[Reborn fic] A Season of Thunderstorms (YamaGoku drabble, worksafe)
A Season of Thunderstorms
Rain had always made Gokudera uneasy. And thunderstorms unsettled him especially. As a child growing up virtually alone in a place where even the softest sound echoed, there was nothing he could do but lie in bed counting the thunderclaps, living in the spaces between the moments that briefly shook his existence.
One. Two. Three.
So on the first few nights that Yamamoto stayed over, it was no surprise that Gokudera lay awake for hours, counting the final thunderclaps as they faded.
It wasn't as if the thunder was there constantly. Mostly it was before they did it and during. Then, while they were stretched out beside each other, waiting to fall asleep, it was mostly just rain.
Rain heralded the arrival of Yamamoto at his doorstep. If it rained early, Gokudera popped a vein and thought the baseball freak must be horny again. So if he had any plans to bum around for the evening, he used the bad weather as an excuse to stay in. And like clockwork, Yamamoto would come knocking.
Gokudera couldn't be sure how the rain worked, in fact. It would still be drizzling even if he was fairly sure that Yamamoto was already asleep, contentedly snoring on his side of the bed. On the other hand, he had it on Yamamoto's word that the thunderclaps stopped as soon as he fell asleep. He didn't know if the bastard was just pulling his leg.
But - and Gokudera wasn't sure how it happened - there came a time when he got used to it. When he stopped counting. And when it stopped being a matter of fact that rain had always made him uneasy. Soon it was the rain and the comforting warmth and weight that came with it that lulled him to sleep.
The other Guardians should have noticed it, but apparently they didn't. They just thought it was weird, for there to be so many thunderstorms in autumn. The Tenth was no exception.
"I wish this weird weather would clear up soon," Gokudera overheard the Tenth saying. It wasn't the sort of thing you said to anyone in particular, anyway.
The child Reborn looked at Gokudera because Gokudera met his gaze.
So on the following nights, there were no thunderstorms. The door to Gokudera's apartment remained shut. There were thunderclaps, certainly, Gokudera counted them until he fell asleep - one. Two. Three.
And on some nights, it would turn unusually cold, and the clouds would gather for a shower that would only grow furious as the night drew on. On those nights he lay awake in bed, running out of cigarettes, waiting to hear the sound of Yamamoto's knocking.
But there was only rain.