Washing Rain (A Crazy, Random Happen-Stance)

A/N: Hey, all that have dared to read this! This is my first 8059 fic! So, hopefully the boys aren't too OOC. If you are wondering about the weird title, the first part of it was me trying be creative and failing and the second part, the one in parenthesis, is a line from the awesome "Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog", which inspired this crazy idea in the first place. I loved that line!

So, sorry for any grammatical errors that I know are in here. I don't have anyone to edit it for me and since I'm not that great at it…well I looked over it a lot so hopefully it isn't too bad. -_-*

Hopefully I'm just being paranoid lol. The only warnings I can think of for this story is Gokudera's potty mouth but what do you expect lol. Enjoy!

Disclamer: the only thing I own in this fic is the idea for it and some minor characters, everything else is owned by Amano Akira.

Part 1

Gokudera started off another morning with his usual scowl despite the fact that, if the shimmering beams of sunlight burning through his retinas were anything to go by, the world outside his bedroom window promised another beautiful fun-filled Sunday.

The grumpy silver-haired teen gave an irritated grumble as he carefully opened his eyes, the sunlight still glaring directly into his face much to his chagrin. Seeing as he probably wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep anytime soon, the aggravated teen got out of bed with an irritated huff; he was not looking forward to this day at all! The young Italian teen just couldn't find a reason to feel invigorated on his only free-day of the week, a day which would usually be spent hanging out with his beloved Tenth, because the brunette teen had finally found the courage to ask a certain Sasagawa Kyoko out on a date.

Now usually, this wouldn't be a problem for Gokudera. After all he was ecstatic for his boss's triumph (Kyoko had said yes!). If he was in control of the situation though, the young self-proclaimed-right-hand-man, like any good right-hand man would do, would follow his boss in the shadows to make sure no family rivals would off his precious Tenth while he tried to woo the girl of his dreams. Sadly though, he couldn't even do something as simple as that today.

The young demolitions expert grumbled irritably to himself as he glared toward the corner of his room where his clothes hamper was lost within piles upon piles of clothing, towels, and undergarments. Before the Tenth had asked Kyoko out on their date for today, Gokudera had been helping him prepare for their finals for the last two weeks. The silver-haired bomber was so caught up in planning different teaching methods, and pulling all-night study sessions with his boss (and a certain stupid baseball idiot who wouldn't leave him alone so he had to teach him too— but that's a different story) that he completely neglected one of his most basic chores; his laundry (the Tenth came first damn it!).

Frankly, it had gotten to the point where Gokudera couldn't ignore it anymore. He was down to two sets of shirts and jeans, and maybe a pair of boxers, and his school uniform was in such a dire need of washing that if Gokudera wore it to school, Hibari would go beyond 'biting him to death' to just plain outright killing him for disrespecting the Namimori school uniform and defiling the school grounds with it. This meant that Gokudera had no choice but to waste his Sunday, in his small apartment, washing his clothes. Oh sweet joy…

Or at least, that was the original plan until his washing machine decided it had had enough of Gokudera's punk-ass clothes and refused to work for him.

The Italian teen swore vehemently at the stupid machine after many failed attempts of trying to make the damn thing turn on. After about the fourth try, and fighting back the urge to stuff dynamite into the abused machine, Gokudera gave up; giving the washer a spiteful kick...which only caused the silver-haired teen to swear up a storm as he realized that kicking any metal contraption with your bare feet was not the brightest thing to do.

After much un-dignified hopping and cursing, the young Italian called up his landlord to tell her about his situation and ask her to call a repair man (the washing machine had come with the apartment and was therefore her responsibility). Actually, the call was more like Gokudera bitching the landlord out for selecting such a crappy piece of equipment in the first place and demanding that a repair man be showed to his door immediately.

Apparently, his landlord was used to him by now because she seemed nonplussed by his attitude. Gokudera would even go so far to say she sounded smugover the phone, when she stated that the regular repair man she kept on hand wouldn't be able to help him for a couple of days. Gokudera knew she wasn't helping him on purpose (she was probably still mad at him for calling her a salivating whore last week when she was indiscriminately checking him out), but before he could call her out on this there was a loud click on the other line as his landlord (a.k.a. Salivating Whore) hung up on him.

"Fucking bitch!" Gokudera screamed furiously into his cell-phone, barely stopping himself from throwing the offending object across the room in his anger and breaking yet another appliance in his apartment. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Going over his options, which weren't that many, Gokudera had the choices between not doing his laundry (that would be stupid), asking to borrow one of his 'friend's' washing machines (Putting pressure on the Tenth when he already had people free-loading off him in the first place would be a horrible thing to do. Plus, there was no way in hell he was going to look weak and ask one of the dipshits he occasionally hung out with for a favor!), or dragging his clothes to a laundry mat (joy…). As much as he despised the last one, Gokudera knew, for the sake of his pride, he had to find the closest laundry mat near him and spend the rest of his day there washing his clothes.

Of course, things were never easy for Gokudera; ever. From his family and life on the streets, to his life in Namimori, the young Italian-Japanese boy had faced hardship after hardship. After meeting the Tenth though, Gokudera's luck, what little of it there actually was, seemed to rise and he was blessed with an amazing-spectacular boss, a true sense of family (even though he would rather be tortured in millions of gruesome ways before ever admitting this to anyone), and a steady income from the Vongola family since he was the only guardian living by himself without support. The sum he received on a monthly basis wasn't as much as he would be earning once the Tenth actually took over for the Ninth, but it was enough to afford living in a decent apartment. By the end of the month though, after paying the rent, utilities, and for cigarettes and dynamite supplies (both of which were not cheap in the slightest), Gokudera would hardly have enough money to pay for his food.

That was the situation Gokudera found himself in now. He only had the money left over from his check to buy the next month's worth of groceries, which mainly consisted of instant noodle packets and soda. The silver-haired boy sighed in defeat, knowing he had no choice but to use the last of his savings to wash his clothes at the laundry mat now.

Surprisingly, the thought of not being able to buy food wasn't as depressing as it should have been for Gokudera. It just so happened that when the Tenth and Yamamoto visited his apartment for the first time a year ago, they realized the financial situation he was in and offered to help. Gokudera adamantly refused against his precious Tenth's help. He felt guilty enough intruding on the brunette's household on a daily basis as it was and that his horribly twisted half-sister was free loading off of him without any remorse. It took awhile before Tsuna finally succumbed to defeat, but that didn't stop the second visitor from putting his own two cents in.

Yamamoto, as Gokudera knew from the past three years he had spent with the baseball-idiot, was stubborn; extremely stubborn. The tall, well-toned, baseball player wouldn't take no for an answer and insisted on helping the foul-mouthed Italian every chance he got. Over half of the supplies in Gokudera's kitchen, the supplies he hardly ever had a use for, were given to him by the dark-haired teen. Skillets, spatulas, a toaster, and a rice cooker were given to him freely on the grounds of Yamamoto saying something like, 'Ha ha, these are some hand-me downs my Old Man was saving for me for when I go to college. I don't need them now, so you can borrow them Gokudera!'

Then, along with the kitchen supplies, came food he didn't even know how to cook, 'My Dad asked me to buy some groceries on the way home from practice and I bought too much ha ha! Funny, how that works huh?'

Of course, this caused Gokudera to yell at the tall teen for being an idiot and for thinking that Gokudera would actually buy those excuses. Besides, he didn't even know how to cook the food Yamamoto was giving him! After grumbling these complaints to Yamamoto, the tanned baseball player's only response was, 'Ha ha I guess I'll just have to come over and cook them for you then!'

Stupid Yamamoto! Damn him and his ability to cook decently and his stupid award winning smile! As much of a fight Gokudera wished he could have given to the damned-smiling teen, his empty stomach was begging him otherwise, so he stupidly agreed to the little deal (which he had a feeling that Yamamoto planned from the very start). Damn him and his inability to say no to that idiot! Now Yamamoto frequented his apartment with his jolly laughing presence and cooked in his kitchen, his face smiling the biggest-most-stupidest grin in all of existence (in Gokudera's opinion), while wearing an 'I heart Fish!' apron which was also, conveniently enough, shaped like a fish.

The baseball-nuts' presence irked Gokudera to no end but, in time, he came to find out that it really wasn't so bad. He got free food out of it—free nutritional food might he add! Plus, Yamamoto looked ridiculous in his apron which gave Gokudera all the more incentive to make fun of the tanned baseball player (he didn't want the idiot to think he appreciated what he was doing for him or something silly like that!). Over all, Gokudera begrudgingly admitted that the regular visits from Yamamoto were sort of…nice, no…really nice. And when the jovial baseball player showed up at his door with a bag of groceries and a smile, like he actually belonged there, Gokudera couldn't help but feel—

—Shit! He really needed to shift into high gear and get his laundry done; he didn't have time to daydream about a stupid, nicely tanned—scratch that thought. Where the hell was a laundry mat around here?

The next few moments flew by like a breeze, Gokudera trying to make up for the time he had lost thinking about stupid, useless things. The young Italian booted up his laptop and found the nearest laundry mat (nine blocks north and seven blocks east. Great, and he probably didn't have enough money for bus fare…), got dressed in one of the only pair of clothes he had that were clean; A red and pale-red tiger-striped short-sleeved shirt with a white skull on the right sleeve and military-green cargo pants (gifts from Bianchi that he never wanted to wear because they were from Bianchi. He didn't want her to think he was grateful for them or anything), adorned his usual bracelets and rings, stuffed all of his dirty laundry into two huge duffel bags, tied his hair back into a pony-tail (it was warm out and he had no choice but to walk), and left his apartment.

Gokudera's first snag on his little journey was immediately after he left when he tried to make it down the stairs. He lived on the second floor of an apartment complex, and his door led to an outside walkway connected to a stairs. It just so happened that the railings around the stairs constricted anyone who was fatter than an average sized human from moving up or down them. So with Gokudera's extra baggage, getting down the stairs was the equivalent of an elephant trying to squeeze through a door of a car. Twitching in anger, Gokudera's quick solution to the problem, after trying and failing to walk down the stairs like a normal human-being, was throwing his duffel bags over the railings and onto the ground below, unluckily missing his bitchy landlord who was conveniently walking by at the time (he swears he didn't see her, but he has no regrets). After the usual verbal scuffle were his landlord threatened to evict him and Gokudera insulted her mother's pedigree, the hot-headed Italian was making his way, heavy duffel bags in tow, towards a nearby convenience store he frequented. He was hoping the clerk there would exchange his bills for some change so he could actually use the laundry machines once he reached his destination.

This is where Gokudera hit the second snag on his journey. With his great luck, it just so happened that on this day there was a new cashier at the till who had absolutely no idea what she was doing. The new employee stuttered uncontrollably when Gokudera asked her to exchange his money for adequate change, unsure if she was actually allowed to do such a thing without consent from a manager. Gokudera growled in irritation, knowing full well that if this was any of the other cashiers who knew him by face and name by this point (this was where he bought his groceries after all), he wouldn't be having this stupid hold up. So after what seemed like a millennia to the hot-headed Italian of yelling and giving the new cashier his best 'do-as-I-fucking-say-or-die!' expression, the young female clerk quickly exchanged his money for the right amount of change with shaky fingers, no doubt traumatized by this experience. With that, Gokudera finally left the store, complaining about its lack of training protocol and hiring people with brains the size of walnuts, and started heading north towards the laundry mat.

At one point in his life, Gokudera remembered hearing about an old wives tale that said that 'terrible things happened in threes'. Judging by his morning, with is washing machine breaking, getting embarrassingly stuck in a stairway, and struggling with an incompetent clerk, Gokudera realized that maybe his 'terrible threes' were over and done with and that he had nothing more to worry about. Too bad that when the world decided it was going to spite Gokudera Hayato, anything and everything was possible, including the exemption of old wives tales. Gokudera realized this fact half-way to his destination, worn and haggard from hauling two massive duffel bags full of clothes in staggering heat, that terrible things didn't happen in threes, they happened in fours. This was confirmed after Gokudera put down his bags and leaned against a lamp post to rest, breathing heavily from his nine block excursion. His moment of rest was interrupted when he heard a questioning voice.

"Gokudera?"

The young Italian stiffened at the sound, knowing exactly who that voice belonged to. Wishing beyond hope that his ears were playing a trick on him, Gokudera turned his head in the direction of the voice, eyes widening at the sight of a certain Yamamoto Takeshi, clad in the same outfit he had worn during their fight with Gamma—a simple blue-green flannel shirt with khaki pants—and waiting in front of a nearby sandwich shop.

'Shit, shit, shit! Why did that idiot have to show up now when it looks like I'm struggling with something?' the young silver-haired teen thought in alarm, as he made a grab for his duffel bags lying on the sidewalk. Too bad he had spent so much time gawking at the very possibility of running into Yamamoto (and that was the only thing Gokudera convinced himself that he was gawking at; it wasn't because of how the sun accented Yamamoto's figure in a very positive light! No way in hell was he gawking at that!), that the tanned dark-haired teen was able to make his way up to Gokudera and stand in front of him.

"What's with all those bags, Gokudera? Are you running away or something?" Yamamoto questioned jokingly, as Gokudera shifted the duffel bags back onto his shoulders.

"What the hell?" Gokudera spat out, riled up by the Japanese boy's stupid question. He glared daggers into Yamamoto's hazel eyes, the taller boy smiling a little smugly in return. Was the baseball-idiot questioning his ability as a right-hand man? "Why the hell, would I run away you idiot! What kind of right-hand man would I be to the Tenth if I just left him and skipped town without a word?"

The taller boy's response to the fuming Italian was a calming laugh and holding his hands up in a placating manner, showing the silver-haired teen he had meant no harm. "Now, now Gokudera it was just a joke, I didn't mean to offend you."

The Italian boy grumbled in his native tongue, glaring holes into the sidewalk so he didn't have to look at Yamamoto's stupid face. Where was this guy coming from asking him a question like that? Running away from the Tenth was a heinous crime. Only traitors and enemies ran away.

"Well I'm relieved you're not actually running away." Yamamoto stated with his trademark grin. Gokudera glanced up at the taller boy, broken out of his internal grumbling. What was this idiot spouting out now? Noticing Gokudera's questioning gaze, Yamamoto laughed and explained further. "You see if you ran away and I never saw you again that would make me sad. The mafia game wouldn't be as fun without you!"

Gokudera stiffened at that. "How many times do I have to tell you it's not a game you idiot!" Gokudera spat in anger. "It's not supposed to be fun and you're supposed to take it seriously!"

"Ha ha, but Gokudera always takes it seriously, what's wrong with having a little fun?" Yamamoto questioned with a laugh, his eyes gradually becoming more serious. "If you left I would really miss you, you know?"

Gokudera's throat made a weird noise like he was being strangled, his jade eyes widened in surprise. "I-Idiot!" The young Italian choked out, not sure on how to respond. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks as he looked anywhere but at the tall Japanese boy in front of him. "I already told you I wasn't running away, so don't say such stupid things!"

Yamamoto chuckled at his Italian friend's behavior; getting Gokudera flustered was always fun. "Ha ha, I know that but it still wouldn't change the fact that I would miss you if you went away."

These words only seemed to infuriate the silver-haired dynamite user more, as he began yelling at the taller boy in Italian and started kicking him repeatedly in the shin (his hands were too busy holding his bags), the Italian's face burning a crimson red. After much laughing and dodging on Yamamoto's part, Gokudera calmed down enough for the tanned baseball player to ask him another question that was bothering him.

"So, where are you going with those bags Gokudera? They seem kind of heavy and you look pretty tired."

"It's none of your freaking business, baseball-freak!" The Italian scathingly replied. "I'm just running a little errand."

The dark-haired baseball player tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy. "Really? It looks like a pretty big errand to me with all that stuff you're carrying, maybe I could help? Where are you heading to?"

Yamamoto knew from experience that it didn't take much to tick his Italian friend off, so he wasn't surprised when Gokudera stiffened at his questions (which was Gokudera's defense mechanism for when anyone tried to help him with anything), and his eyes lit up like a burning fire ready to devour anything in its path.

"Do you ever listen you stupid idiot? I told you it wasn't any of your god damn business! I don't need your help!"

Before Gokudera could even blink, he felt one of his duffel bags torn from his grasp and transferred onto Yamamoto's shoulder. Yamamoto wasn't taking no for an answer. The baseball player also knew from experience that Gokudera wasn't one to ask for help even when he secretly wanted it.

"Ha ha, wow this bag is pretty heavy! No wonder you look so tired." Yamamoto chuckled in amusement as he re-shifted the duffel bag to fit more comfortably over his shoulder. "What do you have in here anyway?"

Getting over the shock of having one of his bags forcibly removed from his person without even seeing it happen, Gokudera's irritation grew more gradually with every second he spent in the baseball-idiot's presence. "What the hell is this, twenty questions?"

"Ha ha, well if you won't tell me what's inside then maybe I'll take a look myself?" Yamamoto laughed, his voice teasing. The taller boy knew that Gokudera couldn't do anything to stop him from looking through the bag since he now had it in his possession; being taller, faster, and physically stronger than the smaller teen really had its perks.

Gokudera froze in fear at the teasing suggestion, a blush quickly rising to his face once he realized that the bag Yamamoto was holding contained his dark clothes and his boxers. Gokudera's agitation only grew as Yamamoto took his silence as the go-ahead to start reaching for the bag's zipper—

"S-Stop you idiot! Don't look through that!" Gokudera exclaimed desperately, catching Yamamoto's wondering wrist in his hand. He realized now he had no choice but to tell his tall 'friend' what was going on. Cursing Yamamoto's very existence in his mind (the boy was like a pestering fly!); the silver-haired teen quickly let go of the boy's wrist and explained with slight embarrassment, "M-my dirty clothes are in there s-so you better not look!"

Yamamoto was confused by this bit of information, not fully comprehending what Gokudera was trying to tell him. After a short pause he asked, "Why are you carrying around dirty clothes? Don't you have a washing machine?"

It took all of Gokudera's willpower not to face palm with his free hand. "I shouldn't be surprised you can't put two and two together without help. You really are an idiot." The young Italian sighed out in defeat, looking more tired than he had when Yamamoto met up with him. The Italian bomber went on to quickly explain his laundry situation, his taller companion listening with rapt attention. After the very short story, Yamamoto gave the worn-out Italian his best up-lifting smile.

Gokudera knew nothing good would come from it.

As the young Italian expected, Yamamoto's response to his story was. "Well then, I'll help carry your other bag for you and keep you company while you do your laundry. You didn't bring anything to entertain you while you waited right?"

Gokudera grumbled in assent, cursing his luck that he didn't have any room in his bags to bring a book. There wasn't anything he could do or say now that would prove the taller teen wrong and make him go away. "Fine, whatever," Gokudera started, directing a stern glare towards his taller companion. "But if you piss me off once, I won't hesitate in blowing you up, you got that?"

If it was even possible, the smile on Yamamoto's face grew even wider, his hazel-brown eyes dancing with unrestrained glee. "Ha ha, no problem! This will be fun, I guarantee it Gokudera!"

The Italian responded by rolling his eyes and turning around to start walking east towards their final destination, a small smirk gracing the pretty silver-haired teen's lips. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all?

With one less bag to carry, Gokudera was finding it easier to walk at a steady pace. The silver-haired teen looked to his right to see Yamamoto walking in stride with him, a little bounce to his step and that famous never-ending grin on his face. Gokudera hated to admit that he was a little grateful for the help the taller teen was offering him, just a little. He felt kind of guilty though, since Yamamoto was doing so much for him already by buying him groceries and cooking him food. Why was the baseball-idiot so insistent on helping him? Gokudera couldn't stop the dark part of his mind from thinking that maybe his taller companion was taking pity on him.

If there was one thing that Gokudera Hayato hated more in this world, besides his father of course, it was pity.

A spiteful gaze was directed towards the happy baseball player. The angry Italian wanted nothing more than to call Yamamoto out on this and give him a piece of his mind but what came out instead was an irritated, "So what the heck were you doing in front of that sandwich shop anyway?"

Yamamoto's happy steps faltered for a second, but his walking pace never lightened. He stared at Gokudera, surprised at the question that was asked and a little concerned as to why the Italian teen's voice sounded so venomous. Thinking quickly, Yamamoto rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and said, "Ha ha…um no reason. Just wanted to stand around and enjoy the scenery. It's a beautiful day you know?"

Gokudera narrowed his green eyes suspiciously as his companion continued to laugh nervously beside him. Yamamoto never seemed to realize that he sucked at lying, and Gokudera could tell within the second that he opened his mouth that the dark-haired teen wasn't going to tell him the truth. What bothered Gokudera was that there was no reason for Yamamoto to lie to him, so why was he doing so now? "You suck at lying idiot. If you wanted to enjoy the scenery why didn't you go to a park or something? Who ever heard of enjoying the scenery on a busy street?"

Yamamoto chuckled nervously at that, admitting to his guilt. "Yeah, I guess that was a pretty bad lie." The baseball player felt bad for lying to his friend in the first place but he didn't know how Gokudera would react if he told him the truth, since the spunky Italian always seemed to get angry with everything he did. Well, there was no escape from it now; Gokudera knew he was lying so he had to answer the question. Besides, it wasn't fair to Gokudera who had been truthful with him about his laundry situation (even though Yamamoto had to practically pull teeth just to get the information out of him in the first place), so he should be open and honest as well. "To tell you the truth I was kind of waiting for someone."

Gokudera's eyes narrowed further at the vague answer. "So you just left without meeting up with them? Isn't that kind of rude?" The Italian knew he shouldn't be the one to chastise Yamamoto for this, after all, he was probably the rudest person the baseball-idiot put up with, but the thought of Yamamoto doing something rude in the first place was a little disconcerting to him.

Yamamoto chuckled at the question, giving Gokudera a worried-free smile. "Don't worry they won't mind. I'll just meet up with her on a different day."

"Ah." The silver-haired Italian responded with a non-committed grunt. He watched as Yamamoto grabbed his cell phone from his pocket with his free hand, a little baseball charm dangling from the end, and started punching letters on the keypad with his thumb. Noticing the baseball player doing this for awhile, Gokudera concluded that he was probably texting that person he stood up—wait, did the baseball-idiot say 'her'? Jade eyes widening in shock, his mind quickly playing back the conversation they previously had. Gokudera came to the same conclusion.

Yamamoto had said 'her'.

"Wait! What the hell do you mean by 'her'?" Gokudera exclaimed in anger. The young Italian had no idea why he was feeling so angry and…betrayed? No, that couldn't be it. The heat was just finally getting to him. Yeah, that had to be it. "You stood up a freaking girl?"

Yamamoto jumped in surprise at the older teen's outburst, almost dropping his phone in the process. He quickly sent the text message that he had been typing up for the past minute, berating himself for letting that word slip out. "Don't worry Gokudera;" Yamamoto mumbled sheepishly. "It was just a little date. It's nothing to get upset over."

"D-Date?" Gokudera choked out in disbelief, for some reason hoping he didn't hear that correctly.

Why did it feel like something was smothering him? It was getting harder and harder to breath.

"A Date? You stood up a date so you could do laundry with me? That makes no fucking sense! Why would you do that and who the hell said I was upset?"

"You sound upset." Yamamoto muttered guiltily, eyes saddening at the thought. He hated how flustered Gokudera actually sounded. The taller teen just didn't understand why his smaller friend sounded that way.

"I-I'm not upset you idiot!" Gokudera stuttered out, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. Why would the baseball-idiot think he was upset? He had nothing to be upset about! It was just Yamamoto going on a date…with a girl…that was perfectly normal and there was nothing to be upset over right? The young Italian took a deep breath to calm himself and steady his voice. "So… why did you ditch her to help me anyway? You would have had more fun hanging out with her than doing laundry with me…"

"Ha ha, that's not true!"

Gokudera stared at Yamamoto incredulously. Was this guy for real? Why did he look so happy?

A smile and a laugh back in his voice, Yamamoto couldn't help but see the look Gokudera was giving him. "Ha ha, Gokudera is always fun so I never have to worry about being bored. Besides, you looked like you could use the help. If my friends need help then I can't just stand by and let them go at it alone."

Gokudera sighed irritably. "It's not like it was a matter between life and death you idiot. And who said I was your friend?"

"Ha ha, but you are Gokudera." Yamamoto responded with certainty. They've known each other for a long time now and had been through numerous dangerous situations together. How could they not be friends?

Gokudera turned his head away from the beaming smile Yamamoto was directing at him, another blush making its way onto his face (shit he was doing that a lot today! It had to be the stupid heat's fault!). "Yeah…well..." The Italian coughed distractedly, trying to start a different conversation. "So…uh, who was the girl anyway?"

Yamamoto gave a small 'oh' of surprise at the change of topic, but answered nonetheless. "I don't think you know her; she's a year below us, but she is one of my senpai's sisters."

The young Italian raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "Senpai? As in one of your baseball senpai's?"

"Yep!" was the happy reply he received, as if Yamamoto was congratulating him for guessing right. "She's into baseball too. I think she said she was on a girl's team or something."

Gokudera had no idea why his heart clenched painfully all of a sudden, or why he felt disheartened at the girl's description, but it didn't stop him from hating the feeling nonetheless. Maybe he ate something bad for breakfast? Oh wait, he didn't have breakfast…

"Che!" Gokudera scoffed, trying his best to sound disinterested and uncaring but in the end sounding more bitter than anything else. "She sounds like the perfect person for you. You really are an idiot for ditching her."

Seeing such a bitter scowl on his companion's face, Yamamoto couldn't help but feel guilty and upset. He wanted to wipe that scowl off; maybe he could find a way to make Gokudera smile? "I'm not sure about her being perfect for me just because we like the same things, but I don't mind postponing my date with her to help you, you know?"

"You didn't need to help me…"

"Yeah, but I wanted to." Yamamoto pressed on, trying to get his point across so that Gokudera would listen to what he was saying for once. "I didn't really care about the date in the first place. My senpai was just trying to set me up with his sister 'cuz he thought we were a good match or something. But…I wanted to help Gokudera because Gokudera was more important." Yamamoto paused for a second before adding, his voice completely serious, "Gokudera is always more important."

The said teen inhaled sharply at the conviction in Yamamoto's voice, his heart beginning to race so fast he had to stop walking to catch his breath. Noticing his friend stop, Yamamoto turned around to gaze at him questioningly. The baseball player didn't expect to see Gokudera looking flustered and glaring at him in confusion, a blush completely covering his face. Yamamoto couldn't help but stare at how adorable Gokudera looked, face flushed with his hair in a pony-tail, trying to form words but failing.

"Y-You…" The smaller boy finally stuttered out, unable to keep eye contact with his companion as he mulled over the words that were spoken to him. Not wanting to think about the words and their implications, Gokudera did the thing he always did best when faced with an emotional situation.

He ran away.

With an angry call of, 'Idiot!' directed over his shoulder, Gokudera ran past Yamamoto as fast as his feet would carry him.

Woken up from his stupor, Yamamoto laughed as he saw a very flustered Gokudera rush past him. Not wanting to be left behind, he decided to give chase. "Ha ha, hold up Gokudera! I don't know where the laundry mat is!"

The response the athlete received from the flustered Italian sounded like "I don't care! Stop following me!" but he couldn't be sure; Gokudera could really run fast when he wanted to. So, he decided to ignore it and picked up the pace in order to catch up with his hot-blooded friend, enjoying the chase for all its worth.

Yamamoto got the feeling that today was going to be a very interesting day.