his arms and continued to glare. “You carried me here like I was a fucking girl.”
Yamamoto smirked. “Believe me, Gokudera, I’ve never treated any girl the way I treat you.”
~~~
It’s raining. It would be raining on this of all days. Gokudera can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t involve expletives, and he’s pretty sure that everyone who didn’t know him well-like those little old ladies near the back, who the fuck were they anyway?-would be shocked and scandalized by the things that would come pouring out of his mouth if he opened it. So he keeps his mouth closed during the funeral. At least, he keeps it closed as long as he can stand there. He walks away from the grave and the gathered people halfway through the eulogy. He can’t talk about Yamamoto in front of these people, and he can’t listen to someone who didn’t know Yamamoto talk about the idiot either. He’ll be back once it’s over and everyone else is gone. He’ll be back, and he’ll kneel in the fresh-dirt-turning-to-mud (ruining his suit, but he doesn’t fucking care about that) and he’ll cry and yell and curse at the gravestone bearing the name of his almost-lover (or whatever the hell Yamamoto was). And the rain will fall down harder.
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Pairing: 8059
Word Count: 1300
Warnings: Angst by the bucket, character death, use of the f-word.
Summary: Everyone who ever said love was easy was a liar, and everyone who said being in love was nice was just kidding themselves.
Author's Notes: This thing is ancient; I'm fairly certain I wrote it before the TYL arc even ended and then just never did anything else with it. It's in a slices-of-life format, with the scenes in italics not necessarily being in chronological order, but the other scenes are. In reality, this started as a bunch of random scenes I wrote with these two. This is just the end result. Title unabashedly taken from a Good Charlotte song.
“Gokudera…”
“Get the fuck away from me, Yamamoto.”
“If you’d just let me explain…”
The Storm Guardian spun around to face Yamamoto. “What’s to explain? I saw you and Squalo.”
“I know.”
“Then you know why I’m not talking to you.”
~~~
It was the only time Gokudera relaxed. It had taken them years to reach this point: years of Yamamoto convincing Gokudera that they were safe when they were alone, years of fights and kisses and whispers and bandaging of wounds. Yamamoto felt they were years well-spent.
~~~
“I just don’t get you,” Gokudera mutters to the still man lying in the hospital bed next to the chair he’s sitting in. He loathes the sound of the heart monitor more than it comforts him, because while the steady beeping means Yamamoto is still alive, the sound is grating on Gokudera’s already-shot-to-hell nerves.
It doesn’t matter that the doctors didn’t think Yamamoto was going to make it until a few hours ago. Gokudera can’t focus on the possibility of losing Yamamoto until it actually happens, because just the idea of it scares him too much. He hates that as well.
“You could have had anything you wanted, you know. A career in baseball, a gorgeous wife, stupid grinning baseball-loving kids.” The world wouldn’t have denied Yamamoto any of that. No one could deny Yamamoto anything. “So why choose this? Why do you risk your life and your sanity day in and day out when you don’t have to?”
Had Yamamoto been awake, he might have thrown the question back. Gokudera has answers. Tsuna needs him, he was born to this life, grew up in this life, doesn’t know how to do anything else. But Yamamoto isn’t awake, so he doesn’t ask. Gokudera studies the other man’s face. There is a bandage on the right cheek. He wonders when Yamamoto will get the scar on his chin he remembers seeing on ten-years-later-Yamamoto, if he will get it at all. He wonders how much they really changed the future.
~~~
It’s awkward. It’s their first time-with anyone-and they don’t really know what they’re doing beyond the basic idea. But they fumble through it, embracing and kissing and groping and it’s surprisingly good.
They act as though nothing’s changed when they’re around the others. Gokudera is sure Hibari knows, because Hibari knows everything, and that Chrome is innocent but Mukuro somewhere is probably smirking, but he is somewhat comforted by the fact that Hibari has come in limping before and no one questioned it. Then again, that was Hibari. When Tsuna asks about Gokudera’s slight limp, Yamamoto steps in and blames it on a training accident.
“Nothing serious, he’ll be fine.”
Tsuna believes them, for which they’re thankful. This thing between them is too new and precious to share yet-no, not new; they’d been building toward this almost since they met. Too precious, then.
~~~
“You’re going to end up with lung cancer one day.”
Gokudera smirked, his cigarette still between his lips. “Doesn’t matter.”
Yamamoto leaned against the balcony railing. “Sure it does. The family can’t go on without the Storm Guardian.”
“Good choice of words. I’d have smacked you if you said something sappy.”
Yamamoto gave a half-hearted version of his usual laugh. “I know.”
Gokudera took another drag from the cigarette before taking it out of his mouth and tapping it against the railing. “What would you do if I died?”
“If a person was responsible, I’d kill them. If it was from some stupid preventable disease… I don’t know.”
~~~
Yamamoto watched Gokudera sleep, knowing what he was about to do was cowardly. He should wait until Gokudera was awake; wait until he was ready to hear what Yamamoto had to say. That was ridiculous, of course. Gokudera would react badly if he were awake. He would never be ready to hear how Yamamoto really felt.
So Yamamoto spoke quietly. “I know you hate me. Well, maybe you don’t really hate me, but you tend to act like it, ha-ha. I don’t hate you. Not even close. I… I wouldn’t call it love, exactly. But I really like you, Hayato. If I told you that when you were awake, you probably wouldn’t be able to decide which part of that to try to kill me for first. That’s why I haven’t said it until now. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, even if you still don’t actually know. It’s enough that I told you.”
What Yamamoto didn’t know was that Gokudera wasn’t really asleep.
~~~
Time seems to slow down around Gokudera as he registers what has just happened. The Tenth is on the ground, his bride beside him. He’s sitting up; he’s not hurt. Yamamoto is on the ground nearby, clutching his shoulder. Yamamoto is on the floor. He’s not okay. He shoved Tsuna to the ground when the shot was fired. The gunman is being apprehended now. Yamamoto is not okay. Time speeds up again.
And now Gokudera is on his knees at Yamamoto’s side, cursing under his breath at the other man’s stupidity and begging every deity he can think of to spare him. Yamamoto is just trying to smile at Gokudera, trying to produce that stupid grin he always wears but not quite managing it. Gokudera nearly gives in to the urge to slap the taller man and tell him he’s just been shot, he’s not supposed to be smiling.
~~~
“I am not some fucking princess that needs to be rescued,” Gokudera hissed as Yamamoto carried him-bridal style, of all methods-across the threshold of his apartment.
Yamamoto just grinned. “I know. You’re too grouchy and foul-mouthed to be a princess.”
Gokudera glared at the taller boy as he was deposited onto the couch, fighting to hide the wince when his newly-sprained ankle was jostled.
Yamamoto saw the reaction anyway. “Sorry.” The usual accompanying laugh made the apology slightly less effective. He went into the kitchen.
Gokudera sighed. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. “And you’re sure as hell no prince,” he called. He could hear Yamamoto’s responding laughter. The baseball player returned with an ice-pack.
“If you’re not a princess, why should it matter that I’m not a prince?” He grabbed a few pillows off the floor (they’d been shoved down and left there practically since Gokudera moved in, with the exception of times like this when they were needed) and put them under Gokudera’s injured ankle before wrapping the ice-pack around it.
Gokudera crossed his arms and continued to glare. “You carried me here like I was a fucking girl.”
Yamamoto smirked. “Believe me, Gokudera, I’ve never treated any girl the way I treat you.”
~~~
It’s raining. It would be raining on this of all days. Gokudera can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t involve expletives, and he’s pretty sure that everyone who didn’t know him well-like those little old ladies near the back, who the fuck were they anyway?-would be shocked and scandalized by the things that would come pouring out of his mouth if he opened it. So he keeps his mouth closed during the funeral. At least, he keeps it closed as long as he can stand there. He walks away from the grave and the gathered people halfway through the eulogy. He can’t talk about Yamamoto in front of these people, and he can’t listen to someone who didn’t know Yamamoto talk about the idiot either. He’ll be back once it’s over and everyone else is gone. He’ll be back, and he’ll kneel in the fresh-dirt-turning-to-mud (ruining his suit, but he doesn’t fucking care about that) and he’ll cry and yell and curse at the gravestone bearing the name of his almost-lover (or whatever the hell Yamamoto was). And the rain will fall down harder.