Italicized – Writing/Flashbacks/Dream

"Tsu-kun! Time for lunch!"

Tsuna gently rolled over onto his back and begrudgingly extracted himself from his warm blanket cocoon. He shivered, clutching at his goosebump-covered arms, the chilly Japanese winter air assaulting him. Winter was never his favorite season. He was far too sensitive to the cold weather. His mother always attested it to his lack of meat on his bones. Every winter, she made sure to double his meal portions in the hopes that some would stay with him. It never did. But Tsuna wasn't quite so sure. Of his mother's reasoning. He often felt his perpetually freezing state was something deeper than a purely physical reason. Regardless of the layers, even if he swelled to triple his size with clothes alone, he always felt the chill throughout his body, resonating deep within him. A hollow ache almost. His chest contracted at the thought.

Absentmindedly, Tsuna feebly rasped, "Coming, okaa-san."

Slowly but surely, Tsuna made his way to the dining, making sure to grab a notebook and pencil from his desk. His throat was sore, and he didn't want to exacerbate the pain. That's what he got for not speaking all that often.

As Tsuna maneuvered his way out of his room, he mentally thanked his mother's decision to move him to the downstairs guest room. Stairs and crutches combined with his unfailing clumsiness was just a disaster waiting to happen. It was already a task and a half to not trip on flat ground. Besides, more logically, prior to his crutches, he was in a wheelchair, having broken a foot in his . . . accident. And Tsuna wasn't about to devote the brain power or time to figure how he'd even make it down the stairs in one piece in that state.

"There you are Tsuna." His mom glanced over at him from her station in the kitchen chopping some vegetables. "How's your foot today?" she asked, once Tsuna settled down in front of his lunch, noting his notebook in hand.

"Fine, mum. I've been resting all morning and took my medication." Tsuna lifted up his inky- blue, scrawled writing in his notebook for his mother to read.

"That's good, Tsu-kun." There was a brief beat of silence, a slight hesitation from his mother. Tsuna tensed. "Do you think your foot is well enough to walk on though or should I take out the wheelchair for when we visit Dr. Mizuki?"

Her voice was cautiously light, almost as if she was merely exhaling the last two words of her sentence, not enough air in her lungs to properly enunciate her words. She consciously avoided eye contact with her son, turning to her work on her cutting board. The sound thwack of the knife against the cutting board filled the ensuing silence.

Inwardly Tsuna cringed. He hated his sessions with Dr. Mizuki, a therapist recommended by the doctors at the hospital.

That day when Tsuna finally woke up, he couldn't speak. In a flurry, the doctors ran through the customary tests, brain scans, and other various medical stuff with names and explanations that had made Tsuna's brain spin. But there was nothing wrong. No head trauma. No vocal cord damage. Nothing. The doctors were stumped, until a few days after Tsuna woke up.

His mother was tending to him in bed, fussily fluffing and re-fluffing his pillows and smoothing out the perpetually wrinkled sheets of his hospital bed. Tsuna's mom was a tightly wound ball of energy and tension since Tsuna woke up. She couldn't sit still even as the doctors came in to do checkups. She was always buzzing around, playing with Tsuna's hands and never straying too far, always trying to make contact with him to constantly reaffirm that her son was truly there in front of her. Her consideration for her son was laudable, but all Tsuna wished was for her to calm down. He survived the accident and he was very much alive.

Watching her impulsively fix his bed, Tsuna just wanted her to relax. Without thinking Tsuna spoke. "Okaa-san, I'm fine. Please, just relax. Take a nap or a seat at least."

Tsuna's actions didn't immediately register. He remained perplexed as he watched his mother's expression morph from shock, to realization, and pure unrestrained joy. She lept at Tsuna, and Tsuna was reminded of the moment several days ago when he first woke up, smothered in her embrace. Just like that moment, her thin arms crushed him with an unsuspecting strength. His ears were also assaulted as his mother let out a squeal of joy. Still confused, Tsuna awkwardly began patting her back, rubbing circles in an attempt to console her from her sudden burst of happiness. That's how the nurses found him and his mother as they came rushing into his room, alerted by the still loud shouts coming from Tsuna's mother.

The doctors came soon after, after the nurses alerted them about the situation. As they barged into the room, Nana excitedly shouted at them, "My son has spoken!" The doctors couldn't believe it. Tsuna hadn't spoken for several days, and all of a sudden, he speaks now?

The doctors had immediately prompted Tsuna to redo this miraculous event, but it was impossible. Once the doctors appeared in front of him, Tsuna broke down. Under the pressure of way too many curious eyes, his palms began to sweat, and hands trembled imperceptibly, clenching his bedsheets. All that came from his mouth were incomprehensible stutters, and afterwards, nothing. Meanwhile, he watched at the corner of his eyes, the visible sag of his mother's shoulders and the disheartened expressions on the doctors' faces.

Tsuna was prompted several times afterwards to say a word. "Just one work, Tsu-kun. Please. For the doctors. For me." But nothing would come out, no matter how hard he tried.

The doctors were stumped, leaving the room to converse out of range of the worried ears of Tsuna and his mother. For a good twenty minutes, they were left sitting in the room, Nana returned to her spastic mother-henning and Tsuna closed his eyes, wishing to disappear from the suddenly tense situation. It was too much for him to handle.

One of the doctors popped her head through a crack in the door, pulling Nana out of the room, lightly closing the door behind them, but Tsuna could still catch bits and pieces of the conversations. The doors in the hospital didn't fit exactly in their frame, Tsuna absentmindedly noted, spotting glimpses of shuffling feet in a gap between the door and the floor.

"He's . . . shy. . . or could be defiant . . . but he . . .tried . . will outgrow . . . recommend Dr. . . . she will help him . . ."

Nana returned shortly after, carrying a small sheet with scrawled writing.

And so began his meetings with Dr. Mizuki.

A hesitant sounding "Tsuna" pulled Tsuna from his reverie, making contact with his mother's worried eyes. He hated Dr. Mizuki. Hated the sessions. She just didn't understand. But meeting his mother's entreating gaze, Tsuna caved. His mother wanted it. It would mean the world to her if continued to frequent these sessions, if at least to make her feel as if she was doing something for him, rather than passively watching her son impose this isolation upon himself.

Begrudgingly, Tsuna wrote in his notebook, raising it for his mother to see. It was uplifting seeing his mother's worried face shift, more relaxed and genuinely smiling.

"Crutches."

Tsuna resolutely picked away at the hand rest of the blue sofa he was currently seated in, the threads weaved into the piece of furniture rather stubborn. Blue was a nice color, Tsuna thought to himself. Definitely in his top three of favorite colors. It was the color of the sky after all, but nothing was prettier than the orange tint of the sky when the sun was rising and setting, casting everything in a warm orange glow. Yeah, orange was definitely his favorite color. If only this couch was such an orange. It'd be so much prettier . . .

"Tsuna, please. If you don't put in any effort into these sessions, it would be a waste of your parents' hard-earned money."

Ah, the guilt trip card. Tried and failed numerous times.

Tsuna continued to ignore the plea, instead choosing to focus on the metal placard on the desk off to the side of the room. Dr. Mizuki was engraved in shiny gold lettering. How fed up he was with that name.

An irritated huff was exhaled somewhere in front of him, and the tell-tale sound of a metal clipboard on rich mahogany wood alerted Tsuna that the session was coming to a close. Thank god, finally.

"Look Tsuna. I mean this literally Tsuna. Please just look at me."

The almost childish pleading tone caught Tsuna's attention. He begrudgingly turned to look at the lady in front of him. She was the epitome of frustration and tiredness. The skin between her eyebrows pinched together. The bottom of her painted pink lips caught on the top row of her teeth. Her thick black hair cascading carelessly out of her pinned up bun. Her hands clenched atop the blue skirt of her dress.

"I don't understand why you can't put some effort into these sessions. Are we not comfortable with one another? We have spent the last few weeks together. You were speaking more through your notebook. But I truly believe that it is time to move on from your dependency on your notebook." Tsuna drew his notebook in closer to his chest. "You should talk more Tsuna. Not just with your mother, but with me as well. If not me, maybe your doctors. Or start with the nurses. We can take this one step at a time Tsuna, but you need to start talking more. It's not healthy for you if this continues."

As Dr. Mizuki droned on, Tsuna just felt his irritation rise. Hastily, he flipped open his notebook to a blank page, laying it on his thighs for a stable surface to write on. Once he finished, he lifted the book to his therapist, feeling frustration rise again as tiredness edged even more into her features.

"I am trying! But I just cannot speak."

Dr. Mizuki merely sighed, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. Unconsciously Tsuna cringed. He hated that motion.

"No Tsuna. You are perfectly capable of speaking. The doctor records are proof of that. You just need to force yourself to talk. You need to overcome this shyness of yours. But fine, let's try this instead. Penpals."

Tsuna cocked an eyebrow, the word piquing his interest. Dr. Mizuki reached down to her clipboard, pulling a small yellow post-it note off the top sheet. Tsuna cautiously reached out to receive the paper, using the tips of his fingers to avoid making contact with her hands.

"Umami" the paper read.

"That is the name of your penpal. Their email is listed right below it." Dr. Mizuki added, motioning towards the bottom of the paper. "Seeing as speaking still remains outside of your comfort zone, why don't you try getting yourself accustomed to 'talking' with other people, new people." Dr. Mizuki gave Tsuna a wan smile. "Please, just try this out. You can keep it as impersonal as you want. Just talk about sports, or hobbies, or even the weather. I just want you talking to other people, testing some of your boundaries."

Taking pity on his therapist, Tsuna nodded, feeling a bit relieved as a truer smile claimed Dr. Mizuki's lips. Yet, even as he walked home with his mother who chattered indistinctly next to him, he had his doubts. He hadn't talked to someone new since he woke up from his coma, excluding his doctors and Dr. Mizuki. How would they react? Would they just be like everyone else, like all the people in his school? It was too much of a risk.

After all, wouldn't it be better if he didn't say anything at all.

For days, Tsuna pushed off sending the email. He had taped up the post-it note with the pen name and email, a constant reminder, on his wall. Several times he tried following through with Dr. Mizuki's suggestion, opening and booting up his laptop. However, every time without fail, he promptly shut it down, before the internet browser had time to load, overwhelmed with self-doubt.

It wasn't until a late contemplative night, in a state of partial lucidity and uncharacteristic go-get-'em attitude, staring at the starry sky from his window did Tsuna do anything. It was only a day away from another session with Dr. Mizuki, and last session he was forced into pinky promising her to send an email, having pushed it off way too long.

It wasn't that Tsuna was willingly rebellious. He didn't hate Dr. Mizuki per say. He understood she was just doing her job, but he just couldn't open up to her. He couldn't get comfortable, so it came off as annoyance instead. She just didn't understand him. She was trying but not well enough. She couldn't realize that he was truly trying to speak. Tsuna knew that his inability to speak was more than just shyness. He just knew. Intuition he concluded, but no one, especially not Dr. Mizuki, would accept such an answer. But maybe, just maybe he could try. Every day he felt the prodding gaze of his mother when Dr. Mizuki spoke to her about the penpal arrangement.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to try," Tsuna concluded.

Tentatively he booted up his computer, typed his password, and patiently waited for the internet browser to load. With shaking fingers, he typed in his penpal's email, just barely restraining his hands from slamming his computer shut. He never got this far before. His chest was beating, rapidly like a hummingbird, as he typed in the email he knew by memory, having spent hours on end contemplating the piece of paper. From then on, his fingers were in control, reflexively typing up the simple and non-invasive email he spent days writing and rewriting in his notebook but was too scared to send.

Quickly, Tsuna clicked the send button knowing that any moment of hesitation would result in him shutting down the laptop sending the incomplete email into his draft box.

Up at the top of his screen popped a confirmation box. "Your email has been sent!"

Tsuna heaved out a sigh, not realizing he was holding his breath. With one hand on his chest, he worked on controlling his breathing, a technique he learned from Dr. Mizuki. One thing she was successful in.

Suck a deep inhale in through the nose.

Exhale deeply through the mouth.

Repeat.

In. Out. In. Out.

Once his breathing steadied, no longer fluttering but pulsing normally, Tsuna closed his computer. That was enough excitement for the night. He peered over his bedside clock. 1:40 a.m. Well, scratch that. That was enough excitement for the day. He was sleeping in late.

Tsuna tucked himself tightly in his bedsheets. Time to get some rest.

7:06 am

From: Umami

Nice to meet you . . .

A/N:

Woohoo . . .writing this chapter at 3:18 in the morning.

So breakdown: Tsuna can and will only speak to his mother. He cannot speak to anyone else for reasons that are explained later. I will say that this diagnosis of shyness is sadly inaccurate. Through his notebook is how he talks. I imagine a pretty standard wire bound notebook. Orange obviously. . . Oh yeah, and Dr. Mizuki is an OC that has a minor role in the story. I'm only partially fond of OCs. This is my tolerable amount.

Also guesses to who Umami is? O_o I hope it's not too obvious because I tried so hard for it not to be. I literally have a list of pen names scrawled out on a pad of paper that I went through.

A penny for your thoughts by the way. Comments and critiques are beloved because how else am I supposed to improve as a writer ;) I'm a total noob.