I'm in love with how you feel; KHR
Drabble, because all studying and no fic makes this day go by even slower.
Title: I'm in love with how you feel
Pairing: Yamamoto/Gokudera.
Genre: Technically not long enough to have one, but my bets on fluff, anyway.
Notes: THIS DOESN'T MAKE SENSE.
Summary: Gokudera is still working on his masterpiece.
They’re kids in mid-thirties, and looking at Yamamoto’s still shining, still adoring face makes Gokudera want to cry every time he sees it; amber boy’s eyes, a crooked nose, a lined, grinning mouth. Yamamoto is part Gokudera’s own creation, from every tackle to the floor while a bullet skimmed his cheekbone, from every desperate ration with his unconscious form in an apathetic hospital room, from every calm morning - see someone about that fucking snoring, will you; you’re such a cover-hog it‘s unbelievable; brush your teeth first; stop that, we’re late already; it‘s lucky if we even make it now. Or at least, Yamamoto thinks so.
Gokudera was a fleeting child, is the thing. He hated the mafia at first, he loved his father at first, he hated his sister at first, he liked fiction on boyhood adventures and dragon slaying, and the next day it was books on the rhythmical behaviour of sea creatures. Devotion came to him in some battering wave, early teens, broke his legs so he couldn’t run anymore, catch the easy train to the next brighter, bigger fad anymore. Bombs are still his preferred weaponry, Tsuna is still his only god, the family is still his heart and soul and Yamamoto - twenty five years later, and Gokudera can’t find the right answer for that still. Even though he’s still looking, Yamamoto knows, he always has. They met in class at thirteen, after Gokudera answered some ridiculous algebraic formula that still failed to register with Yamamoto now, and Yamamoto turned and met his eyes, smiling, welcoming. He just knew. Gokudera searched in calculations and observations, vast studies of the mind and little on the heart, while Yamamoto relied wholly on instinct. If their first encounter taught Yamamoto anything, it was that Gokudera would find the answer somehow.
Gokudera is part Yamamoto’s own creation, right down the elusive smile, right down to the careless way he threw his arms open and said, are you just going to wait forever?
Title: I'm in love with how you feel
Pairing: Yamamoto/Gokudera.
Genre: Technically not long enough to have one, but my bets on fluff, anyway.
Notes: THIS DOESN'T MAKE SENSE.
Summary: Gokudera is still working on his masterpiece.
They’re kids in mid-thirties, and looking at Yamamoto’s still shining, still adoring face makes Gokudera want to cry every time he sees it; amber boy’s eyes, a crooked nose, a lined, grinning mouth. Yamamoto is part Gokudera’s own creation, from every tackle to the floor while a bullet skimmed his cheekbone, from every desperate ration with his unconscious form in an apathetic hospital room, from every calm morning - see someone about that fucking snoring, will you; you’re such a cover-hog it‘s unbelievable; brush your teeth first; stop that, we’re late already; it‘s lucky if we even make it now. Or at least, Yamamoto thinks so.
Gokudera was a fleeting child, is the thing. He hated the mafia at first, he loved his father at first, he hated his sister at first, he liked fiction on boyhood adventures and dragon slaying, and the next day it was books on the rhythmical behaviour of sea creatures. Devotion came to him in some battering wave, early teens, broke his legs so he couldn’t run anymore, catch the easy train to the next brighter, bigger fad anymore. Bombs are still his preferred weaponry, Tsuna is still his only god, the family is still his heart and soul and Yamamoto - twenty five years later, and Gokudera can’t find the right answer for that still. Even though he’s still looking, Yamamoto knows, he always has. They met in class at thirteen, after Gokudera answered some ridiculous algebraic formula that still failed to register with Yamamoto now, and Yamamoto turned and met his eyes, smiling, welcoming. He just knew. Gokudera searched in calculations and observations, vast studies of the mind and little on the heart, while Yamamoto relied wholly on instinct. If their first encounter taught Yamamoto anything, it was that Gokudera would find the answer somehow.
Gokudera is part Yamamoto’s own creation, right down the elusive smile, right down to the careless way he threw his arms open and said, are you just going to wait forever?