It hit him harder than he'd thought it would have, had the event occurred ten years earlier. He had actually come to accept, to enjoy, to love that thrice-damned son of a bitch that had, these past six months, been his lover, his partner, his other half. And now the bastard was gone – cold and lifeless, slowly decaying in a wooden box six feet under the dirt. He would be lying if he said he hadn't felt like dying himself, and he still felt that way. His deceased significant other had become an addiction – ever-present, always pleasing, always satisfying, and he needed something to fill the crater that formed in his absence. He picked up smoking again, a habit that he had abandoned to win the favor of his partner, and smoked heavily – heavier than he had in his childhood. Everything about him was filled with smoke – he enjoyed the flavor, the texture, the rich, choking scent, the feeling of every breath becoming shallower and harder to take in, the feeling of slowly dying all over again. He was stuck in the greyscale – the area of denial between life and death, of acceptance and rejection, an area full of smoke and unclear intentions. Three weeks had passed since the funeral – which he had been forced to attend – and he still had not changed or showered or done anything hygienic. The lights were never turned on, the dishes were never washed, the trash was never taken out, the dust and dirt was never swept up – everything just gathered and gathered, piling up higher and higher.

Hayato Gokudera was a mess, and he frankly didn't give a shit what other people thought, because as a grown man, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to do with his life. As always, he fell into the category of the miscreant, the delinquent, the explosive, and no one knew how to change him. Except for one person, that one person who been his saving grace – Takeshi Yamamoto – and that saving grace was now lying in a dark, cramped, wooden coffin, decorated with the crest of the Vongola famiglia, slowly decaying. No one had seen Takeshi's death coming – it had taken them all by surprise – and the other members of Hayato's famiglia were not surprised that the surly Italian was still battling depression, amongst other things. The right hand of Tsunayoshi Sawada, the catalyst that held the famiglia together, was slowly falling apart, shattering into thousands of tiny pieces, far gone past the point of no return. Tsuna tried to coax his belligerent lieutenant out of his stubborn shell, but even he, whom Hayato revered almost as a god, was unable to keep the Storm Guardian from his thoughts for very long.

The stubborn Italian man stood now, in a grey suit adorned with countless stains, in the pouring rain, before the grave of his lover, the steady stream of precipitation hiding his silent tears as he just stood with fists clenched in what seemed to be anger. He didn't care that it was well past midnight and he couldn't see very well, he didn't care that he was soaked to the bone and might get a cold, he didn't care that he hadn't told anyone where he was going and they might panic when they found him missing. And even though it was near pitch black, in the pouring rain, he knew exactly where Takeshi's grave was, because his feet had walked the path countless times despite the protests of his mind and his heart. Unintentionally, he memorized everything about the bastard, and it doesn't take much effort to recall any of it to the forefront of his mind. Psychologists can't – and won't – do anything for him due to prior experiences or warnings from colleagues about his fiery temper.

As he stood there, alone in the dark, he contemplated – and not for the first time – taking his own life, just letting everything bleed out slowly, excruciatingly, until he joined Takeshi in the afterlife. However, he knew, because of the life he led, there was no guarantee he could see his lover in the afterlife – he, Hayato, was forever damned to spend his spirit days in the deepest pits of hell - he knows this to be a fact – while his angelic savior saved other lost souls and brought them to heaven to be exalted for all eternity. He held his scarred, yet somehow still beautiful hands before his face, palms facing outward, as if he were reaching for something he could not quite grasp, what little vision he had blurring. Never again would he feel the warm, comforting touch, the secure feeling that accompanied a gentle embrace, the relaxing effect brought on by a too-bright smile.

"Hayato." Just the breath of a whisper, the slight stirring of wind, someone calling his name with familiarity. No one called him Hayato anymore, just Gokudera, like her preferred. No one except….

"Takeshi?" Voice soft and hesitant, he quickly rubbed his eyes, and looked around – there was nothing to see. Angry at himself, he shook his head. He shouldn't be dreaming of Takeshi, he was well past the stages of denial and anger. "What the fuck," he muttered to himself under his breath, turning to leave.

"Hayato, don't leave me," he heard clear as day, and he stopped, eyes widening in shock. That was Takeshi's voice. He must be dreaming, Takeshi was dead! He clenched his fists, his slim frame shaking with anger and sorrow.

"Don't," he spat, not turning, "don't you fucking dare make this harder than it is! Just leave me alone already, dammit!"

"Gokudera-kun?" A confused and worried Tsuna stepped out of the shadows and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, Gokudera-kun?"

His head snapped up, eyes wide. "T-tenth! Uh, yeah, I'm fine… Just…" He glanced behind himself, eyes falling on the faint outline of Takeshi's headstone.

Tsuna's eyes softened in sympathy. "It's hard to let go," he murmured, and Hayato nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the shady outline. "Come on back to my house, Gokudera-kun, and get some rest. I need you."

The soft yet present urgency in Tsuna's voice turned Hayato's head back to him, green eyes meeting brown, before he dipped his head in a respectful bow. "Of course, Tenth," he murmured, and let the now taller man lead him back to his car and drive him home. He registered none of it, his eyes locked to the sky, his mind remembering days past.

(Four months ago)

"Hey, Hayato!"

I hear his annoyingly cheery voice and turn with a smile, a precious smile that I've saved only for him, instantly folding myself into his out-stretched arms. For the first time in a long time, I feel truly happy, like I actually belong in this world for once. I tilt my chin up and rest one of my hands against his cheek – it's been too long – and lock my gaze with his. He had been gone for three weeks, practically right after the first time we had sex together, and I hadn't heard from him until today. To say I missed him was an understatement.

"Welcome home, you idiot," I whisper softly before I lean up on my toes, pressing my lips to his. He tastes just like I'd hoped he would – like sushi – and he smells good too. He kisses me back with no hesitation, his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer. My hands thread into his short, black hair, and I lose myself in his warm embrace. I would do anything to stay within his arms forever.

He pulls back and my hands fall to his shoulders, as he rests his forehead against mine. "I missed you too," he murmurs sappily, his smile still present on his face. He brushes his nose against mine lightly before he leans back, studying my face. "You still taste like cigarettes."

I roll my eyes, a little annoyed. "No shit, Sherlock," I grouch. "I've been smoking since I was twelve."

"I know that." His hands fall away from my waist and he steps away, my hands falling from his shoulders as he turns to look back the way he came.

I narrow my eyes and fold my arms – I'm decent enough at reading people to know something is bugging him. "What happened out there, Takeshi?" I ask, my gaze hard and cold. Something happened, and it's clearly affected him strongly. "Tell me," I say, my voice low.

He glances around, before reaching back and grabbing my hand. "Not out here," I hear him say as he drags me in the general direction of our apartment. I thread my fingers through his and match his pace, saying nothing. I was right – something did happen wherever he had gone to.

Silence prevails as we walk, hand in hand, to our two-story apartment a little over a block away. He's tense – I can see as much by the set of his shoulders – and from the way he's moving, I can tell he has some sort of injury. I keep my silence, even as he unlocks our front door, and follow him to the small living room, waiting for him to speak.

"There was a woman," he starts, and immediately I'm on edge. Women can't control themselves around him, and he's too stupid sometimes to realize it. "She was working with them, the Millefore, but I didn't know it. She tried to kill me."

I was lounging back on the couch, tense, but now I'm upright, a hand gently resting on his forearm. "Takeshi," I murmur, my voice soft, but he interrupts me.

"She tried to seduce me, and everything else unpleasant, even though I told her I was seeing someone. She was very persistent," he adds with a dry laugh, before his face becomes serious, "and then she threatened you." His voice is cold, laced with anger.

"Threatened me? What do you mean?" I'm beyond confused, who could he have met?

"She told me that if I didn't leave you for her – she didn't yet know that I'm gay – that she would hunt you down and kill you with her bare hands, just to get you out of the picture." The comment clearly bothered him more than I thought it would have.

"She would have fucking tried and failed," I growl, my hand tightening slightly on his arm. "Look, Takeshi, you shouldn't let that bother you. I'm more than capable - ."

"You didn't see what she could do, Hayato." He turns to face me, pain and sorrow in his eyes. His eyes close for a brief moment as he shakes his head. "No offense or anything, but you wouldn't have lasted long. I barely survived," he manages, his voice cracking. "I don't want to lose you, Hayato."

Against my hardass personality, I wrap my arms around him and hold him close. I feel his rapid heartbeat against my arm and just hold him for a while. "How bad are you hurt?" I eventually ask, looking down at him.

He winces. "Didn't think you'd notice… but not horribly," he says hurriedly at my glare.

I push away from him. "Show me," I command, my green eyes narrowed with worry.

With a sigh, he removes his shirt and turns his back to me, showing me the deep, oozing cuts crisscrossing his back. Gently, I rest a finger next to one of the many incisions. "These look like they're from a whip. What the hell?"

He smiles, but it's pained – his back hurts more than he's letting on. "Crazy subordinate got a few lucky hits when I was fighting someone else."

I raise an eyebrow. "A few?" I stand and head to the bathroom on the first floor, where we keep our first-aid kit. I also grab a few rags and wet them in the sink before heading back out to the living room. Takeshi is already on his stomach, shirt balled up under his head to act as a pillow. Smiling slightly, I straddle his hips, setting the antiseptic and bandages to the side. "This might hurt a bit."

He just grunts in response, and I begin to gently wipe away the blood, careful to not disturb the ones where the blood had already clotted. His self-control has greatly improved – he only flinches a little – and I can tell the coolness of the rag is helping some. I grab the antiseptic cream with my left hand and gently apply it. He hisses through his teeth, but otherwise remains silent as I sterilize, then bandage his wounds. I lean down, when I finish, and kiss his cheek. "Better?"

"Mmmm," I hear, and I smile, climbing off him and collecting the dirty rag and spare bandages.

"Get your lazy ass upstairs and get some sleep, Takeshi," I say as I walk away, returning to the bathroom. I hear him trudge up the stairs and wait a moment before I follow him. He's collapsed on the bed – he didn't even bother to take off his pants, which were dark, I notice now, from the blood dripping down the back of his legs. I slide onto the bed next to him and he wraps an arm around my shoulders. I close my eyes with a contented sigh, and soon drift off to sleep.

"Gokudera-kun? Sorry to wake you, but we're here. Can you walk?" Tsuna's voice brought Hayato back from his memories, and he blinked, startled.

"Yeah… thanks, Tenth," he mumbled, walking past his boss and into the house, heading for the living room to crash on the couch. Within moments, he fell asleep, and dreamed another dream about his long lost lover.

A.N.: Beta-ed by the fantastic RukaKurokawa - thank you so much!

The next chapter might take a while longer to put up, due to school starting in four days.