First post
No Love for Mafia Men
Author: bunny_phobic
Pairing: 8059
Rating: PG13...I think (there's only three-ish swear words)
Summary: When questioned about Yamamoto's unexplained and short leave, Reborn would only reply that it had all been a part of his plan
Disclaimer: Reborn not mine
Notes: I encounter the quote 'no love for mass murderers with god complexes' and it all went downhill from there.
Warnings: I guess spoilers for anyone who isn't through with the Varia arc. And, haha, characterization, what are you talking about?
Reborn had always prided himself on his ability to make decisions; it wasn’t like the Vongola’s genetic gift of hyper intuition, but he was good. After all, look where it got him. World’s strongest hit man and all-that had to stand for something.
Still, and he’d probably go to the grave with this secret, he had always felt that his inviting Yamamoto into the family had been a gamble-the boy was just too ordinary and, more importantly, too naïve. Another reason Reborn would take to the grave with him: he favored training Yamamoto over training Gokudera because he knew he could trust Gokudera when the situation really counted-which said something about his opinion of Gokudera.
Not to mention his constant rejection of the very capable boy as Dame-Tsuna’s right-hand man would only force him to become even more capable. Yes, it was all part of his plan; he could hit two birds at once, you see: the Vongola gains a capable hit man as well as a super-capable commander.
As Yamamoto seemed almost immune to the growing danger of their little mafia game and still continued on strong, the Arcobaleno decided it was probably safe to truly call him a hit man now-but really, it was inevitable that the swordsman would find out, after all, there would be missions that will have to be prioritized over everything else and to mistaken it for a game could very well cause the family’s downfall.
And of course, the fated day did come as did the conclusion. Only the conclusion came in a form that not even the Vongola’s hyper intuition could have predicted.
Their conversation went something like this:
“Haha, so it’s, like, totally not a game and we’re actually part of the mafia?” the teenager’s tone was upbeat and casual that it wasn’t any different from usual; in fact, it was as if the boy was asking him to deny the truth.
The boy probably was.
Not that it mattered. Reborn always thought for himself and only himself-if other people happened to benefit from this, so be it. That wasn’t his main concern.
“Yes, it’s true. You are Tsuna’s Rain Guardian who will wash the blood off the other’s hands.”
Really, it wasn’t like Reborn actually foresaw what was about to happen; in a sense, he almost wished he did.
“Ahaha…um…well, funny thing about that. You know, my dream was to make it into the starters on the baseball team-” Reborn had obviously known this form the beginning; it’d already came true so there was no room for regrets in that department “-and to get a girlfriend that I could…I dunno, do whatever couples do.” The Rain Guardian finished off with a blush.
This…was unexpected.
“I see.”
But irrelevant.
“And there's no such thing as love for mafia men. So I can’t be part of the mafia, sorry, little guy.”
And then the baby felt the gears in his head stop-a clog-a gear shifted out of place-something shift out of place.
Wait.
What did he just say?
“I’m really sorry. Please don’t tell Tsuna! I mean, I don’t think he really realizes that I’m part of his gang-” Reborn opened his mouth to inform him that Tsuna was probably the most informed (and in the most denial) of this fact, but Yamamoto ploughed forward “-and I really don’t want to stop being his friend or anything, so can you not tell him? Please?” The Japanese boy bowed his head with his hands pressed together in front of his face as if in a prayer. One brown eye peeked out for his reaction.
That shifted gear from earlier cracked from the pressure. And now, all the gears were falling out of place.
Which was clear when Reborn nodded his head as a reflex-everything Yamamoto had said until this point had been rooted to his instinctual hit man abilities, so Reborn had easily agreed with him with just about everything until this point.
“Thanks! You’re a life saver! I have to find Gokudera. See ya!”
And with that, the now ex-Rain Guardian ran off in search for the current Storm Guardian.
Reborn managed only to stare blankly at his retreating form. This was one advantage of being an Arcobaleno: when staring blankly, it was completely undetected and hidden by large infant eyes and could be interpreted as a child’s pensive-or as pensive as they could get-stare.
Well, at least some of his pride survived Yamamoto’s bomb.
And then the gears in his head rearranged themselves.
Ever since he’d been cursed to his baby form, Reborn had taken extra care to speak at least somewhat like a baby (after all, he did have some habits, such as the need to take numerous naps and such, of babies). This, with his occupation as a professional hit man, meant he no longer swore. And he hadn’t. Not for the entire year-and-a-half-plus that he’d become a baby. But with the current situation as it was, there was only one thought that he was able to speak aloud.
“What. The fuck.”
What the fuck, indeed.
If there was one person Yamamoto was obligated to tell, it was Gokudera. Tsuna may have been his bestest friend ever, but the strength of those ties meant there were things he couldn’t be able to talk about with Tsuna. Like when a guy sleeps with his best friend’s girlfriend; you obviously don’t tell your best friend. You tell your-best-friend’s-other-best-friend-who-isn’t-your-best-friend-but-you-were-close-enough-to-ask-for-advice-and-shit. Yeah, that was what Gokudera was to him. Except Tsuna’s 'sister' was more of a 'mob family' and ‘sleeping with her’ was more of a ‘series of one night stands' that had to end.
One can appreciate why individuals never approach their bestest friends about situations such as these now.
Yamamoto hadn’t thought his reason was wrong or anything. Look at all those movies! Mafia men were burly, ugly and too busy blowing out each other’s brains to be in love-or too busy thinking of ways to turn innocent girls (and occasionally boys) into complete sex slaves, but that was another issue all together.
It was completely reasonable and proven to be true. All the reliable sources said so.
Hence why it wasn’t right for Gokudera to just stare at him blankly for five minutes before bursting out in laughter after he’d told Gokudera what he’d told Reborn.
Really, it wasn’t funny at all. It was a serious life decision.
Yet watching the Quarter bent over in laughter, clutching his stomach as if in pain (and probably was given how loud and how long he’d been laughing at Yamamoto) and gasping for air that escaped him while he was choking on escaping giggles, he couldn’t feel mad or put out in any way.
He didn’t even feel the slightest bad when he finally realized that Gokudera had been attempting to gasp out a ‘dumb ass’ for the last five minutes-he didn’t actually succeed, since he was constantly interrupted by bouts of laughter.
In a strange way, he actually felt pretty good, watching the normally scowling Italian laugh without a care in the world.
He writes it off as Gokudera hardly ever smiling at him even though they were friends. Guess this proved they were friends.
Even if Gokudera looked like he was about to pass out from oxygen deprivation any second now. From Laughing at him.
Really, it wasn't funny at all.
When the baseball club manager hears that he’s looking for a girlfriend, she promptly confesses to him. Yamamoto agrees because, for a girl, she packed a mean pitch and liked baseball and eating, so she was pretty cool.
And their relationship was exactly how it was in any movie, manga or drama. There were chocolates, perfect confessions of love, flowers and exchange of rings. Heck, there may have even been sparkles and lace in the background with how he and his girlfriend glowed when they were together. With the skies always clear and the air light and clean.
A perfect love story.
But it was missing something that Yamamoto couldn’t ignore. The Spark. That electric jolt that traveled from the slightest contact and zapped his brain and turned it to goo and made him literally shine with love-induced-happiness.
Or so the reliable sources say.
That there was something else that Yamamoto couldn’t ignore, though it wasn’t so much as something missing as much as there being too much. For example, whenever he took his girlfriend’s hand, he couldn’t help but think, ‘gee, if only her skin was lighter,’ or looked at her hair and think, ‘gee, a lighter colour would be nicer-I dunno, silver or something,’ or when they kissed and he thought, ‘wow, I wasn’t expecting her mouth to taste so clean and minty-'
That last one made his brain stumble a little; he wanted his girlfriend to taste like-he didn't know, but something like...cigarettes? What the hell?
And then his brain supplies the answer by itself. Because he might have been stupid, but his brain was smart like that.
He, Yamamoto Takeshi, was in love with a Gokudera Hayato, Mafioso with no capacity for love.
Well, that dampened his relationship with his girlfriend.
Really. It was probably hard for even a cool girl like the manager to chew down a, ‘have you ever considered picking up smoking? It might make kissing you a little easier.’
When Tsuna noticed that Yamamoto stopped coming to family meetings, the Vongola Head was a tad worried. When he’d heard the rumors about Rumiko from class 2-D, he just figured that he was taking some time off from being with his friends to be with his girlfriend (the small boy was only slightly envious; after all, Yamamoto was so popular, it was bound to happen).
When he asks Gokudera if he knows anything, Tsuna was confused by the Italian choking up with laughter.
Tsuna is only more confused when he hears the rumors that Rumiko and Yamamoto broke up because the boy claimed the girl's breath was worse than breathing in gasoline.
Yamamoto couldn’t take it any more. It had been nearly a month since they’d last talk beyond ‘hey’ and ‘see ya’. If he didn’t know any better-and he really didn’t at this point-he would say that Gokudera was treating like every other non-mafia-related, normal person in the world. In other words, he was ignoring him and keeping out of the circle. He was even quieter during the periods before he and Tsuna and Ryohei and Hibari disappeared from school to do…something mafia-related.
Not to mention that since Gokudera was continuing with the whole mafia thing with Tsuna, he was missing school a lot because he was hospitalized. Twice. In less than a month.
Really, most people couldn’t take it when the Love of Their Lives gets hurt to that degree that often.
And his frustrations eventually manifest themselves in the form of a letter with only a ‘Come to the roof at break. Alone, please. We have to talk. -Yamamoto’ written in it.
Yamamoto quickly made his way to the roof; it wouldn’t be good for him to be late. After all, he was the one that called Gokudera out.
And there the Storm Guardian was, in all his European glory. Casually leaning against the rusty railings that had nearly cost him his life (this causes him to briefly wonder how Gokudera could lean against them and not fall to his emanate death) and smoking a cigarette. Hell, it was as if he was still unknowingly in the mafia and they were still friends and he hadn’t just left the mafia to find love only to be hit over the head with an epiphany otherwise described as ‘hey, you’re in love with your-best-friend’s-friend-who-also-happens-to-be-your-confidant-who-also-happens-to-be-in-the-mafia.’
Well, damn. As if it wasn’t hard enough as it was.
And it just came out. Like pouring rain that didn’t build up from a drizzle but started to pour out buckets from the very beginning.
“Hahaha I know it’s only been a month since we’ve last really talked and funny thing about that. You know how I left the mafia to find a girlfriend. You see, funny thing really, it turns out maybe I’m not cut out for that. Butthat’sbecauseIswearI’minloveiwthyousopleasegooutwithme.”
Pouring buckets, indeed. Yamamoto felt sweat begin to form at the back of his neck.
This wasn’t how it was in any movie, manga or drama. There were no chocolates, perfect confession of undying love, flowers or exchange of rings. And there obviously weren’t any sparkles or lace in the background-even Yamamoto would realize that stuff was in manga only sooner or later (or, from this experience, much later). The skies weren’t clear and the air wasn’t light and clean-actually quite the opposite, the skies were dreary at best and the air heavy and disgusting. It didn’t make it any better that Gokudera had been smoking earlier either.
And this was supposed to be his winning confession that, according to the reliable records, should win him his One True Love.
Gokudera stares blankly at him, taking his time to finish his cigarette. Yamamoto stares back and waits on pins and needles.
The cigarette is burning near its stub and Gokudera casually drops the cancer stick from his fingers and puts it out with shoe-the Japanese boy vaguely hopes that Hibari from the Disciplinary Committee doesn’t find that scorch mark.
The Italian continues to level a stare at him. It makes the other boy sweat and make vague circular movements with him arms to urge Gokudera to speak.
“Sorry, but mafia men only fall for greater mafia men.”
Well…shit.
There's a word they learned recently in English that would describe this situation pretty well. Now, what was it again...
Right.
Irony.
Yamamoto drops his head in defeat. Gokudera ploughs onward.
“You’re a complete dumb ass, you know that?”
Well, this sucks, Yamamoto thought. There really wasn’t any way for it to get any worse.
Or he did until he felt the other tug his tie-oh god, was he going to hit him now?-and plant an innocent peck on Yamamoto’s lips.
And for the first time in his fifteen years of life, Yamamoto felt The Spark.
Which obviously left his brain as a pile of smoking, neuron goo.
That, and had him glowing like a freakin' thousand-watt bulb from love-induced-happiness.
The Italian stalks off (presumably to look for Tsuna) without a word, leaving a gaping Yamamoto Takeshi on the roof of Namimori Middle.
That was…unexpected.
It really wasn’t like in the manga; Gokudera didn’t taste like chocolate or strawberries or vanilla or anything else that would taste good. Actually, the boy tasted like smoke, smoke, smoke and maybe a dash of gunpowder.
(A few years from this day, Yamamoto cracks the, ‘gee, what does that guy eat in the morning, gunpowder?’ joke, which was promptly replied by the Italian shoving a stick of dynamite into his mouth and lighting the fuse on the bloody thing. And on that fateful day several years from now, Yamamoto learns that it turns out those things weren't fireworks and were quite real after all.)
Well, Yamamoto figured as his face nearly split from the grin he was sporting, that was just the taste of romance.
For him at least.
But, hey, that's all that mattered when we’re talking about love.
(And for the record, the taste of cigarettes did make kissing easier, in case his club manager would stop sending him looks and ask to start over.)
After begging Reborn for the Rain Ring back (and swearing eternal servitude to the Vongola name-not that he would have done anything else given his recent epiphany-lest his guts be smeared across the streets for even the smallest transgressions) and swearing to Tsuna that he’d never leave again-not that Tsuna even realized he left-and vowing to because the greatest mafia man ever-because that would mean Gokudera could only go out with him-Yamamoto resumes his position of the Vongola’s Rain Guardian.
Granted the charge he was guarding never realized he’d been off-post for a month.
But he was a mafia man now and that was all that mattered. For love at least.
Because as it turned out, Love was for the masses. Love, that was for mafia men.
When questioned about Yamamoto’s temporary leave and then re-swearing his loyalties less than a month later, the reinstated Rain Guardian said nothing.
But he did send meaningful glances over to the general direction of the Storm Guardian.
Or bedroom eyes. Bedroom eyes, meaningful glances, same difference.
Which the Italian answered, in complete stormy fashion, by tossing a stick of dynamite in the general direction of the Rain Guardian-the hospital wings had never been so full with individuals standing near the Rain Guardian at these times that had no idea they had to dodge rather far to escape the explosion.
Tsuna said nothing. But that was mostly because the poor mob boss had no idea what the heck happened and could only glance between his two guardians in confusion.
And Reborn, well, the baby claimed that he’d known everything from the beginning-that Everything had gone exactly as he planned.
(And no one questioned him about this unless they wanted a bullet in the head. Just ask Tsuna who, for his heralded Hyper Intuition, took three separate occasions and five shots later to understand.)
Oh the irony.
Author: bunny_phobic
Pairing: 8059
Rating: PG13...I think (there's only three-ish swear words)
Summary: When questioned about Yamamoto's unexplained and short leave, Reborn would only reply that it had all been a part of his plan
Disclaimer: Reborn not mine
Notes: I encounter the quote 'no love for mass murderers with god complexes' and it all went downhill from there.
Warnings: I guess spoilers for anyone who isn't through with the Varia arc. And, haha, characterization, what are you talking about?
Reborn had always prided himself on his ability to make decisions; it wasn’t like the Vongola’s genetic gift of hyper intuition, but he was good. After all, look where it got him. World’s strongest hit man and all-that had to stand for something.
Still, and he’d probably go to the grave with this secret, he had always felt that his inviting Yamamoto into the family had been a gamble-the boy was just too ordinary and, more importantly, too naïve. Another reason Reborn would take to the grave with him: he favored training Yamamoto over training Gokudera because he knew he could trust Gokudera when the situation really counted-which said something about his opinion of Gokudera.
Not to mention his constant rejection of the very capable boy as Dame-Tsuna’s right-hand man would only force him to become even more capable. Yes, it was all part of his plan; he could hit two birds at once, you see: the Vongola gains a capable hit man as well as a super-capable commander.
As Yamamoto seemed almost immune to the growing danger of their little mafia game and still continued on strong, the Arcobaleno decided it was probably safe to truly call him a hit man now-but really, it was inevitable that the swordsman would find out, after all, there would be missions that will have to be prioritized over everything else and to mistaken it for a game could very well cause the family’s downfall.
And of course, the fated day did come as did the conclusion. Only the conclusion came in a form that not even the Vongola’s hyper intuition could have predicted.
Their conversation went something like this:
“Haha, so it’s, like, totally not a game and we’re actually part of the mafia?” the teenager’s tone was upbeat and casual that it wasn’t any different from usual; in fact, it was as if the boy was asking him to deny the truth.
The boy probably was.
Not that it mattered. Reborn always thought for himself and only himself-if other people happened to benefit from this, so be it. That wasn’t his main concern.
“Yes, it’s true. You are Tsuna’s Rain Guardian who will wash the blood off the other’s hands.”
Really, it wasn’t like Reborn actually foresaw what was about to happen; in a sense, he almost wished he did.
“Ahaha…um…well, funny thing about that. You know, my dream was to make it into the starters on the baseball team-” Reborn had obviously known this form the beginning; it’d already came true so there was no room for regrets in that department “-and to get a girlfriend that I could…I dunno, do whatever couples do.” The Rain Guardian finished off with a blush.
This…was unexpected.
“I see.”
But irrelevant.
“And there's no such thing as love for mafia men. So I can’t be part of the mafia, sorry, little guy.”
And then the baby felt the gears in his head stop-a clog-a gear shifted out of place-something shift out of place.
Wait.
What did he just say?
“I’m really sorry. Please don’t tell Tsuna! I mean, I don’t think he really realizes that I’m part of his gang-” Reborn opened his mouth to inform him that Tsuna was probably the most informed (and in the most denial) of this fact, but Yamamoto ploughed forward “-and I really don’t want to stop being his friend or anything, so can you not tell him? Please?” The Japanese boy bowed his head with his hands pressed together in front of his face as if in a prayer. One brown eye peeked out for his reaction.
That shifted gear from earlier cracked from the pressure. And now, all the gears were falling out of place.
Which was clear when Reborn nodded his head as a reflex-everything Yamamoto had said until this point had been rooted to his instinctual hit man abilities, so Reborn had easily agreed with him with just about everything until this point.
“Thanks! You’re a life saver! I have to find Gokudera. See ya!”
And with that, the now ex-Rain Guardian ran off in search for the current Storm Guardian.
Reborn managed only to stare blankly at his retreating form. This was one advantage of being an Arcobaleno: when staring blankly, it was completely undetected and hidden by large infant eyes and could be interpreted as a child’s pensive-or as pensive as they could get-stare.
Well, at least some of his pride survived Yamamoto’s bomb.
And then the gears in his head rearranged themselves.
Ever since he’d been cursed to his baby form, Reborn had taken extra care to speak at least somewhat like a baby (after all, he did have some habits, such as the need to take numerous naps and such, of babies). This, with his occupation as a professional hit man, meant he no longer swore. And he hadn’t. Not for the entire year-and-a-half-plus that he’d become a baby. But with the current situation as it was, there was only one thought that he was able to speak aloud.
“What. The fuck.”
What the fuck, indeed.
If there was one person Yamamoto was obligated to tell, it was Gokudera. Tsuna may have been his bestest friend ever, but the strength of those ties meant there were things he couldn’t be able to talk about with Tsuna. Like when a guy sleeps with his best friend’s girlfriend; you obviously don’t tell your best friend. You tell your-best-friend’s-other-best-friend-who-isn’t-your-best-friend-but-you-were-close-enough-to-ask-for-advice-and-shit. Yeah, that was what Gokudera was to him. Except Tsuna’s 'sister' was more of a 'mob family' and ‘sleeping with her’ was more of a ‘series of one night stands' that had to end.
One can appreciate why individuals never approach their bestest friends about situations such as these now.
Yamamoto hadn’t thought his reason was wrong or anything. Look at all those movies! Mafia men were burly, ugly and too busy blowing out each other’s brains to be in love-or too busy thinking of ways to turn innocent girls (and occasionally boys) into complete sex slaves, but that was another issue all together.
It was completely reasonable and proven to be true. All the reliable sources said so.
Hence why it wasn’t right for Gokudera to just stare at him blankly for five minutes before bursting out in laughter after he’d told Gokudera what he’d told Reborn.
Really, it wasn’t funny at all. It was a serious life decision.
Yet watching the Quarter bent over in laughter, clutching his stomach as if in pain (and probably was given how loud and how long he’d been laughing at Yamamoto) and gasping for air that escaped him while he was choking on escaping giggles, he couldn’t feel mad or put out in any way.
He didn’t even feel the slightest bad when he finally realized that Gokudera had been attempting to gasp out a ‘dumb ass’ for the last five minutes-he didn’t actually succeed, since he was constantly interrupted by bouts of laughter.
In a strange way, he actually felt pretty good, watching the normally scowling Italian laugh without a care in the world.
He writes it off as Gokudera hardly ever smiling at him even though they were friends. Guess this proved they were friends.
Even if Gokudera looked like he was about to pass out from oxygen deprivation any second now. From Laughing at him.
Really, it wasn't funny at all.
When the baseball club manager hears that he’s looking for a girlfriend, she promptly confesses to him. Yamamoto agrees because, for a girl, she packed a mean pitch and liked baseball and eating, so she was pretty cool.
And their relationship was exactly how it was in any movie, manga or drama. There were chocolates, perfect confessions of love, flowers and exchange of rings. Heck, there may have even been sparkles and lace in the background with how he and his girlfriend glowed when they were together. With the skies always clear and the air light and clean.
A perfect love story.
But it was missing something that Yamamoto couldn’t ignore. The Spark. That electric jolt that traveled from the slightest contact and zapped his brain and turned it to goo and made him literally shine with love-induced-happiness.
Or so the reliable sources say.
That there was something else that Yamamoto couldn’t ignore, though it wasn’t so much as something missing as much as there being too much. For example, whenever he took his girlfriend’s hand, he couldn’t help but think, ‘gee, if only her skin was lighter,’ or looked at her hair and think, ‘gee, a lighter colour would be nicer-I dunno, silver or something,’ or when they kissed and he thought, ‘wow, I wasn’t expecting her mouth to taste so clean and minty-'
That last one made his brain stumble a little; he wanted his girlfriend to taste like-he didn't know, but something like...cigarettes? What the hell?
And then his brain supplies the answer by itself. Because he might have been stupid, but his brain was smart like that.
He, Yamamoto Takeshi, was in love with a Gokudera Hayato, Mafioso with no capacity for love.
Well, that dampened his relationship with his girlfriend.
Really. It was probably hard for even a cool girl like the manager to chew down a, ‘have you ever considered picking up smoking? It might make kissing you a little easier.’
When Tsuna noticed that Yamamoto stopped coming to family meetings, the Vongola Head was a tad worried. When he’d heard the rumors about Rumiko from class 2-D, he just figured that he was taking some time off from being with his friends to be with his girlfriend (the small boy was only slightly envious; after all, Yamamoto was so popular, it was bound to happen).
When he asks Gokudera if he knows anything, Tsuna was confused by the Italian choking up with laughter.
Tsuna is only more confused when he hears the rumors that Rumiko and Yamamoto broke up because the boy claimed the girl's breath was worse than breathing in gasoline.
Yamamoto couldn’t take it any more. It had been nearly a month since they’d last talk beyond ‘hey’ and ‘see ya’. If he didn’t know any better-and he really didn’t at this point-he would say that Gokudera was treating like every other non-mafia-related, normal person in the world. In other words, he was ignoring him and keeping out of the circle. He was even quieter during the periods before he and Tsuna and Ryohei and Hibari disappeared from school to do…something mafia-related.
Not to mention that since Gokudera was continuing with the whole mafia thing with Tsuna, he was missing school a lot because he was hospitalized. Twice. In less than a month.
Really, most people couldn’t take it when the Love of Their Lives gets hurt to that degree that often.
And his frustrations eventually manifest themselves in the form of a letter with only a ‘Come to the roof at break. Alone, please. We have to talk. -Yamamoto’ written in it.
Yamamoto quickly made his way to the roof; it wouldn’t be good for him to be late. After all, he was the one that called Gokudera out.
And there the Storm Guardian was, in all his European glory. Casually leaning against the rusty railings that had nearly cost him his life (this causes him to briefly wonder how Gokudera could lean against them and not fall to his emanate death) and smoking a cigarette. Hell, it was as if he was still unknowingly in the mafia and they were still friends and he hadn’t just left the mafia to find love only to be hit over the head with an epiphany otherwise described as ‘hey, you’re in love with your-best-friend’s-friend-who-also-happens-to-be-your-confidant-who-also-happens-to-be-in-the-mafia.’
Well, damn. As if it wasn’t hard enough as it was.
And it just came out. Like pouring rain that didn’t build up from a drizzle but started to pour out buckets from the very beginning.
“Hahaha I know it’s only been a month since we’ve last really talked and funny thing about that. You know how I left the mafia to find a girlfriend. You see, funny thing really, it turns out maybe I’m not cut out for that. Butthat’sbecauseIswearI’minloveiwthyousopleasegooutwithme.”
Pouring buckets, indeed. Yamamoto felt sweat begin to form at the back of his neck.
This wasn’t how it was in any movie, manga or drama. There were no chocolates, perfect confession of undying love, flowers or exchange of rings. And there obviously weren’t any sparkles or lace in the background-even Yamamoto would realize that stuff was in manga only sooner or later (or, from this experience, much later). The skies weren’t clear and the air wasn’t light and clean-actually quite the opposite, the skies were dreary at best and the air heavy and disgusting. It didn’t make it any better that Gokudera had been smoking earlier either.
And this was supposed to be his winning confession that, according to the reliable records, should win him his One True Love.
Gokudera stares blankly at him, taking his time to finish his cigarette. Yamamoto stares back and waits on pins and needles.
The cigarette is burning near its stub and Gokudera casually drops the cancer stick from his fingers and puts it out with shoe-the Japanese boy vaguely hopes that Hibari from the Disciplinary Committee doesn’t find that scorch mark.
The Italian continues to level a stare at him. It makes the other boy sweat and make vague circular movements with him arms to urge Gokudera to speak.
“Sorry, but mafia men only fall for greater mafia men.”
Well…shit.
There's a word they learned recently in English that would describe this situation pretty well. Now, what was it again...
Right.
Irony.
Yamamoto drops his head in defeat. Gokudera ploughs onward.
“You’re a complete dumb ass, you know that?”
Well, this sucks, Yamamoto thought. There really wasn’t any way for it to get any worse.
Or he did until he felt the other tug his tie-oh god, was he going to hit him now?-and plant an innocent peck on Yamamoto’s lips.
And for the first time in his fifteen years of life, Yamamoto felt The Spark.
Which obviously left his brain as a pile of smoking, neuron goo.
That, and had him glowing like a freakin' thousand-watt bulb from love-induced-happiness.
The Italian stalks off (presumably to look for Tsuna) without a word, leaving a gaping Yamamoto Takeshi on the roof of Namimori Middle.
That was…unexpected.
It really wasn’t like in the manga; Gokudera didn’t taste like chocolate or strawberries or vanilla or anything else that would taste good. Actually, the boy tasted like smoke, smoke, smoke and maybe a dash of gunpowder.
(A few years from this day, Yamamoto cracks the, ‘gee, what does that guy eat in the morning, gunpowder?’ joke, which was promptly replied by the Italian shoving a stick of dynamite into his mouth and lighting the fuse on the bloody thing. And on that fateful day several years from now, Yamamoto learns that it turns out those things weren't fireworks and were quite real after all.)
Well, Yamamoto figured as his face nearly split from the grin he was sporting, that was just the taste of romance.
For him at least.
But, hey, that's all that mattered when we’re talking about love.
(And for the record, the taste of cigarettes did make kissing easier, in case his club manager would stop sending him looks and ask to start over.)
After begging Reborn for the Rain Ring back (and swearing eternal servitude to the Vongola name-not that he would have done anything else given his recent epiphany-lest his guts be smeared across the streets for even the smallest transgressions) and swearing to Tsuna that he’d never leave again-not that Tsuna even realized he left-and vowing to because the greatest mafia man ever-because that would mean Gokudera could only go out with him-Yamamoto resumes his position of the Vongola’s Rain Guardian.
Granted the charge he was guarding never realized he’d been off-post for a month.
But he was a mafia man now and that was all that mattered. For love at least.
Because as it turned out, Love was for the masses. Love, that was for mafia men.
When questioned about Yamamoto’s temporary leave and then re-swearing his loyalties less than a month later, the reinstated Rain Guardian said nothing.
But he did send meaningful glances over to the general direction of the Storm Guardian.
Or bedroom eyes. Bedroom eyes, meaningful glances, same difference.
Which the Italian answered, in complete stormy fashion, by tossing a stick of dynamite in the general direction of the Rain Guardian-the hospital wings had never been so full with individuals standing near the Rain Guardian at these times that had no idea they had to dodge rather far to escape the explosion.
Tsuna said nothing. But that was mostly because the poor mob boss had no idea what the heck happened and could only glance between his two guardians in confusion.
And Reborn, well, the baby claimed that he’d known everything from the beginning-that Everything had gone exactly as he planned.
(And no one questioned him about this unless they wanted a bullet in the head. Just ask Tsuna who, for his heralded Hyper Intuition, took three separate occasions and five shots later to understand.)
Oh the irony.