Warning for slash, swearing, and flawed piano-logic.

Shock Absorber Down.

—-

The Day Of

—-

"Yamamoto!"

A bullet splits his skin. It makes a quick wet sound first, ripping flesh apart. Veins and blood press against each other as it grinds into his arm, and an icy snap sounds as it breaks through the bone. Then another is fired, dust and a shockwave surrounding the magnum. It dives into Yamamoto's collar, just above his clavicle. No crack, no crunch, nothing but broken skin. His eyes flash wider, pupils dilating and veins pulsing a deep red, over and over as his heart pushes for more blood. Grabbing at his chest he can't catch any air, can't keep it in as another bullet finds his lungs. He looks down at his stomach and watches two more pound into him. They knock him back, tripping him over his own feet, throwing his gun from his long fingers.

"Go-" His whispering fails and it turns into a drenched cough, blood spilling up his throat as his heart keeps pumping, obstructed by the holes in his thoracic cavity. It spills out between his lips, through the deep cracks of his white teeth and out over his chin. Down his neck. All the way to the marble floor under him. "Go-" Again he's silenced by the air rasping out of his lungs through holes that aren't meant to be there, and blood floods in around his tongue. When he attempts the syllable once more, nothing coherent leaves his lips. Just a sloshy, red cough.

He's not ready for this. Not yet.

He tries to smile, legs giving out as the bright room hazes over. He wants to comfort, assure, even if it's a lie; he should be able to. If he's good at anything, he's good at lying. But another shot is charged from behind, digging into his tail bone and out of his pelvis. Another still gnaws into his intestines. It stops there, killing him.

"Yamamoto!"

His voice blasts out like the clear clink of a baseball hitting a rusted fence. What a stupid thing to be thinking about now, baseball. Idiot, he's an idiot.

"Yamamoto – "

Three shots go off. He hears three bodies slam onto the tile. He...

Oh.

As Yamamoto falls finally he feels the wind rushing against the back of his neck, through his hair, warm blood pressing against the front of his body. He remembers his father, suddenly, and how he'll be alone now. His mother's voice. What he almost did, what he wanted to do, back in school. Stupid. He used to be so stupid. Meeting Tsuna and then, meeting him. How strange it was, not noticing anything was happening. That things were changing, he was changing, that the way he looked at him was different from the way he looked at everyone else. He didn't belong with Everyone Else. Waking up after dreams entirely ignited but, they're just dreams. Thoughts. Nothing at all. How could he ever feel like that? Ignoring everything. Games, games, games, games, games, games, games. Lying. Why did he always lie? It never did him any good. It only pushed everything away. Things, and people. What's his old man going to do without him? You're all I've got left… Those words ring in his ears until his head feels raw. Then something that hurts differently slips into his nerves, spiking up his spine.

(This has been a burden to The Tenth anyway.)

He's regretting, scared. He knew it would end like this, but doesn't want it to. Not now that he's finally started understanding how to move forward in life, how to explain himself. How to say exactly how he feels, so there can't be any more misunderstandings. Nothing serious anyway. And if there are, he knows he can work them out, knows he can open up and not be worried about how it's taken. But, now there can't be any mistakes. He won't screw up ever again. Won't look at him wrong, bother him, no unsure glances, waiting with coffee, or glaring eyes… no more nights on the couch, hours in foreign cars, worrying, sadness, wanting to hold him, never miss him, think of him, touch him, be ordered around just one more time… Nothing. There won't be anymore of it, and he feels that more than the lead in his chest.

Two arms catch him before he hits the floor, guiding. Pull him close. "Yamamoto..." They're shaking. Cold, or is that something else all together? He reaches a hand up to a face that is usually so callus, so unhappy to see him, but attentive. Someone who is innovational, who's always been able to find a solution to any problem, unlike Yamamoto who never could, would rather avoid it. He rubs a thumb across his temple, listening. "D-Don't..." His hand is grabbed by another one, stiff.

Blackness collects around him, desperate to get inside and put his body to rest.

"Keep your eyes open..."

He can't.

A forehead rests against his, arms squeezing his shoulders, voice quite with fear. "I said keep your fucking eyes open."

"You're…" his lips brush against Gokudera's cheek as he struggles to talk, fading out of reality and into somewhere far darker, "so…"

"Stop talking and open your damn eyes." Fingers tighten around his hand, grip and grip and grip and grip like it could keep him there.

"So..."

"Ya—"

He doesn't hear the rest of his name.

—-

One Year Before.

—-

"Tenth!" Gokudera shouts, tumbling into the hospital room. As he rushes to the bedside of the constant focus of his loyalty, he nearly trips. He can't believe this has happened! Why would the Tenth do something so irrational, so stupid? What would make him think that going into the local Yakuza's turf alone was a good idea? What the hell had he been trying to accomplish? The end of the Vongola? A quick death? Putting Gokudera into cardiac arrest?

Falling to his knees at the side of the hospital bed, he tries to catch his breath. Distressfully, he stares wide-eyed at his boss.

Tsuna pulls his head (which is wrapped up in a bandage that needs to be cleaned. This consumes Gokudera's focus instantly and easily because whichever nurse neglected his Boss is going to get the worst ass-pounding of their life if Gokudera ever got his hands – )

"Hello, Gokudera-kun."

The white haired boy holds the edge of the mattress, so happy to hear his voice, to see his eyelids part. "Tenth… Are you…"

The Tenth Vongola looks away. "I'm fine. Honestly." Scratching his head, he laughs a little, and Gokudera ignores who it reminds him of because he should be concentrating on the Tenth, and no one else. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

He flips a white bouquet out from behind him, laying it on Tsuna's lap. "Here, Boss."

A little embarrassed but mostly used to the way Gokudera is, Tsuna takes the flowers and sends him a half-smile. "Ah, Thanks."

But Gokudera doesn't mind how awkward his boss always finds these situations. He can't help his personality, his insane capacity to be entirely too forward. Tsuna's the only person he feels comfortable acting so vulnerable around, and yes Gokudera knows why, but he isn't going to contemplate or complicate the issue.

"I'm so glad you're okay…"

After the usual nod and smile, Tsuna explains to Gokudera exactly what he discovered at the Yakuza's territory. A great deal of it is relevant, things like where they're receiving all of their ammunition from and who it is that's funding them, but some of it seems off to him. What does it matter what their higher-ups like to eat for dinner? Or who their favourite tailors are? Is his boss planing something crazy…?

Before he can ask, the door squeaks open, and footsteps move into the room.

"Haha, white flowers just like always, Gokudera?"

Painfully, he looks behind him…

And sees an idiot.

"Go away, yakyuu-baka." He turns back to Tsuna, ignoring Yamamoto completely. Though, when those same familiar footsteps exit the room, he can't deny the fast deflation his chest does. He can, however, and does triumphantly, disregard it as irrelevant. Especially when compared to his boss's current state. "But why did you go alone, Tenth?"

Tsuna seems to realize the disconcerting context his words have before he says them, and he can't meet the guardian's eyes as he speaks. "I wasn't alone. Mukuro went with me."

"Tenth!" Gokudera nearly loses his mind amidst his deep terror. "You can't trust someone like him."

"He's really okay," the brunet replies too quickly, something floaty in his voice. "He saved my life. I trust him, so you can too."

Trust him? That murdering hellanite? Mukuro is nothing but an immoral, selfish, flightily, abusive, psychopath. And not in the way that Hibari is crazy, no, because Hibari still has some sliver of compassion inside of him, even if it generally directed towards small animals. Mukuro is unhealthy, for himself and for this family. At least, that's what Gokudera thinks, what he notices when he looks at the man.

But if The Tenth sees something different, he'll just have to accept it and try harder to see it too.

Hanging his head, Gokudera says, "I guess I just feel useless…"

Tsuna sets the flowers down and flicks his friend in the temple. "Don't. I really would've taken you and Yamamoto, but you were both busy, and I had to go or else they'd come to us first, and that would've beed bad." He sits up more, sleepy. "Speaking of which…"

The door across the room squeaks open again.

"… did you find out anything important while I was gone?"

Yamamoto steps in as the question is asked, a vase of water in one hand. His brown eyes halt at Gokudera, devoid of authority or power and insufferably firm, like he's expecting something. It's strange, because he should be looking at Tsuna, who had asked the question, and what could he be expecting? But he's staring, perfectly focused. Attentive. Gokudera feels hot. Those brown eyes are doing things to his head. At least, he hopes its just his head. Stupid Italy and it's sunsets and wine and the Tenth's 'special missions' and Yamamoto's big, warm arms…

He answers their boss without taking his eyes off of Gokudera.

"Yeah, we found something out."

Relieving Tsuna of the flowers, Yamamoto sets them in the vase and places it on the windowsill.

Gokudera looks away, face heating up.

—-

One Month Before.

—-

Writing in four-four time is supposed to be the most basic way to create music. It makes sense, of course, because people walk in four-four time, breathe in four-four time, and their hearts beat in four-four time. One, two, three, four. Repeat until the end of a life, repeat until the end of a song. No one walks in five-seven, three-three, or two-four. Not naturally, anyway. No one that Gokudera's ever seen.

So why is this so hard?

He's on the last bar of a piece he's been working on for nearly two years, fitting the time in between his job — missions, paperwork — and the newest addition to his life, an innamorato (he refuses to use the Japanese word for it, as if naming it in Italian somehow makes it less real and more bearable, or something, because it's so fucked up and he has no idea what is he's doingwith one, especially this one). The song is in four-four. It's supposed to be easy, but it's not, because though the song is entirely 'one two three four, one two three four, one two three four' all the damn way through, the last bar, Bar One-Eighty-Seven, doesn't fit in four-four. Of course mathematically it does. It has to, laws of the universe and all that. But if he doesn't add a fifth note, a D-minor chord with a lightly-pressed F-7, the song sounds empty. Soulless. Like it's missing something. It hangs out in the air like a dead arm out of a coffin during a funeral – uncanny.

His brain is hardwired to math, though, so he can't just stick another damn note on the end and have that be that. Hell no. He has to sit here and drive himself totally crazy, trying to understand where the fuck he went wrong when he'd written the whole thing to make this last note sound so damn lonely. Like it needed another one after it.

He slams his fingers into the keys, saying a few very bad words.

And that is, naturally, when a special idiot walks into the room.

"Haha, that didn't sound right."

"Go away."

Yamamoto's smile runs away like a frightened – but very smart – kitten. "Can I stay if I'm quiet?"

Gokudera doesn't say yes, and he doesn't say no. He turns back to his work and begins the song from the start, doing the math in his head. Each bar is a whole note. Some are separated into sixteenth notes, quarter notes, half notes, and even a few sixty-forth notes. But each bar has four beats. No exceptions. One two three four, one two three four, one two three—

Yamamoto sits down next to him.

Gokudera loses count.

Stops.

Slowly, as if nervous about the reaction, Yamamoto leans against him. "Why'd you stop?"

"Get off."

"Alright." He does, putting a few inches between them. But he'd sounded so sad, so hurt, so depressed. Honestly, just because he's busy and asked for some space… it's not the same as being rejected. The idiot doesn't have to look so upset about it.

Anyway.

He starts over, counting and trying to understand why the math is correct, but the feeling isn't. He's tried adding slurs, ties, glissandos, arpeggiated chords, tuplets, but it never seems to make a difference.

When he reaches the final bar he doesn't play the extra note. Again, like every time, the air in the room goes silent too quickly. That note needs to be there, but it doesn't make any sense, and if it doesn't make sense, if there's no purpose – if it's not logical and if Gokudera has no real need for it, it shouldn't exist.

"Why…" Yamamoto looks at Gokudera with those stupid eyes that are always, always there. And stupid. "Why'd you stop again?"

"Because that's the end."

"Oh."

Gokudera feels bad about being a jerk, generally, to someone who consistently treats him like a prince or something — and he's frustrated that he can't figure this stupid song out. So he slides close to Yamamoto before he speaks. "It doesn't sound right, does it?" He can feel his taller body stiffen against him. "I don't know what to do…" Hardly believes what comes out of his mouth next, that he's talking about it. "My mother used to help me when I couldn't figure music out, you know?"

"Gokudera…"

He keeps going, looking away and tripping a bit over his words. "I remember when I was trying to learn the D major scale, when I was a kid, and I kept pressing C instead of C-sharp. I couldn't tell what I was doing wrong, though. All I knew was that something sounded off." Placing his fingers on the piano, he plays a perfect D major up to the next octave, back down, and then with all ten fingers, still talking. "She took my hand and played it with me until I understood. Over and over. But…" He swallows something, tears or a lump in his throat, emotions stuffed down to the pads of his feet, memories he's given up trying to forget. "But she's not here, and this…"

Yamamoto sets his hand over one of Gokudera's, where it's resting on the piano keys. Threads his fingers around lighter, rougher ones, breathing with him, listening to him.

"I don't get it. Why does it sound so wrong?"

He moves in closer and says, "I'm sorry I can't help," like he really means it. Not laughing. Firm, solid eyes. He probably has no idea it's different than the way he looks at everyone else; hell if Gokudera doesn't notice.

He snorts and takes his hand back.

"Just don't die on me, idiot."

—-

Two Days Before.

—-

With the rush of a deep breath that sucks all the air in the room around him, Tsuna shoots straight up in bed. He gasps and gulps, platysma contracting and pulling at his neck. Cold sweat drips down his face, leaking from his hair, and his eyes widen to the blackness around him. Everything looks twisted. The walls slouch downwards, daunting over him like watchtowers in midnight, falling to crush him. He grabs two fistfuls of bedsheets, slamming his eyes closed and still panting, trying to calm down. But his back stays stiff, blood draining from his fingers as his head dances in an earthy heat haze, fighting to wake up.

"Aah-ah, these—"

These terrors have been happening for months. Every night the same dream wakes Tsuna. A mute rush of blood rings in his ears and he's sitting up, nerves cracking, scared and out of breath. He doesn't ever remember the whole dream, only parts. But he knows it's the same one, night after night, and that it must be awful, whatever it is.

He looks at the clock.

3:32 AM.

He takes a deep, wanting breath and stands, leaving his room. A glass of water usually doesn't help, but he always goes and gets one after he's woken up. The long walk to the kitchen probably calms him down. It's a good thing he'd designed the place to be so huge…

Though as he's stepping through the halls he starts to rethink it, because all of this bigness is making him more anxious. This entire building is his. It's his responsibility. He hates to think that the night terrors are from stress, that being a mob boss is so stressful, that his family, his friends, are causing his insomnia. What else could it be, though? Nothing else. The Vongola is his whole life. He's older now and is supposed to be able to handle all of this, but lately he feels helpless, lonely, and unsure of himself. There's no one to talk to about it, unless he bothers Yamamoto or Gokudera, but he always keeps them busy with work. It wouldn't be fair to ask them for help.

"What are you … ba … iot?"

As Tsuna nears the kitchen, faint voices hover toward his ears.

"Come … here … ra." That's Yamamoto—

"…off, you…" And Gokudera. What are they doing up?

When he gets to the kitchen he peeks in, unsure of why he's hiding at all. His two best friends are huddled over a table full of paperwork, sitting with a low lamp on. A wet blanket of guilt covers Tsuna. He's been overworking them lately, he knows, and that's why they're still up at this bleak hour, but he doesn't have a choice. Most of the other guardians aren't good with paperwork and Tsuna doesn't trust any of his regular subordinates with those files. So, it ended up being those two, like usual, and now he feels like shit because he's given them too much to do, like usual. With a tough lip, Tsuna begins to enter the kitchen carrying the honest plan of telling them to go to bed already, and not worry about it.

This intent, however, is stopped quickly not by what Yamamoto says, but the strange way in which he says it:

"Gokudera…"

"Hn?"

Tsuna feels his understanding of the world crash and burn in a pile of irrelevancy as he watches Yamamoto lean slowly across the table and grab Gokudera's head and pull it in close and look at him with eyes like that and kiss Gokudera on the lips long enough for there to be no questions asked about its authenticity in relation to Tsuna's ability to process visual information at three-thirty in the morning. That is, there is no way he can blame what he just saw on how tired he is.

Yamamoto just—

He—

"Oi, that's enough. We have work to do."

And Gokudera replied casually. Like Yamamoto does that sort of thing all the time.

"But—"

"No."

He places his chin in his palm, pouting. "You're so mean, Hayato."

HAYATO⁈

"Don't call me that."

How long has this been going on? Reborn had mentioned, once, that he thought these two seemed very close, but Tsuna hadn't thought he'd meant this kind of close. Like brothers, or something, but… but not this.

Hurriedly he slinks back into the shadows, though he can't bring himself to leave. He's never thought of himself as a snoop, at least not to his friends. He's never considered that he might one day need to be. It's important, though, isn't it? To know what kind of relationship his guardians have?

Right.

He leans forward a bit, eavesdro– listening.

"Come on, Gokudera, I'll finish it all in the morning, so let's go to bed," Yamamoto says, reaching forwards. To do what Tsuna doesn't find out, because Gokudera bats him away.

"No. This is for the Tenth. Go play with yourself if you want it so bad. You have a right hand, don't you?"

Tsuna's eyes widen at that, and his face gets hot. He knows Gokudera can be mean, but he hadn't even looked up when he'd said it! Besides, saying something like that at all… well, the torn up state it leaves Yamamoto's face in explains why he shouldn't have.

"Gokudera." But his voice is different, louder, more sure and stern than his expression. "Can we talk?"

Uh-oh, that's not good…

Gokudera still doesn't look up, though. "The Tenth needs these done by morning."

"Why don't you just give them back to Lambo? They are his."

"That stupid cow can't be trusted with the boss's records, idiot. He never does them."

Lambo's not doing his work? That little monster… Tsuna thought he'd raised him better. That really doesn't matter at the moment!

What should he do? He doesn't like where this conversation is going.

"I really will do them after."

"No. Get away."

"But we haven't done anything together in awhile."

"No."

"Later?"

"I have work to do later."

"But we—"

"Yamamoto," he cuts him off, flipping through files and not giving the other man an ounce of actual recognition, "I'm not letting the Tenth down, so quit asking."

A loud crash shakes the room as Yamamoto stands, his chair falling behind him. "Tsuna Tsuna Tsuna Tsuna Tsuna Tsuna!" Gokudera is looking at him now, slapped with the rise in his voice and fully aware. "All you talk about is Tsuna!" He shouts, a low and thick heavy-set heat in his voice. "I get that he's important to you and I love, I mean it, I love how loyal you are to him, to this family, but Gokudera, for fuck's sake, I…" He trails.

Takes a long, losing breath.

Tsuna's getting chills, watching them. This should have been obvious, their relationship, now that he thinks back. And he hates that not only did he fail to pick up on it, but now they're fighting over him of all things.

Yamamoto hangs his head. "I need some… attention. So I know I'm not the only one who wants this." He reaches back and lifts up his chair, sitting in it, eyes dark and thoughtful. "I'm sorry I yelled, I just… it feels really one-sided. I, I don't know. I'm tired, I guess."

Tsuna is aware, to the bottom of his being, that Gokudera is a good person. He knows he's smart, and that he means well. But he also knows he's insecure about some stuff. Stuff like team work, aliens taking over the world, people touching his things, and, oh, a certain insistent baseball playing assassin. That had been clear since the day they'd met. With his constant attempts at friendship (or so Tsuna had thought, ha) and Gokudera's general reaction to these attempts being negative and explosive and wait: why, exactly, is Yamamoto okay with that?

He sinks his head down and prays, hoping for the best in his guardian.

Please don't say something stupid. Please don't make this about me. Come on, Gokudera...

Gokudera actually seems to contemplate something, but it leaves his expression quickly and he says, "Well don't take it out on me. This is my work. Of course I pay more attention to it than you." Then he looks back down at the table, like Yamamoto hadn't just spilled his guts out all over it.

Oh man.

The mob boss bites down on his lip as the taller man's fists go white because he's clenching them and vibrating with something different than anger, holding a million things in and saying only, "Would you please just take a few minutes and listen to me?"

To Tsuna's horror, Gokudera snaps at Yamamoto, eyes closed and teeth grinding. "I already told you, no! This is for the Tenth! So stop acting like a fucking woman and let me do my work!"

Unable to look at Gokudera, Tsuna watches water swell up in two brown eyes. He can't be crying, I've never seen… but Yamamoto wipes it away before anyone else notices. Then he stands again, slower this time, almost threatening. Apparently he can't keep it up though and his back shakes and his shoulders slouch and everything about him gets sadder and sadder until he speaks, finally, sounding like he's lost something and isn't allowed to have it back.

"Are you serious?" His arms are at his sides, something Tsuna's sure he doesn't usually do, because it looks strange. "You won't even listen to me? After everything… our mothers', telling your sister… you're serious?"

Don't say something stupid, don't say something stupid, don't say something stupid, Gokudera, don't…

He shrugs. "This has been a burden to the Tenth anyway."

The brunet can practically see the knife twisting into Yamamoto's stomach. His eyes hallow out, and the knot in his throat is obvious in his voice.

"This…"

"Where are you going?"

As the black haired man turns away from Gokudera, Tsuna realizes it's to leave the kitchen. So he runs as fast as he can down the hall without being heard, heart kicking in his ribcage. Pulling a sharp left, he throws himself into a bathroom and locks the door, breathing heavy.

That was close...

He slides to the tiles and puts his head in his hands, smiling wryly.

"I need a freakin' drink."

—-

The next day, Tsuna is informed that Yamamoto wants to do the mission alone.

He doesn't like the idea, but isn't sure forcing them to work together would be a better one.

Gokudera, after a sleepless night, walks into the driveway only to find their car already gone.

He says only one thing:

"Shit."

—-

The Day Of

II

—-

There's one tile out of place on the ceiling in the hallway. Every time he pulls his eyes open, Gokudera stares straight at it. Head rested back on the wall, he sits and takes slow breaths. The room number is two-hundred-something, because he hasn't looked yet, because the second he'd gotten off the elevator he'd sat down and shut the world out, focusing on his breathing and that busted tile. The only thing flashing in his mind is the sound of those dead bodies hitting the hard floor, the ones he'd killed without a second thought. But it isn't coherent. He doesn't understand that he's thinking about it. All he hears is thudding and sees bullet wounds, lightless eyes, and it all keeps spinning so he holds onto his head as if it might blast away through the wall behind him.

The elevator down the hall chimes, and Gokudera recognizes the Tenth's footsteps. Fluttery and quick and careful.

"Gokudera, what happened?" Tsuna asks, absolutely worried.

But he doesn't answer the pushing question. Rather than that, he lifts his head off the wall and hangs it between his shoulders, which feel brittle and old under all this weight. The Tenth, his boss, his friend, had asked him, but Gokudera lets everything crawl to a slow creep. It's so much easier to block out the lights over him, the tile, that question, the room number, his raw reddened hands, than to let it all click. Why he's here, and who's in there, the room across from him.

"Gokudera?"

The intake of air is sharp. "Yes?"

His boss kneels down to the floor with him. "I need you to stay here tonight."

"What?" Finally he lifts his head. "Why?"

The Tenth chews on him lip and says, "Just to be safe, I guess."

"I, I can't, Boss," silver hairs shakes to and fro, "I have work to do…"

Of course Tsuna's holding a box full of paperwork. The Vongola smiles, but Gokudera has known him long enough to catch the cleverness it holds. "I thought you'd say that, so I brought it," he glances at the door and rustles the box, "His is in here too." Then he looks back at Gokudera, and Gokudera realizes he's making the Tenth worry over him and starts to hate himself even more. "So stay here, okay? He's always healed better with company." If he heals at all.

The driest, dustiest, deadest lump he's ever felt scrapes down his throat, "Alright."

The next thing he knows, he's standing at the door to room two-hundred-and-six with a heavy box full of paperwork. The Tenth is gone – understandable. Somehow. Somehow it feels right this way. Gokudera looks at his feet as he twists the knob and pushes the door open. He's in in socks. When had that happened? Oh, no, those aren't his socks. They're –

He trips on something and the box of paperwork flies across the room, falling open. Sheets flutter to the hard floor and Gokudera smashes on his knees, vibrating the old windowpane to his left. He cringes at the thud, feeling his bones shift backward into his muscles. Ignoring it, he begins picking up the paper. Fuck whatever he'd tripped on. It can go straight to fucking hell. Everything, all of this bullshit, it can go directly to the darkest, loneliest pit of the underworld and rot and burn and rot again for the rest of forever because this is, this is –

Gokudera's hands are shaking. He guesses it's nerves. When he was little, he'd had to come to the hospital all the time, what with his sister's mad cooking. So he's bound to be a bit shaky. It's just from the memories. Nothing all really, no big deal.

He puts the sheets back into the box in no order and stands up. There's a work desk under the window. He walks over and sets the box down; there's no chair. It's beside the hospital bed. Gokudera prefers to stand while he does paper work anyway. He pulls out his pen, ready to start on the taxes (they're just a front, a lie, to keep them under the radar). He sets the tip of the pen down to sign his name, but no ink comes out. Nothing but an indent of the first stroke of his family name. He opens his mouth; and then he clamps it shut. What is he doing? There's no one to ask. No one in here can listen to him.

He picks up a pencil and begins filling in information on ammunition orders. Highly illegal, yet the paper work must be exact – organized crime and all that. But the fucking pencil lead snaps and the crack is louder than it can possibly be, blinding him – there's a pencil sharpener next to the door, right? Gokudera walks over to use it. But as he lifts his hands up there's no pencil in his fingers, and when he looks back at the table for it it isn't there. He can feel his stomach flip and his eyes pull towards the bed.

Gokudera stomps back to the desk and begins putting the sheets back in order by date. He'd fucked them up when he'd dropped them. They're the Tenth's – he can't fuck them up. He's counting on him. They're partner's, they've been through hell and back together, he owes him so much and he'd let him down.

His eyes land on his name, written in messy ink on the bottom of a receipt. Gokudera can't take another breath.

He wads it up and chucks it across the room. It hits him square on the nose. Gokudera waits for a laugh, a remark about controlling his anger, maybe for the paper to be thrown right back at him.

Nothing happens, just dead silence.

Gokudera has to go over and get it – it's work. Work matters more. That's what he'd said, right? The Tenth is counting on him.

He takes a deep breath and walks over, keeping his eyes on the crumpled up ball. It had fallen onto the chair, the one next to the hospital bed. He doesn't blink, concentrates on his target and reaches out for it, the white folds beginning to look menacing and the pressure builds behind his eyes until he's sure he's going to explode. Don't look up, don't look up, don't look up, don't look at him.

Don't –

He looks up and nearly collapses onto his knees. A weak arm latches onto the chair, and Gokudera falls into it, heart thudding inside his chest harder and harder the longer he stares.

Yamamoto looks like an angel. And he hates the way that sounds in his head, hates the peacefulness of it and what it could mean, but there's no other way. His eyes are closed and sunken, his chest heaving like the rising tide, hair just as messy as it is after sex. Somehow, that's beautiful to Gokudera and he throws his head into his hands. He hasn't cried in years.

"Idiot," he says, and lifts his neck up slowly, terrified. His face is hot. Yamamoto's shoulders to his chest, hips, and feet – all of him, Gokudera stares at all of him, lifeless except for shallow breathing.

He swallows. "I'm paying attention now. See?" Without his permission one hand sneaks up into Yamamoto's hair. He can feel anger building inside him. "Are you fucking happy?" Gokudera forces his grip to stay loose because he can get as pissed of as he wants, but he is not going to let himself hurt the idiot. Except it gnaws at him like it always does and he shakes Yamamoto, starting to get louder, going blind with fear.

"Stop FUCKING AROUND!"

As if he can – as if he fucking can! He shouldn't have done that alone! What the hell was he thinking? Just because they had a stupid fucking fight! Like they've never had stupid fights before! At least half of this thing between them is stupid fights, and that's just fine with Gokudera. It's perfect. It is so much more than he deserves.

He grabs Yamamoto's hand and holds it to his cheek. "I mean it. Wake the hell up."

Nothing.

Gokudera drops his head to his hardly-rising chest.

"I mean it…"

—-

The Day After

—-

He wakes up on the floor.

In his groggy state he comes to the realization that Yamamoto must be dead because he'd gotten shot six times and there's no way he could have survived. So he stands up, getting ready to kiss his dead innamorato and love him despite the fact that he is now a zombie. Really, he loves him even though he's a giant idiot, so him being undead should be cake. Gokudera's read a lot about zombies. As long as he finds Yamamoto fresh meat every hour or so and keeps him on a leash, they should be fine.

Instead of a flesh-eating monster, though, two lighter and much less heart-pounding brown eyes look down at him.

"Boss?"

"Good morning, Gokudera." Tsuna laughs under his breath. "How was your night?"

The guardian sits on his butt and blinks upwards of a hundred times. "The idiot didn't eat your brain?"

Tsuna looks amused – but worried. "Um, no. My brain is fully intact."

"Uh huh."

The Tenth Vongola sits down on the floor with his friend and hands him a cup of coffee and some food. "Have you checked his pulse lately?"

Gokudera blinks some more. "I– I– he…" He'd checked it only about a thousand times last night. It was weak every time. "…" He manages, and drinks some coffee, feeling meek.

"I need to talk to you," Tsuna says. Pauses.

"Anything, Tenth."

He nods. "Okay. Look… Gokudera, I know."

Gokudera's world ends in a rush of explosive fire, but he speaks through it, "Know what?"

"What he is to you," Tsuna says, nodding towards Yamamoto.

"He's a stupid bastard who gets shot like a stupid bastard."

"Gokudera."

"He is."

"I know you two are – that you're…" He shakes his head, trying to get the words to tumble out, "I should be mad at you both for not telling me, but I can do that later. You… I heard the two of you a few nights ago, in the kitchen… " His expression grows worried. "I should have nothing to do with you two, so, please stop making decisions about your personal life based on me. That, more than anything, is a 'burden' to me."

Gokudera's jaw drops. He snaps awake fully, and realizes that if Yamamoto is dead he's dead-dead, not undead, and furthermore that the Tenth is implying that he might not be dead-dead and is also explicitly stating that he knows – like he knows-knows – and doesn't care, didn't even mention morality or The Right Thing To Do or Ensuring the Continuation of the Human Species – whatever other slander Gokudera's read about – and, well, it's a whole lot of information at once. So he grabs his knees and drinks more coffee.

"I'm asking you as a friend, Gokudera. When he wakes up, just be honest." Tsuna smiles and shrugs. "He's Yamamoto, he's not going to use it against you."

"Boss…"

"It's not an order. I want to be happy for you guys, not worried and upset that you felt like you couldn't tell me. But…" He looks up at the unconscious guardian. "We'll talk about that later." Standing, Tsuna makes for the door. "You were pretty out of it yesterday, but he almost died while you were waiting in the hall. So I'm serious – when he wakes up, tell him how you actually feel and not how you think you should feel."

"You mean he's…"

The Tenth smiles widely at his friend. "He's a 'stupid bastard' who gets shot six times and lives? Yes."

With that, Tsuna closes the door and Gokudera is alone with Yamamoto, who is neither dead-dead nor undead, who is going to wake up sometime soon, because apparently he wasn't unconscious, just sleeping, and shit the Tenth really knows! And somehow, it's easier than when his sister found out. The Boss seemed more comfortable. And, well, didn't try to initiate Yamamoto into the family with a poison plate of cookies and a bracing game of Supposedly Non-Lethal Russian Roulette (which Yamamoto won, he likes to point out).

"Um," Gokudera says, needing to stop his thoughts from occurring. He sits down in the chair. Order or not, the Tenth had told him to do something; and he wants to do it; he should do it.

He rubs his eyes. "There's no way I can ever say this to you when you're awake – but since you want to hear it so damn bad…" He grabs Yamamoto's hand and covers his mouth with it, like it might stop the words from coming out, "I think you're – I mean, you're really…." He hangs his head, "Fuck," and moves the hand to his cheek, thinking back to the night they'd fought, all the stupid shit he'd said, that fact that Yamamoto might've died, that he really should have died but out of some weird luck he didn't but he might tomorrow or any other day so Gokudera had really better spit it out already –

"You are on my mind constantly. It's fucking annoying. I haven't gone more than ten minutes without thinking about you since the day we met. You have no idea how much of my attention you get, and I know… I know that's the problem." Gokudera laughs lightly. "This is the stupidest thing I've ever done. You can't even hear me. But I fucking promise, when you wake up, I'll… " He stops. He can't finish it. It's too serious, too heavy, saying something like that.

"You'll what?"

Gokudera's head snaps up. Two dark brown eyes are staring at him, smiling.

He drops Yamamoto's hand.

"Go – "

He intends to punch Yamamoto's face inside-out as he moves in closer, and is surprised when he starts kissing Yamamoto instead. Gokudera presses him into the pillow, warm lips heating up his whole body, right down to his toes. His heart swells as Yamamoto kisses him back and breathes against his face and grabs his forearms and holds him there, steady.

Gokudera moves away. They're mostly nose-to-nose and Yamamoto's eyes open, coming out of a haze.

Not giving himself any time to feel insecure or angry about it, Gokudera just speaks: "I didn't mean it, what I said before – if you ever want to talk to me about something I'll be right here."

"It's alright. "

"No it's not "alright" you idiot, you almost died! You should have died!" Gokudera goes from angry to shy in one second flat. He buries his head in Yamamoto's neck. "And I fucking mean it, okay? For the rest of our lives, if you need me, I'm right here."

Yamamoto runs a hand through white hair. "Haha. Are you asking me to marry you?"

"Shut up, that's not what I said."

"I'd say Yes."

"Stop it. Now."

He grins, Gokudera can fucking feel it. "Do you really think about me con – "

"Yes."

And now he's blushing, though Gokudera can't feel that, because Yamamoto hardly ever blushes. "I'm. Um. Gokudera…."

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry for going there alone."

He tenses and sits back up, glaring down at his stupid boyfriend. "Yeah that was stupid."

Yamamoto nods. "I know. I was just so mad. Sometimes, it…" he bites his lip and Gokudera knows the expression. It's the 'I'm-worried-that-Gokudera-will-hit-me-if-I-say-this' face. "It feels like I'm just a convenient um… you know."

"What?" He says, huffing lightly. Yamamoto is shy about the weirdest things. "You think I put up with you just for sex?"

"Haha. Guess it doesn't make sense."

"None at all," he says, setting his head under Yamamoto's chin again, "You're horrible in bed."

"No way. Remember, last time – "

"Finish that and I'll kill you."

"But…"

"I don't think you could survive a seventh bullet."

Yamamoto grins, and Gokudera can feel it again.

"I could survive anything for you."

"…..Fuck off."

"No way."

He smiles into Yamamoto's neck. Good.