Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!Pairing/Characters:
I'm pretty sure it's PG.Words:
Angst, character death.Notes:
I wrote this while listening to Ára Bátur
by Sigur Ros (in about half an hour, haha, so idk if it's any good). And even though it's not really necessary to listen to it while reading the story, I'd recommend it. It's a fantastic song.
And as always, concrit is more than welcome!Disclaimer:
I claim no ownership of these boys.
There's blood everywhere.
And there are hands, pulling him up. Up and away. Away from that face, with its all too familiar scar - like it's been nicked with a very sharp razor. Away from the sword, that's been broken into a million pieces. Away from a smile that's frozen in place (as if to say, 'well, at least you got through fine, Hayato, haha').
And all Gokudera can do is scream.
The Tenth tries to approach him a couple of times that first day. But Gokudera doesn't move, doesn't talk. Shuts the door and shuts his eyes. Just let's that goddamn cancer stick ('Hahaha, you know, if I know how bad that habit was going to get when we were young, I would have tried to make you quit') sit between his forefinger and middle finger. Let's the ashes fall where they may. Waits and hopes that when the cigarette finally burns down (when the glow /burns/ his fingers), it will hurt. That the pain will be like ice in his veins.
Because right now, he's running on nothing but a dull, empty heart beat.
When Gokudera falls asleep for the first time in five days, he dreams.
There's nothing substantial in his dream; nothing alive. Just the hint of a shadow, the sting of a shallow wound. The echo of a heart.
And then there's a laugh.
First it's disbelieving ('haha, you're a funny guy, Gokudera'), it's a little bit trivial, a little fake. It's full of memories before awkward hands and angry nicknames ('let me go, baseball idiot!'). It's a reminder of something that never was.
Then the laugh is fond, open. It's nostalgic. It's a teenage boy's laugh. A teenage boy who plays mafia games. A teenage boy who kisses other teenage boys under a shallow tin roof one Wednesday when the sakura have finally blossomed. A teenage boy who kisses, but gets nothing in return. A teenage boy who turns away, who regrets, who cries - but never stops smiling.
(because that would be losing)
And then it's a completely different kind of laugh. It's husky, breathless. The kind of laugh that speaks of intimacy ('I didn't know you were quite so ticklish there, Hayato'), of stolen minutes in hidden corners in the middle of the night, where death is ripe and alive.
Where death is alive.
And when Gokudera wakes up, the sun is shining. He's lying in the middle of a baseball field. He doesn't remember falling asleep. He doesn't remember ever being awake. He barely even remembers his own name.
But he remembers /his/ face.
He turns his head to the side, and there's The Tenth. There's a bottle of sake, as well. And there's Uri.
And there's the memory of Takeshi. So fragile and brilliant that it makes Gokudera feel like he's not whole anymore. And Gokudera reaches for it, but there's nothing there but air. And so he breathes and breathes and breathes, until his throat is so full, his lungs so dry, that he feels like if he breathes in any more of this air, he'd suffocate.
('haha, I've never seen you out of breath before, Gokudera.')
So he shuts his eyes, and let the memories of being loved (of having loved) overwhelm him completely.
And he tries to remember what it was like to be alive.