(no subject)
☣white it out.
PG | GIFT | 767
Tsuna doesn't dream in black and white, in color, or in a way that makes sense.
When he dreams, he dreams in letters, phrases, and sentences, all stringed together by punctuation marks and heartbeats. He doesn't really get it versus does it really matter. You dream something, you wake up, and that's it. You move on, because you can't really keep yourself rooted; that's just the way life is, how it goes. He doesn't really mind, because he's used to it, used to it like the way he ties his shoelaces in the morning, half-eaten toast in his mouth (I'm sorry, maman, I have no time, I'm late, I'm late -) that he never finishes.
But he turns his head and looks up, notices that his ceiling is already blurry, blackened out. The pillow is soft, like Kyoko's touch, and this makes him smile long enough to be noticed by a baby that just kicks him in the face and says, "Now's not the time, No Good Tsuna."
So he closes his eyes, slowly sleeping.
There's going to be a bruise on his nose in the morning.
He doesn't wake up, but he's awake enough. Eyes open, looking around, noticing that it's just him against the world, and there's no one around to help.
It's suffocating, this kind of pressure, the weight of everything else on his shoulders. Thin and frail, like they're about to break, but there's something about the way he stands still and just takes it all in. He's meant for this, after all, spent almost the entire decade convincing himself this is how it should be, how it's meant to be -
But he turns his head and looks up, notices that the sky overhead is just about to swallow him whole. He doesn't mind this, not at all, not when there are smiling faces, the people he wants to protect. Their laughter is light, like Kyoko's eyes, and this makes him hold on as tight as he could, to something he never wants to let go.
Something he can never give up.
There's an explosion of colors in the night sky, and this makes him think: this is why it's worth it.
Sometimes it's hard to tell where it stops, the fine line of I'm awake and I'm not.
But sometimes it's even harder to tell where it begins.
Tsuna can feel the cold surface of his bed, the way a misguided spring digs into his back whenever he tries to move, but his eyes feel heavy, like sand sits restlessly on top. Someone's snoring right beside him, the soft rising and falling of z's grating on the thread connecting him to deep sleep. It might be Lambo, he thinks, because Lambo always had the habit of invading his bed whenever the night isn't too friendly and Tsuna is the closest thing to home.
(He remembers being told, once, that Lambo has always feared sleeping alone, and he remembers laughing at this, because he's afraid of that too.)
But he turns his head and looks up, notices that everything suddenly goes black. It feels like someone's shaking him, calling him, wake up, wake up, open your eyes, and please don't -
Tsuna dreams, and he doesn't dream in black and white.
When he closes his eyes, he sees one color, shades of red, vivid and real. He could almost taste the copper tang, feel the sticky moisture of something too warm and so wrong at the same time. It isn't his blood, he thinks, at least he's pretty sure it's not his, because he doesn't feel the pain, the slight hint, the mild pang, that maybe it's his blood he's bleeding. Fingers go to his chest, but there's nothing, not even the heartbeat of his lungs.
Everything tightens, and it's like he can't reach out for the sky so blue, so alive, and -
There's a hand around his, and it's soft, like Kyoko's touch, it's light, like Kyoko's eyes, and it squeezes his fingers tight, a reassurance, a promise.
Tenth.
He hears it, a whisper near his face.
Tenth, please.
But he turns his head and looks up, notices that he can't really see anything anymore, not the blurry ceiling, not the blue sky - just everything going black, fading out and never in. He laughs, and it's weird how it sounds so broken to his ears, it's weird how it's slowly getting harder to breathe. At least he knows, he gets it now.
"It's okay."
Tenth! Open your eyes! Please -
But he doesn't.
It'll be okay.
title. White it Out.
genre. General.
rating. PG.
characters. Sawada Tsunayoshi, Gokudera Hayato (cameo); Katekyo Hitman REBORN!
warnings. Death.
wordcount. 767.
notes. I was trying out a new style, to get out of a writing slump of mine. Tell me if this makes sense? 'cause I don't really know, haha. Also written with tsunatsuna in mind. ♥♥♥
disclaimer. Bodies, limbs, thoughts, &things aren't mine. I just pull the strings &stay on the sidelines, 'cause that's where the puppeteer belongs when her dolls are strutting all over the stage.
synopsis. Tsuna doesn't dream in black and white, in color, or in a way that makes sense.
PG | GIFT | 767
Tsuna doesn't dream in black and white, in color, or in a way that makes sense.
When he dreams, he dreams in letters, phrases, and sentences, all stringed together by punctuation marks and heartbeats. He doesn't really get it versus does it really matter. You dream something, you wake up, and that's it. You move on, because you can't really keep yourself rooted; that's just the way life is, how it goes. He doesn't really mind, because he's used to it, used to it like the way he ties his shoelaces in the morning, half-eaten toast in his mouth (I'm sorry, maman, I have no time, I'm late, I'm late -) that he never finishes.
But he turns his head and looks up, notices that his ceiling is already blurry, blackened out. The pillow is soft, like Kyoko's touch, and this makes him smile long enough to be noticed by a baby that just kicks him in the face and says, "Now's not the time, No Good Tsuna."
So he closes his eyes, slowly sleeping.
There's going to be a bruise on his nose in the morning.
He doesn't wake up, but he's awake enough. Eyes open, looking around, noticing that it's just him against the world, and there's no one around to help.
It's suffocating, this kind of pressure, the weight of everything else on his shoulders. Thin and frail, like they're about to break, but there's something about the way he stands still and just takes it all in. He's meant for this, after all, spent almost the entire decade convincing himself this is how it should be, how it's meant to be -
But he turns his head and looks up, notices that the sky overhead is just about to swallow him whole. He doesn't mind this, not at all, not when there are smiling faces, the people he wants to protect. Their laughter is light, like Kyoko's eyes, and this makes him hold on as tight as he could, to something he never wants to let go.
Something he can never give up.
There's an explosion of colors in the night sky, and this makes him think: this is why it's worth it.
Sometimes it's hard to tell where it stops, the fine line of I'm awake and I'm not.
But sometimes it's even harder to tell where it begins.
Tsuna can feel the cold surface of his bed, the way a misguided spring digs into his back whenever he tries to move, but his eyes feel heavy, like sand sits restlessly on top. Someone's snoring right beside him, the soft rising and falling of z's grating on the thread connecting him to deep sleep. It might be Lambo, he thinks, because Lambo always had the habit of invading his bed whenever the night isn't too friendly and Tsuna is the closest thing to home.
(He remembers being told, once, that Lambo has always feared sleeping alone, and he remembers laughing at this, because he's afraid of that too.)
But he turns his head and looks up, notices that everything suddenly goes black. It feels like someone's shaking him, calling him, wake up, wake up, open your eyes, and please don't -
Tsuna dreams, and he doesn't dream in black and white.
When he closes his eyes, he sees one color, shades of red, vivid and real. He could almost taste the copper tang, feel the sticky moisture of something too warm and so wrong at the same time. It isn't his blood, he thinks, at least he's pretty sure it's not his, because he doesn't feel the pain, the slight hint, the mild pang, that maybe it's his blood he's bleeding. Fingers go to his chest, but there's nothing, not even the heartbeat of his lungs.
Everything tightens, and it's like he can't reach out for the sky so blue, so alive, and -
There's a hand around his, and it's soft, like Kyoko's touch, it's light, like Kyoko's eyes, and it squeezes his fingers tight, a reassurance, a promise.
Tenth.
He hears it, a whisper near his face.
Tenth, please.
But he turns his head and looks up, notices that he can't really see anything anymore, not the blurry ceiling, not the blue sky - just everything going black, fading out and never in. He laughs, and it's weird how it sounds so broken to his ears, it's weird how it's slowly getting harder to breathe. At least he knows, he gets it now.
"It's okay."
Tenth! Open your eyes! Please -
But he doesn't.
It'll be okay.
title. White it Out.
genre. General.
rating. PG.
characters. Sawada Tsunayoshi, Gokudera Hayato (cameo); Katekyo Hitman REBORN!
warnings. Death.
wordcount. 767.
notes. I was trying out a new style, to get out of a writing slump of mine. Tell me if this makes sense? 'cause I don't really know, haha. Also written with tsunatsuna in mind. ♥♥♥
disclaimer. Bodies, limbs, thoughts, &things aren't mine. I just pull the strings &stay on the sidelines, 'cause that's where the puppeteer belongs when her dolls are strutting all over the stage.
synopsis. Tsuna doesn't dream in black and white, in color, or in a way that makes sense.