Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Title: Sakura Addiction

Summary:

General: The Cloud lingers never in one place, but always remains within the vast folds of the limitless Sky. The Mist tickles the edge of the horizon, tracing that soul-stealing smile and testing whether or not it’ll be punished for wanting, each time more and more, to hover just a bit longer. Each hesitant with these new but terrifyingly ever-lasting emotions, almost timidly reach towards the beautifully ephemeral, unbelievably gentle, and so agonizingly fragile warmth. In a small country in the east, the sakura remind two very distinct and yet very similar individuals of the greatest heart they’ll ever know, the love and acceptance they’ll forever receive from it, and the embrace of the man whose chest it resides in.

Hibari Side: Hauntingly ephemeral, abnormally gentle, and so preciously fragile: at one point or another in his life, Tsuna had seemed like one of these or another. So really, it wasn't Hibari's fault that he stopped hating sakura, (or the other predator encroaching on his territory through no fault of his own; blame that damned deviant of a Pineapple-Herbivore for twisting his pure perception of violent discipline with his perverse lust), it was just that the little flower seemed so much like his Omnivore...At this point, he couldn't help but be addicted to them both.

Mukuro Side: The skylark was entertaining, that much was obvious, so really he wasn’t going to be the unlucky recipient of any blame for what had become of their little…arrangement. Once it didn’t interfere with his plans to possess Sawada Tsunayoshi in any and all ways possible, it was perfectly acceptable to have the birdie flying in his field, especially if he dragged the bunny along to hop around for a spell too, (which was actually very likely since those two were getting friendlier with one another every day). The problem lay in the fact that the ever violent bird-brain was crossing all sorts of boundaries Mukuro didn’t even know he had, led by the dauntingly ephemeral, frighteningly gentle, and so ridiculously fragile tuna fish.

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Inspiration/Prompt: Katekyo Hitman Reborn’s Ending Theme of the same name.

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Main Pairing:

Current: Tsuna x Kyoko ~ (one-sided?), Hibari x Tsuna ~ (one-sided or pre-slash?), Mukuro x Tsuna ~ (one-sided or pre-slash?), Mukuro x Hibari ~ (definite slash, questionably romantic).

Eventual: Mukuro x Tsuna x Hibari ~ (requited), Tsuna x Kyoko.

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Genre: Action, Drama, Fantasy, Romance, Supernatural, Yaoi.

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Warnings: Gore, Rape, Victimization, Violence.

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Rating: M

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Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

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Prologue: Surrogate’s Substitute

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“Tsu-kun, are you finished with breakfast?” The question carried as a petit young woman entered the kitchen of a modest home only to pause in the doorway at the sight that greeted her.

“Tsu-kun!” She exclaimed helplessly. Shock had changed the melodious voice as dismay raised it pitch, and at once she found herself bustling to clean up the mess at was once her immaculate workspace.

“Mou, Tsu-kun…!” A soft, dulcet voice chimed in scolding. “You’re a big boy now; can’t you eat properly?”

Dainty hands reached out, one to cradle a small, rounded left cheek as the other raised a damp washcloth to the cherub’s stained face.

“Ma, ma, Nana!” Soothed Iemitsu cheerily. “It’s only a bit of jam; it’ll come off!”

“And you, Papa!” She cried promptly in reprimand, turning to frown at her grinning husband who, in his usual fashion was fondly recording the entire fiasco. “How could you just stand there and let Tsu-kun end up in this state? Go put the camera away this instant and then come and help me with this mess!”

But the Sawada patriarch just chuckled at her steadily deepening pout.

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“Mou, Lambo…” A soft, low voice scolded gently. “You’re a big boy now; can’t you sit still?”

Slender hands reached out, one to cradle a small, rounded left cheek as the other raised a damp washcloth to the child’s blackened face.

“Ma, ma, Tsuna!” Yamamoto chimed in an attempt to pacify. “It’s just a little soot; it’ll wash off!”

“And you, Takeshi!” He admonished immediately, whirling to glare at one of his best friends who was grinning in that trademark goofy way of his. “How could you help Lambo reek havoc on the kitchen like this? It’s a good thing that it was only a smoke bomb, or I’d have to call dad about repairs for the third time in a month! Again!” Huffing, he collected the various pink explosives from the counter top, with the firm command to: "Go put your bokken by the door right now and then come and help me with the food. Here, while your at it, take these and put them in the vault.”

“Ha ha!” The taller teen laughed sheepishly, casually brushing the building annoyance in the other’s tone off as he accepted the hand full of proffered grenades from the scowling brunet. “Sure, Tsuna. And um…sorry, you know how I get when it comes to baseball…”

“Well, since nothing was broken, it’s fine,” He sighed heavily as he straightened. “Just try to remember next time that not all small, vaguely spherical objects are projectiles meant to be thrown.” At the raven’s nod, the slighter continued with a hand on his hip and his left index pointed towards the stairs. “Good. Now stop wasting time and go hide those away before we have another accident.”

“Juudaime!” Came the loud greeting from the genkan. “I have returned with the balloons!”

“And I brought fruit, Sawada!” A boisterous declaration was heard not a second later, followed by a feminine chorus of, ‘good morning,’ by three who called him “Tsu-kun,” “Tsu-san” and “Bossu.”

“We brought the cakes!” The two more outspoken of the trio added simultaneously proceeding the greeting. The third’s girlish giggles of amusement rang out wonderfully after her response, “And other finger foods, too.”

“Thanks!” He hollered back distractedly as he turned to I-Pin, who had come running into the kitchen just then with her hair dry, but otherwise in total disarray. Accustomed to it as it was her usual method of getting his attention on mornings, (since that was when Lambo was often particularly difficult), he simply led her to sit sideways on a chair at the table. Standing behind her as he got to work on shaping it into her signature style for the new day. It took no time at all to brush, (since it was so silky there were barely any knots to untangle), and, with all the practice he’d gotten in the last odd year, it was unimaginably effortless to divide down the centre vertically shortly thereafter –a big contrast to a certain Bovino’s currently, somehow untameable nest of loose curls. A few, pleasant minutes of gentle tending later, he was finishing off the twin ponytails that sat proudly and perfectly spaced on either side of her head. Once he was done and had secured the ends with black elastics, he reached out to the carved wooden chest that he’d brought back from his last trip to Italy for his Little Beauty. Grabbing the pair of fuchsia, rose-shaped hair clips made of satin-covered platinum that matched her brightly coloured, denim shorts, he clipped one on each side before revealing his big surprize from the vast pocket of his mother’s old, lacy apron that he’d been talked into wearing since she’d been hospitalized. At the sight of a solid gold hair comb decorated with an elaborate, three-dimensional depiction of a diamond-studded phoenix taking flight in a velvet box, Tsuna’s princess squealed- all training cast aside in the face of her joy.

“Gégé!” She cried, awestruck, as she always was when given something. Her endearing habit of being so painfully surprized by any act of kindness she received touched her adoptive eldest brother’s heart every time, and made him strive each day more and more to accustom her to being loved. Her gratitude was sweet and all, but he prayed that eventually she would come to see his attempts at care as a given.

“Like it, honey?” He inquired softly with a fond twinkle in his eyes, though her feelings were obvious.

“I love it!” She exclaimed before she could help herself, face alit with sheer delight before her expression abruptly contorted with confusion. “But…why?”

“Listen to me, I-Pin,” He said as he skirted the chair she was sitting on so that he was in front of her. Kneeling so that they could look one another in the eye with ease. “Your Master and I have been speaking; we know that you’ve been looking into that prestigious School in Tokyo, and…”

He heard her breath hitch, and observed as she tensed, subconsciously shifting to a subtly defensive position right there in her seat. Seeking to comfort her, he took both of her smaller hands in his own and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

“We’re glad,” He chimed with a brilliant grin, head tilted to the left in a cheerful gesture.

“You are?” She inquired, utterly perplexed. After all, her talents were well-known and she supposed that everyone just expected her to follow along the path her infamous Master had started her on, straight into the matchless Vongola Decimo’s elite ranks.

“Yeah, actually…I’d personally prefer it if you at least, could have a normal life,” He continued, sweatdropping, before emphasizing, “one that has nothing to do with the bloody history of the path that I’ve chosen to succeed. Fong feels the same. We just want you to be happy after all- safe and sound, living an anonymous, leisurely life of repose on Vongola dime actually, if I had my way. But since what you wish for is something a lot more realistic, how could you possibly think that we’d deny you? If you wanna study there, I’ll send you. It has faculty and infrastructure from kindergarten to high school, so you’re free, I-Pin, free. Free to go whenever you think is best. All you have to do is tell me and we’ll write your Master. A friend of his is a major shareholder and owes him big time, so you’re a shoe-in whenever you’re ready. Fong’s only warnings are to keep up with your training so that you can defend yourself, and do your best, okay? We’ll deal with the rest.”

And as his liquid chocolate gaze warmed her to the core, all she could manage was a tearful nod and a nearly inaudible murmur of, “Thank you, Gégé…”

“Now,” he chirped, sweeping his eyes across the gathered assembly of his most beloved people, and realizing the preparations were complete. “Are we all good to go?”

“Yes!” Came the chorused reply of confirmation.

“Are we sure?” He probed, casting his gaze on Lambo with a suspicious tingle running through him, curtesy of his Hyper Intuition.

“Yes!” The Bovino insisted.

He beamed, taking a hand from both raven-haired children in his own, “Alright then, off we go!”

‘We’re coming, Mama…’

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“Wait, Tsuna,” The cow-child said as he stopped, fifteen minutes into their casual stroll and two streets down from their destination, digging his sneaker-clad feet into the path as he made a ridiculous request. “Lambo-san forgot to get the Ten Years Bazooka from the bathroom where he left it. We gotta go back for it now.”

“Leave it,” Tsuna ordered firmly, peering passively down at the fluffy hair. “I locked it up in the vault earlier because it causes complications and we can’t have things going haywire today. Not when Kaa-san’s finally coming back home.”

“But Tsuna-Nii…!” The younger whined in protest. “Lambo-san hid the last of his grape candy in there too!”

“I said: no, Lambo,” was the soft reply. To the miniature Lightning User however, it seemed merciless. “We’ll be late if we go back now.”

Crocodile tears built up at the corner of jade green eyes as the little boy began sniffling in a tell-tale manner, the moisture threatening to overflow onto milky cheeks.

“B-But-!”

“Lambo!” I-Pin yelled, clearly cross by the redundancy of dealing with the bull-headed boy. Honestly, every time they went out he forgot something! “We’re not going back!”

“But without his candy,” The other whimpered, “Lambo-san will die!”

“No you won’t,” She argued as Fuuta, who had been sweat dropping in exasperation beside her, face palmed at the youngest theatrics. “You’re just spoilt!”

“Oh yeah?” He countered indignantly. “Well, Lambo-san thinks you’re all mean!” He cried with a petulant stomp. “We have to go back and get Lambo-san’s candy! Right, Tsuna-Nii?”

However, contrary to what the little Italian thought, the eldest was completely unmoved by the bratty display and thus was utterly unrepentant as he repeated his decision, “When I say, ‘no,’ I mean ‘no,’ Little Calf.” Before the hysterics could start up, he compromised, or at least that’s what he told himself. “But if you’re good and wait a bit, I’ll have Hayato take you to go get some grape candy in the convenience store a block from the hospital when we get there. Okay?”

Well, maybe he wasn’t totally unmoved, but in his defence, such would require a heart of stone –which, clearly, he wasn’t fortunate enough to possess.

Excited by the prospect of candy shopping, and at his favourite store to boot, Lambo agreed without a second thought. “Okay, but he won’t share with either I-Pin or Fuuta!”

Stunned, I-Pin gasped, relapsing into the broken Japanese that was once her norm. “Lambo selfish!”

At that, Tsuna’s strict façade nearly crumbled, and it was all he could do to maintain his composure. Pressing his knuckles to his lips, he fought harder as the others cracked up behind him at the continuing banter between his two youngest.

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“Hey, mom!” The jovial call echoed off the sterile space as Tsuna, completely accustomed to the lack of response by this point, released Lambo and I-Pin’s hands and went about business as usual.

First things first, he walked up to the prone figure on the bed and pecked her atop her chocolate brown head. Entering behind him, the gang flooded in. Gokudera divided the armada of balloons and tied them down in all four corners. Haru and Kyoko rushed to the metal trolley and softened it with an ivory lace tablecloth, then set down the Dulce-de-Leche cake that Tsuna had baked and arranged the individual slices of different deserts they had bought around it. The fruit went on the shelf below with the drinks and basket of utensils. “It’s finally the big day: they’re pulling you out of that medicated coma Dad insisted on. I mean, your burns healed months ago; he’s just procrastinating because he knows you’ll have tons of questions he doesn’t wanna answer when you wake up. But guess what? That’s not all… Is it kids?”

“No!” the three children called simultaneously, bursting into giddy giggles at the end. It seemed that the idea that Mama was really coming home with them finally hit, and now the children were practically euphoric.

“It’s Sunday, May 13^th…!” He chirped as he threw open the curtains to the private room, to let in the glorious mid-morning sunlight. His mother loved the sun. “You know what that means, right?” He continued brightly, a teasing edge to his tone as he crossed over to her bed to fluff her pillows and pull the thick quilt further up over her pale form. Being careful of the many wires and trappings had become second nature even to the clumsy him, and he was gentle when he sat down beside her, brushing her bangs from her face. “It’s Mother's Day 2018! The gang’s all here, and guess what, we brought you flowers, and balloons…the girls even brought cake!” Taking a moment to survey her drawn but peaceful expression, Tsuna’s eyes narrowed as he fully registered her temperature.

She was freezing.

They had his mother ice-cold like a god-forsaken gelato!

Reaching over to the bedside table closest to him, he grabbed the control for the AC and adjusted it so that it was warmer. How could the nurses have left it so high? How many times had he told them that she hated the cold? It made her think of that man because they’d met during winter. It reminded her of so many things in relation to him that while she rejoiced in the memories, she also recalled that he was never around. It made her remember the empty space in her bed, the vacant seat at their table, the crushing loneliness in her heart. Livid, as only thoughts of Sawada Iemitsu could make him, Tsuna fought for calm. He couldn’t lose his head here. He’d frighten the children, worry his friends, and today wasn’t about him. It was about his beautiful, silent mother, who lay scarily still on a hospital bed, unable to truly enjoy even the warmth of her family. Shaking off the scowl that had appeared on his face at the negligence, he decided to talk to the Head Nurse again and left it at that for now.

“Her hair has gotten longer,” Kyoko commented absently over his shoulder.

“Yeah…” He breathed distantly, caressing the ends of his own hair, and hers, comparing the texture and length. Looks like it was time they both had a trim. “Haru, could you?” he requested, turning to meet her gaze over his left shoulder. “Please,” He implored. “I can’t trust a regular stylist with her, and you’ve got the most practice with women thanks to all these years of snipping your own.”

“Sure,” she accepted with a hopeful expression. She was so flattered that her pulse was triple its regular pace, and her mind was filling her with dozens of possible places this little sign could lead. But no, her better sense warned her. Tsuna only trusted her because they were friends. Very good friends, to be true, but just friends none the less. Before she could stop herself, however, her mouth was offering, “Want me to do yours too? I mean, I know Kyoko has had more practice with guys thanks to her brother, but if you’d let me, I’d like to try.”

Blinking in surprize for a few seconds, it was all too soon when Tsuna’s countenance gentled, eyes softening, expression fond as he gave her that luminous smile.

“Thank you, Haru,” he whispered tenderly.

Her heart soared.

Then, in the same breath, he turned to the share that same smile with Kyoko, stopping her fantasizes in their tracks.

Swallowing passed the knot in her throat, she rearranged the single slices of designer treats into columns on either side of Tsuna’s to distract herself from the tightening in her chest. Dividing them by type, then pairing them off by flavour, she lined them up with their apexes pointing in the opposite direction to their mate, forever at odds, never seeing one another eye to eye. This left red velvet, white chocolate, dark chocolate and mocha point in one direction, and pink champagne, vanilla, pistachio, and caramel aimed in the next. The former on the left, with the single serving, six-inch rectangular torts: orange, lemon, coconut, and pineapple, along with apple, strawberry, blueberry and raspberry, and cherry and blackcurrant, on the right. Unsatisfied, she fussed with the details of the coupling over and over until it was once again exactly as she’d first organized it in monotonous dejection.

‘Ah well,’ she reflected as she finished. What else did she expect? Tsuna hadn’t ever taken her confessions seriously, and now, with him having to take care of everything at home while his mother was devastatingly unable, romance was possibly not even on his mind.

‘-and rightly so!’ She defended, all while knowing that though she admired him all the more for it, it still hurt.

By this point, Lambo had left with Gokudera to procure more grape candy. Having been warned sternly as Tsuna could, which wasn’t as impressive as the older hoped, to behave himself and try and not get on Hayato’s nerves. In turn, Gokudera had been asked to ‘go easy’ on Lambo, and oh, could he grab a couple gumballs for Fuuta, and a few lollipops for I-Pin? She liked the flat, bright red ones. That took the silverette out of the room just in time for Nana Sawada’s attending, Vongola hired physician to enter and deliver the worst news possible.

She was going to wake up, not now, not ever.

She couldn’t.

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Chapter Text

They hated each other.

At least, they had in the beginning. And so for many years after, they’d fought against one another with all they had. One to avenge his tattered pride and assuage his bruised ego, and the next, understanding this, to honour the other’s need for both closure and entertainment. It probably didn’t make sense to anybody else, but, from the moment they met, neither could deny that the other was exceptionally amusing, and considering their utter distaste for human contact and the way they avoided basic social interaction like the plague, they clung to anything that was interesting. They held on to anything that captured their attention like it was a life line, so it wasn’t really all that surprising when their fights began to take a rather…intriguing turn.

At first it was purely physical, but that changed soon after they had all moved on to Nami High, him dragging his infamous disciplinary Committee with him. The reason, he defended, was not because the omnivore was going and had expressed his concerns towards their education either. It was actually because the Omnivore's Yamato Nadeshiko mother always sent lunch for him and his troupes. He only allowed it in the first place because of the health benefits, (healthy minions meant competent minions after all; it was obvious from a tactical standpoint). And it was not because they were delicious, or because Sawada Tsunayoshi was worried about his, (as the Octopus-Herbivore put it), "thugs," or because he always delivered them himself, and his smile made Hiba- erm, Hibird happy, but because of...tactics. That, and the fact that that herbivorous, attentive, Mother-hen attitude of his somehow raised the morale of the men, and it'd be a waste if the obentos arrived late and the D.C. got sloppy while on patrol just because that slow Tuna had to run all the way from Nami Koukou.

Life had settled down into a respectable routine punctuated by the typical excitement brought on by the presence of the Vongola heir, (read: assassins), and Hibari was content. He had time for his naps. He had time for patrol. He had time to discipline the average delinquents, and/or law-breaking citizens of Namimori. And most importantly, he had time for his fights with the illusionist, secure in the knowledge that no matter how much time they lasted (time that was increasing more and more as that Nagi-girl grew in power), or how far they took it, everything would be okay. Having ended up at both the summit of Mt. Fuji and as far as Okinawa respectively on two previous occasions, it was a tested truth that Namimori and the D.C. were safe in the hands of his one and only omnivore, Tsunayoshi...Primarily, not because he was strong, but because of the aforementioned committee's members, (the herbivores that they were), practically worshiped the ground upon which the slender brunet walked for exactly that reason. The general pattern of thought amongst his men, according to Kusakabe, was that "Sawada-chan" was too...delicate and sweet - too gentle for all that violence. Even though he was remarkably improving exactly that every day under the supervision of that Arcobaleno. Regardless of how his strength grew, for reasons perplexing to Hibari, he persisted in not hurting even flies. Therefore, after witnessing him carefully saving such an insignificant insect and releasing it, apparently, things changed. (Little did they know Tsuna was actually sparing them Reborn’s wrath for killing one of his subordinates.) Their efficiency was now quadrupled when Tsuna had to watch over them while he was gone, so that the city would be safe for "Sawada-chan," his friends, and his family to walk its streets with no harm befalling them.

God forbid that should ever happen because as much as he would be entertained by their vicious bloodlust, Namimori would become dirty and the clean-up was a chore. Moreover, they had the aggravating habit of fawning over that formally useless omnivore of his every time he so much as got a paper-cut. Thus, Hibari could only begin to fathom how much whining and coddling would be involved if they ever caught wind of the truth whenever that little animal was ever truly wounded, and just the thought of it made him want to bite them to death.

He absentmindedly wondered what they would think if they knew that their pretty little "Sawada-chan," (the moniker never got old), had beat the monkey-king that they feared so much, and that put them all on edge whenever he visited, to a bloody-pulp more than once. It would be amusing to see their expressions should they ever find out, but knowing those foolish herbivores, it would only serve to deify "Saint Sawada" in their eyes. So before they brought that idiotic, metrosexual herbivore’s jeers to fruition he'll make certain they never discover the truth, and bite them to death should they even breathe an insolent word of insinuation his way. You know, if they actually ever had the audacity to demote him and nickname him something ridiculous like, "Consort Kyoya" to their divine "Dame-Demi-god." (That'll teach those nearly mutinous minions to make him doubt their loyalty.) Honestly though, you should hear them when walking passed Nami High's larger, more comfortable Reception Room that was done in the refined shades of royal and midnight blue, during lunch. Every day they gush and sigh at the very sight of him, practically turning to mush at every little gesture he makes. It's pathetic, hardened soldiers cooing and giggling like mere girls because of a "bunny." It wasn't all bad though, at the very least, the other was so startled by their adoration that he made the most amusing faces. And while they were distracted, Hibari could sneak away to clash his dominating and fearsome tonfa against an elegant but formidable trident.

That was all well and good but then, suddenly, one-day Mukuro collapsed. Mid-fight, at that.

Apparently, his concentration slipped when too much of his scheduled sedative was given to him quite unexpectedly all the way back in Vendicare and down he went. Hibari took Chrome home; taking care of her throughout the night and the next day. He even missed school while tending to her, and if you’d asked him then why he’d done it, he’d have told you that it was because he hadn’t bitten the real pineapple herbivore to death yet, so the eyepatch-pineapple herbivore needed to stay alive to channel his source of spar-like recreation until her master was released.

Of course, that wasn’t the whole truth.

If he had been honest with himself back then, he’d have acknowledged that the moment Mukuro abruptly choked on a gasp, knees buckling as his expression contorted into a pained grimace that wasn’t brought on by him, his heart had all but stopped.

But Hibari hadn’t been prepared to admit it; it would have been too much, too soon.

And so, mind suddenly blank with herbivorous feelings that he refused to ponder or give name to, he didn’t think. When he saw Mukuro give way to Chrome once more, he just moved forward, wordlessly scooped the girl up into his arms, and took her back to his mansion. Unfortunately enough for him of yesteryear, his charitable act didn’t end when Chrome woke up, oh no, the other was in a total panic, declaring that “Mukuro-sama” was "in danger," and that despite his stubbornness, he needed "help," so she was going to get to “Bossu,” because he "definitely knows more," and she had to "find out" how she could "be of service." However sound that plan seemed, when her inability to stand up properly, far less move on her own was taken into consideration, it was proven to be utter nonsense. And so it was that Hibari had to take off full tilt with the female Mist-user on his back, all the way to the Little Animal’s home.

Tsuna welcomed him immediately with a soft, "Eh? Already, Hibari-san? You're a few minutes early...! I told Reborn that the extra weight wouldn’t hamper your speed at all, but that bossy baby never listens to me! Mou, shouldn’t he of all people understand how amazing Hibari-san is?" that was complemented by an altogether too jovial glitter to those innocent eyes. What’s more, the tone that coated that slowly deepening voice whenever the smaller called him by name was nearly too timid-sounding for his taste at the start, and was strangely accompanied by with most adorable blush the Skylark had ever seen. But, as it all ended in a sigh, the first-born Hibari heir tried valiantly (abet in vain) to put it out of his mind. Taking the fact the omnivore wasn't as loud as in the past, and that his greeting was oddly pleasing to the elder for the same reasons he found himself watching the fast-growing teen quite attentively lately, (reasons which he neither wanted nor needed to ponder then), Hibari charitably decided to spare him from being bitten to death just this once.

...Particularly since Hibird had already perched himself atop the brunet's shaggy head of hair the moment the sixteen-year-old opened the door, and obviously wasn't planning on moving until Tsuna himself moved him, or Hibari began to leave. Since the raven would never dream of hurting him, Sawada Tsunayoshi was left unbitten just this once.

If the Pineapple were around, he would point out how funny it was that he kept telling himself that, every time more fervently, as if to make himself believe it. Annoying as the thought was, it nonetheless recentered his focus to the situation at hand.

"She needs you," Hibari replied simply, jerking his head back towards the girl curled up there just out of view, and intentionally disregarding the fact that Tsuna had obviously been expecting him. He had gotten used to the would-be Decimo’s arousingly intimidating intuition.

Tsuna, snapping out of whatever shy, admiring daze he’d slipped into whilst the prefect was thinking. He straightened promptly, eyes narrowing with seriousness as he stepped forwards to take Chrome from the taller male. He pointly didn't question why she was with Hibari, or why either had been absent from school, (which the other must have surely noticed since he was still in his uniform's shirt and slacks). Realizing this, the Cloud's ardent gaze followed the Sky with an intensity that would have been impossible to ignore, and positively traumatizing to anyone else if they'd been its target.

But Tsuna wasn't afraid.

Tsuna, was never afraid.

At least, not anymore; as expected of the man he had grown to trust with even his beloved Namimori.

Although, now that he considered it, Tsuna's so-called fear of him had been more of a sensible understanding of both of their difference in strength, and Hibari's own tolerance of his antics, (or lack thereof), instead of the regular, outright piss-yourself terror.

Wordlessly heading back into the unusually calm house, the young boss only paused for a nanosecond to invite the Disciplinary Chairman with a tell-tale nod of his head, before immediately heading up the stairs to his own bedroom. Being a proud but respectful Japanese male, Hibari himself moved to chase the owner of that fluffy head of brown locks only after he'd removed his shoes. Thankfully, he was just in time to see the brunet in full on mother-hen mode sitting beside female mist who was atop what seemed like fresh sheets and buried snuggly under a heavy set of blankets that must have been pulled from the still opened wardrobe.

"Lambo? Ice-pack, please," He ordered softly in monotone, compassionate eyes totally focused on the ailing girl.

Dutifully, the cow-child handed him the item, his Chinese companion stepping forward the moment Tsuna called for her to give him the hot-water bottle she held after he'd situated the first on Chrome's head, and raised the quilt he'd placed upon her just a mere minute before. That earned a raised brow from Hibari, but to her credit the girl didn't even flush (in embarrassment or otherwise), completely trusting that whatever her leader did was for her own good, and if not, then for the overall good. Proving himself worthy of that confidence, Tsuna simply wrapped the hot-water bottle in a pillow case he must have likewise fetched earlier, and placed it directly on the teen's lower stomach. Tucking her back in, he tenderly brushed the bangs from her sweaty forehead, eyes warm and no longer severe now that the girl was being made as comfortable as possible, his very aura over-pouring with empathy that Hibari realized just then that no man should have to that capacity since they couldn't conceivably ever comprehend what it must be like to...menstruate.

Oh.

Then was the pineapple-herbivore also affected?

As big a waste of time as this was turning out to be, (not because he didn't value the struggles of females, visiting his mother and little sister as often as he did, but because the child was clearly in capable hands), he decided he would only stay to make certain that his prey was indeed alright. Oh, and to make subtle inquiries to the omnivore as to regularity, certain dates, and for precision's sake, durations of such a particularity, so that this event wouldn't be repeated again.

To would be dangerous to all parties involved.

Meanwhile Tsuna, in response to her admittance of pain, was fervently inquiring, "Have you taken any ibuprofen? How long ago? Do you want any?"

"No, I haven't taken any yet," She confessed tiredly.

"Well, we can take care of that!" He chimed with a fond look down at the little ones on their knees on the side of the bed, who were peeking up at the girl worriedly. "Right, guys?"

With a sharp nod and a sound of affirmation, I-pin ran off to get the drug in question, and Lambo fished one of his precious grape candies out of his silken though voluminous locks and offered it up to Nagi.

"These always make Lambo-sama feel better when Maman is out and can't kiss his boo-boos!" He declared brightly. "And if that doesn't work, Tsuna-Nii's kisses are just as good as Maman's, only he always studying up here with mean old Reborn."

"Really?" Chrome asked in faint amusement as she reached out passed the sweatdropping Tsuna to pat the seven-year-old's head.

Lambo nodded.

"Sometimes," He whispered conspiratorially, pushing himself up with his tip-toes so that his belly slid up the bed so he could get in close enough for his stage whisper to somehow remain a coveted, well-guarded trade-secret. "They're even better...!"

Unable to restrain herself at that, Chrome burst into giggles as Tsuna facepalmed, knowing that her sweet-natured boss wouldn't take offense. Believe it or not, the next big boss of the largest league of crime syndicates in the world was blushing under that hand!

"Alright," Tsuna murmured not unkindly. "That's enough out of you, Lambo," He continued, teasingly poking the curly-haired child in his ticklish little tummy, and smiling at his cute chortling. "If you really want to help Chrome, you can hold the glass while I pour water for her to swallow the pills I-pin has brought."

Right on cue, that very instant, the statuesque seven-year-old in red came through the door, her shod feet making an almost negligible tap on the hardwood that it didn't in the carpeted halls.

Hibari observed the trio as they summarily gave the sixteen-year-old girl the pain-killer, and Tsuna shooed the little ones away with the promise of taking them out for ice-cream the next day.

"Now, Reborn," He began, calling the infant out of his hiding place within Tsuna's wardrobe.

The skylark hummed.

Ah, so that’s why. The omnivore left it open on purpose, so as not to hamper the baby's hearing in any which way or form. Hibari’d been wondering if it had just been an oversight on the other’s part; he should have known better.

"What's the latest status on the movement I put forward to the Ninth last week?" He asked as he stood, stretching, and crossed towards his desk.

“Don’t get it twisted, my stupid student. Thanks to the action you undertook last week, I might potentially become your future subordinate, but that’s a technicality considering the difference in our level of skill and experience. I’m not your servant, Dame-Tsuna,” The correction was immediate and punctuated with a threatening flash of the infant’s signature green and black gun handgun. “You don’t give me orders.”

“…‘potentially,’ Reborn?” It was a curious, fondly exasperated inquiry.

“The dead can’t inherit anything,” The hitman clarified with an insidious gleam in his large, black orbs. “And that includes pesky titles that make them feel superior when they can barely tie their own shoelaces without falling over.”

“…I didn’t mean for it to sound like a command, Reborn,” The boss candidate replied soothingly, smoothing over any ruffled feathers on the part of the wizened cherub. “I most of all know that I was nothing before you, and I am thankful. I’m sorry if it came out disrespectfully.”

The open affection in swirling depths of Tsuna’s grateful gaze should have quite frankly been outlawed in Hibari’s opinion, as it worked like an A-class tranquilizer to the agitated powerhouse in the seemingly innocuous form of a baby. The head of the D.C. was unsurprised when the weapon was replaced by a docile chameleon once more, and propped atop the Arcobaleno’s hat which was tugged ever so slightly downwards as he in turn responded.

“It’s fine. You know how…tense I’ve been lately,” The awkward clearing of his throat indicated his own sincerity, as a predator or no, he, in all the vast maturity he possessed in his tiny body, apologized in his own way. “Anyway, two days after the ball last week the Alliance met as a whole, and the Nono brought your ‘movement’ before the assembly.”

“And what did they say?” The brunet inquired, anxiously wringing his hands.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” The sun-user teased, waving a thick report he’d produced from thin air, under Tsuna’s nose.

Something stood out to the tonfa-wielder just then: the third mention of ‘last week.’ That was around the time of the baby and the Omnivore's conjoint birthday celebrations...

But what movement would have to wait until the Tuna had turned sixteen? Were sixteenth birthdays important to the Vongola for some reason? Sixteenth, eighteenth and twenty-first years were often associated with coming of age...Now that he pondered it, that blond, miserable excuse for a father Tsuna had the unfortunate luck of being saddled with, had been babbling drunkenly about something like that. Hibari had just been too repulsed by his very presence to take much notice of him and the spectacle he was making. Just the smell of him had sent Hibird flying away, and his master had been all too eager to follow his lead.

In any case, whatever it was, it must have been important for the brunet to refer to the old man he'd called "Grandpa" last week, as "Ninth" now, like he did at that unnecessarily elaborate gala that followed later that very evening.

Chrome must have been thinking along the same lines too, because she asked, "What movement is that, Bossu? And does it have anything to do with Mukuro-sama?"

Tsuna nodded, left hand in his pants pocket as he appreciatively accepted the ebony binder with the ridiculous stack of white inside, from his tiny tutor.

His eyes flashed amber as they flickered over the folder’s cover, embossed with the Vongola Crest in gold, before he let out a long, stabilizing breath to centre himself while he got right down to business.

Skimming it with a carefully crafted, outwardly calm façade, he replied, "I've been trying to see if I can get Mukuro released from Vendicare for over a year now, but even getting in contact, hell, being allowed to get in contact with Vindice isn't something I can do on my own. I wanted to see if I could use Vongola's channels and connections to take poor Mukuro out of that horrible place, and Reborn informed me that I most certainly could once I officially accepted my status of heir to Vongola, as I did last week at my coming-of-age. However, it still isn't nearly as easy as you'd guess what with me being the future Decimo. The fact is that it's a lot more...complicated, specifically because I'm not just going become the leader of a random group of gangsters, but the next Head of an ancient and prolific clan of mobsters, a mafia of mafias, a Familia like no other, the Vongola, and more to the point the Vongola Alliance. As a matter of fact, if I was going to be the head honcho of anything but the Vongola Alliance, there would be no hope for Mukuro at all- for the degree of crimes he committed, he'd remain sealed in there forever. And because it's an 'alliance,' even if I'm the future head of its head familia, doesn't mean I get to do what I want. Actually, Reborn's made it quite clear that it's the opposite, because I'm the Decimo-in-training, I have more restrictions placed upon me. Furthermore, most of these people don't really know me. Oh, they know about me, but they don't know the real me. They don't know my ideals, my purpose, my personality, strengths, weaknesses...but they are watching, watching very carefully; they’re probing my every move and sending their spies to try and figure me out. Subsequently, until they understand ‘me,’ my rhythm, and my way of doing things, and until they approve more than halfway without exception, they, as a whole, won't trust me, and I'll have no access to their unified force. Without their conjoined political power to manoeuvre, I'll have no way to get the Vindice to hear me out, far less to negotiate the terms of Mukuro's release. In conclusion, they have what we need to save Mukuro, but won't give it to me until I prove I'm worthy of it; they won't just hand it over to me because I'm 'me.' Get it?"

Both guardians present nodded in unison, simultaneously having processed and accepted the issue.

Now all that was left was problem solution.

How did the omnivore plan to earn the confidence of the mafia? No offense to the infant's training regimen, but as impressive as the former herbivore's growth was, he wasn't exactly 'Godfather'-material just yet.

A tranquil silence reigned as Tsuna sat down and concentrated on what must have been the old carnivore’s report on the Alliance's consensus on the motion to set Mukuro Rokudo free. Chrome napped, Hibari himself rested against the far wall, shamelessly enjoying the view of his deliciously serious omnivore, and Hibird sang all the sweetest songs he'd learnt from Hibari's little sister, Kyoumi. The little ball of puff was trying to show off to the preoccupied lion club as he nestled even more deeply into that impossibly soft mane of hair that just invited others to touch.

That peace didn't last too much longer though. Barely two minutes later found Tsuna unwittingly interrupting Hibird’s concert with the sounds of burning refuse as he hastily ripped one page after another out of the reply presented by his predecessor’s office. Mercilessly, he incinerated each sheet with his bare hands immediately after tearing them out of their compilation; no gloves, pills or bullets required.

Well, there went composure.

Excited by the display, Hibari positively leered when, two-thirds the way through the thick document, Tsuna apparently decided to cremate what was left of the pitiful excuse of a report, (binder and all). He was utterly nauseated by the level of cowardice displayed by supposedly hardened Mafioso. Not to mention the willingness of fellow human beings’ allowance of injustice that was made further hypocritical in the face of their fatal failure to protect the innocent in the first place, not through their ignorance, but through their arrogance in believing they were above dealing with the petty problems of the riffraff, which was worsened further by them ostracizing the survivors immediately following the incident wherein Mukuro saved his companions, eliminating any chance of dispelling lingering resentment and prompting the healing of emotional scars. And then they have the audacity to deny even the thought of Mukuro’s release and run their mouths about his precious friend and guardian! The nerve of these repulsive rodents! You’d swear Mukuro had asked for it! That Ken and Chikusa had asked for it! That all those poor children who hadn’t survived long enough to truly live, probably spending day after day begging for respite, for somebody, anybody to save them, had asked for such a tragic fate…! No, not fate, but instead ‘betrayal.’ Those bastards had known. They had all known.

And yet…they did nothing.

So for what purpose did they exist except to aid the defenseless? To lie? To steal? To kill? And for what? To become rich? Powerful?

It was sickening.

Again understanding Mukuro-tachi’s perspective, his heart gave an agonizing throb in sympathy at what they must have suffered. No. Rather, what they were still suffering. Mukuro was stuck in that horrendous cage, and Ken and Chikusa were lost without him, despite Sawada Nana’s son’s devoted attentions. And to make matters worse, there was the issue of Chrome! Whatever it took, Tsuna swore to himself, he would free Mukuro.

Turning towards his awaiting tutor and the taller male whose trademark leather gakuran still hung off his shoulders, he proclaimed his resolve. The glow of the dissipating document was so thoroughly desiccated, that, as it dispelled into naught but flickers that were beyond even the point where they were recognizable as ash, they reflected alluringly off his stunningly fierce features. Thence, he wasted no time in saying, "Fuck this. Reborn, please gather the others. Kyoya, notify Tetsuya of your absence: we're going to Italy."

And all Hibari could say in response to the look that promised absolute war in those seething, searing caramel embers that scorched his very soul was:

"Wow."

Gentle, indeed.

Chapter Text

Fragmented glass rained down upon where the projectile landed, revealing an orb of Sky Flames that parted and then dispersed from the top-down, only to flare at the hands of the figure that emerged from the resplendent orange cocoon. In a burst of dazzling color, another six forms shot down from above, leaving the faint impression of a cylindrical rainbow with orange facing most of the congregation, for a nanosecond after they landed.

Shower of glittering facets finally over, it was clear what had just happened:

The Tenth Vongola Generation had just literally crashed the Vongola Alliance’s Assembly.

As the veil of flame parted, a vision was ever so slowly revealed. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. Every feature and flaw in isolation for a single moment before joining the whole as it slipped through the living, sunset orange curtain. First came the softly rounded tip of a slender nose. Then came sensually shaped eyes surrounded in sinfully thick lashes, looking out at them from a hauntingly familiar face. Hands clad proverbially in Black Death edged and embellished with silver, and alit with the elemental calamity of a furnace grand enough to consume the world completely. As they’d heard in their youth, they mentally chanted the three ancient parameters of peace that had been passed down throughout their families: a purifying pyre for those in his path, cauterizing contrition for those who counter him but repent, and charred carnage for those who persist. Dozens of pairs of eyes hesitantly rose to perceive orbs of vicious, inescapable hellfire.

A monster.

Don Gaston, who had missed the gala, and was thus seeing Tsuna for the first time, actually screamed in horror.

Not that many could blame him, looking at Decimo was like looking at the portraits of Primo. His achingly beautiful face, his trademark mane, even his eyes pierced the same way. The fact that he had grown his hair out a tad bit too long at his nape was completely negligible in light of those long bangs of the exact length as his ancestor. True, he was a brunet, but with his will blazing like a crown, and those amber eyes pressing down upon them…

Like a forbidden glimpse into the past, a renewal of their righteous fear and respectful fidelity to the Head Famiglia, he was a scarily accurate reminder to obey less you be decimated.

And with the rest of his guardians being miniature versions of the first generation, (particularly the silveret in a red shirt, ebony vest, dress jeans and boots, and the raven-haired samurai in his white gi, navy hakama and traditional straw geta to his right and left respectively), that it was all many could do not to join the poor, frightened Don.

Ghosts, the specters of the First Generation had returned home.

Despite the stories that claimed that the Alliance was the fruit of friendship, the fine print was blatant: cordial cooperation existed until some fool crossed Don Vongola and became excrement.

In the end, power was everything.

Apparently heedless of their dramatic entrance, all Nono said was: “Ah, Tsunayoshi! I see you got my report.”

Tsuna’s already severe gaze narrowed further at that, and he intentionally didn’t even deign to turn and meet Timoteo’s eyes. Bangs hanging over his eyes as the flame of his forehead all but exploded into greater size and prominence with a brilliant show of light at the mere mention of the accursed thing, the teen breathed slowly and focused on not burning the whole hall to the ground.

You know, followed by leveling the entire estate, and following that up with a spree of annihilation of the Alliance’s compounds? Sometimes he really understood Mukuro… But no, letting wrath, in all its inpatient glory, control your actions had led to not just his male Mist’s downfall, but also that of Xanxus. Sobering, he raised his head and surveyed all of the trembling assembly out of disapproving eyes. As if he had peered into the essence of their very beings, weighed them, and found them all wanting. His uncomfortably strong resemblance to his Famiglia’s founder, whose portrait hung above his head on the wall behind him (just over the seat of the current Vongola Don), had many shifting in their seats, and others more struggling against the irrational urge to lower their heads like naughty children that had disappointed their mother.

None of them, however, could avert their eyes from his laser-like glower.

“You mean the embossed evidence of the noble Vongola Alliance’s cowardice…?” He finally inquired. “Yes, we did get something like that, didn’t we, Hayato?”

His low voice was soft, tone gentle, and eerily more dangerous than if he had been shouting. But he was no child crying out for attention, he was the next boss of the Vongola Family, and he was going to get what he wanted –one way, or another.

He’d sold his soul for it, after all; it was time he get his due.

“It wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on, Juudaime,” his Right-Hand Man replied dutifully.

Bristling at the insult, most shook off their initial fear and began to voice their disapproval. Only the wisest of the congregation held onto that first impression and realized that they were dealing with a fatalistically formidable foe.

Those eyes: they spoke of destruction, extermination, chaos… They shuddered as they saw the devil reflected in the glowing golden eyes of one who looked very much like an angel. As if God had sent one of the Angels of the Apocalypse to punish them.

It was said that this juxtaposition was one of Primo’s greatest psychological advantages -now they knew why. It was a morally crippling sensation, having so lovely an adversary, teeming with righteousness, and with the remnant signs of a sweet smile lingering around the set of his mouth –as if he was always tending to his friends and family with it. Imagining it in contrast to the satanic scowl made them feel oddly guilty. Maybe it was the nurturing inclinations written into his every movement; it gave them the strangest sensation of being stalked by an adolescent lioness defending her pride’s cubs now. Maybe it was the protective way his guardians, despite their various, clashing personas, hovered first with their vulnerable backs trustingly to one another, and now side by side all closely knit. They were unified by the same ardent desire blazing in their eyes. It was as if he were a magnet, except with the sheer force of several solar masses, drawing them irrevocably ever in towards him. Helpless humans against his near galactic gravity, they had become addicted to the pull along the way. The very intensity of their collective glare, and the ever burgeoning power practically pouring off them made it seem as if they would be capable of absolutely anything to satisfy their cravings, to whet their appetite for his very presence.

…all with a background of a scorching spectacle, gushing out of his fists without pause.

In a twisted way though, some could understand. Decimo’s flames were so pure, so unbelievably bright. Their quality was startling, and their luminosity breath-taxing. They were almost hypnotic, the way they ebbed and flowed with his breath, fluttering to his pulse, flickering at the edges as if they were dancing. They entranced the eyes, exceptional in clarity, like an infinitely flawless diamond, translucent and tempting, energizing, enigmatic, and enthralling all the more for it. The glistening tendrils of the inferno reaching up to his jaw were so…distracting, that very few caught the whispered order.

“Chrome, summon him.”

Bowing, she submissively acquiesced with a murmur of, ‘Yes, Bossu.’

The ones that did though, either jolted with terror, reeling back in stunned dismay, or bellowed in protest, their guards flooding forth into the room at the noise instinctively, to protect them. At the commotion, the others caught on, and the miasma of murmurs rose to a roar. Everyone clamored against the very idea of even having his conduit here, having for most part not even registered her presence earlier. The Ninth let it happen, let the horde have their moment to decry Tsuna’s command, waiting to see what Tsuna would do.

Sure enough, he didn’t disappoint.

“Silence…”

The vehement hiss, in combination with the ridiculously rising Fiamma pressure, cut through the thunderous racket instantaneously, simultaneously muting the mutinous mumblings.

“Kyoya, discipline anyone who even breathes too loudly.”

As he gave the command, his stare was suspiciously blank. Expression devoid of anything in particular, utterly stoic, nearly peaceful, he was curiously more intimidating than when he was openly displeased. The very look of the raven that stepped forward was anything but.

His glare spoke of murder, of mutilation, of massacre.

He was bloodlust incarnate.

Appropriately cowed by it, a hush descended. Though a few wondered at the peculiar phrasing of the threat.

Discipline, they mentally scoffed. Is that what he was calling it?

Decimo seemed more maternal the more he interacted with them; even going as far as to call the beast of his little family to the fore to punish the…‘misbehaving.’

“Chrome,” Tsuna reiterated. “Summon him, but don’t tell him anything.”

“Of course,” she repeated in acceptance with another bow. Amongst potential enemies, there could be no question of Tsuna dominance. Regardless of her –and Tsuna’s- own feelings towards the whole idea, his authority needed to be seen as absolute. And though she didn’t understand the need to thrust her other into this mess without prior warning, she trusted Tsuna to degrees that would be considered faulty if he wasn’t so completely reliable.

Strands of indigo mist began to envelop the girl’s form slowly until its silhouette was barely discernable. Then, even that subtly shifted, and from one moment to the next changed. It was a seamless transition, and the eerie chuckles of that trademark laughter that sent chills up many a spine assured that it was successful. But while the Guards all across the vast hall pressed closer to their respective Bosses, the Ninth Generation didn’t even blink in response.

After all, the circular groove carved into the ground from their repeated use of Difesa A Circolo around the dais where Timoteo sat, as well as their decades’ worth of experience, proved that throwing it up to defend their boss was a task both instinctive and instantaneous. Many a time, back in their youth when they were still perpetually on edge, they entombed him in flames for the most ridiculous things. Like the time when a flower petal fell from the open skylight during an assembly; the other famiglia heads were so surprised that one of the old and physically feeble actually peed himself. Or that fiasco when a mosquito entered through a previously unnoticed crack in the corner of a window in the grand ballroom next door, and the maids accidentally let it in when they were cleaning. The poor girls in question avoided Coyote like the plague for weeks after that. Or, rather infamously, the unfortunate incident where their stupid Boss made a pained sound because the sun got in his eyes as he walked out of the house and they had it enclosing him in immediately, right in middle of a garden party with over a thousand guests.

Timoteo still laughed at that one to this day.

And the sight of his smile is why they still occasionally brought it up- you know, how hair-triggered they all were back then? They were always ready to ‘die’ for him or whatever nonsense passionate young people sprouted when drunk on Sky Flames, and their most precious person’s happiness. Proclamations like that were plentiful, varied and so theatrical in retrospect, that Bouche had entertained the thought of wiping some of the more melodramatic ones from everyone’s memory aloud more than once. But then that old Casanova would send him those profoundly amused looks, with those aggravatingly adorable twinkles in his usually tired eyes, and he’d just melt on the inside a little more –if that was at all possible.

One thing they’d learned about Skies, it was always possible.

Their timeless devotion and attraction to Timoteo said as much. Here they were, ancient sacks of memories, and they still had room to fall for him more and more with every single day. Looking at how bad off the Decimo Guardians were already, made them both equal parts sympathetic and vindictively eager. Especially since Decimo was even more potent a Sky than theirs, and didn’t even realize the power he had over them all. Poor things, they were just being dragged along behind him, squabbling like children for his attention. Those idiots were sure to be even worse than them…!

It’d be hilarious.

So, when even Mukuro obeyed Tsuna’s call and unveiled himself in all his flamboyant fashion, it was all Bouche could do not to snort. Ganauche, the one amongst them with the least self-control, actually had to bite his lips and turn away; his shoulders shook with silent laughter. When a muffled chortle escaped him, Schnitten put a calming hand on his shoulder while Coyote sent him a warning glare. Behind them, Brow Nie smothered a yawn with the side of his right fist, and across from him, Visconti shook his head in exasperation.

Their attention was reclaimed straight away, however, when Mukuro Rokudo finally decided to stop playing with the guests by projecting vague shadows of himself in random spots just to spook the more weak-willed.

“You called, Sawada Tsunayoshi?”

As he stepped out of seemingly thin air before his Master, he gave a bow embossed with grandiose gesticulation and sank to his left knee. Miraculously, the blaze of one hand shrank back quickly, until it was naught but faintly sparkling wisps that slowly dispersed into nothingness. Accepting the cue, right hand laying across his chest over his heart, Mukuro tellingly passed his weapon over to his Sky’s as of yet flaming fist, and reached out reverently with his now free hand to grasp Tsunayoshi’s cooling right hand in his left.

Drawing it close he pressed a devout kiss to the X of the glove, then affectionate pecks to each finger, and finally, with a filthy leer aimed up at the brunet, gave the gem of the Vongola Sky Ring a long, languid lick, dried it with a few heated puffs upon it, and kissed it obediently.

Needless to say, the Assembly was scandalized and only further incensed when the blasphemer gave them a taunting smirk over his shoulder before shifting to address his Sky.

“All clean,” the Mist declared softly, smugly, turning adoring eyes up to Decimo and batting his lashes provocatively as he wrapped his arms possessively around the heir’s leg and leaned his weight on it.

Idly petting the head whose nose was pressed into the clothed jut of his hip, Tsuna suppressed a sigh and swung half his upper body back to languidly survey his predecessor.

“Nono,” He began. “Before all gathered here I would like to plead my case. Have I leave to do as I please to convey my point?”

There was a pregnant silence before, suddenly, the two Skies auras were unleashed to battle against one another, probing at each other’s intent and prodding at weaknesses. Many a Mafiosi winced at the virtually invisible pressure of the two, impossibly potent pulses of energy clashing. The walls thrummed, the furniture rattled, and the air sang with the ever building power that didn’t seem to have an end in sight. Things carried on like this for a few minutes, escalating to even more unfathomable heights, and just when they were all writhing from the resounding vibration in their very bones, the double doors slammed open once again to admit an explosion of glowing Sun Flames that challenged even the younger Sky with the sheer force of, not a supernova, but a hypernova.

Having all experienced this before, they understood immediately what had just happened.

An Arcobaleno had arrived –and not just any Arcobaleno, but the infamous, World’s Greatest Hitman, and alleged strongest of the I Prescelti Sette, Reborn.

“Ah, I was wondering where you were, Reborn!” Chirped the elder in greeting as he nonchalantly kept up the battle of wills; it was the most excitement he’d had in quite some time. Darn his dutiful Guardians for limiting the risks of what might be the most dangerous job on the planet. As an avid adrenaline junkie, he was ashamed to say that he was aching for a fix, and had purposely provoked his cute little successor to get it. After all, he could have naturally swayed the Assembly in favor of his ward; he just didn’t want to. Hell, he could have simply over-ruled them if they proved stubborn, or agreed to it privately and sent them all a declaration with his decision; such was the power of a well-established Vongola Don. But that’d be too easy, and, having grown up with a mother like his, he understood that rewards had to be earned.

And with this, the boy was most certainly doing just that.

“My apologies, Nono,” the infant nodded in deference. “I stopped by the kitchens to get my afternoon espresso. Try it, its Giannichi’s newest blend. ”

“No harm done, old friend,” replied the Don, taking a sip from the proffered cup.

“Good?” Inquired the hitman, ignoring his student’s strained grunt as he grit his teeth in frustration, in favor of chatting with his pal. Poor kid was beginning to struggle between restraining himself so that he wouldn’t hurt his friends, who were already squirming in discomfort, and releasing all he had to keep up with the far more mature and experienced Sky.

It was a testament to his self-control, however, that they weren’t clawing at themselves in agony, considering how vulnerable they were because of their sensitivity to his flames. They were so attuned that they had begun to sense when Tsuna was within a particular distance, which was unique to all of them respectfully, and unanimously even in which direction. Thus, pleased with his progress, Reborn wasn’t mad that his Dame-Decimo was losing; he wasn’t nearly as skilled as Nono.

That he was faring this well was astonishing in and of itself. Kudos to him for surviving.

The fact that Timoteo’s Guardians were utterly unharmed just decided for him exactly what was next on their collective training regimen.

“As always: excellent…” the wizened heart-throb praised, glancing at his Right-Hand through the corner of his eye with that signature twist of his lips. “Of course, it’s only to be expected considering that Coyote helped, and he knows exactly what I like.”

The other Ninth generation Guardians carefully refused to react to the sight of their esteemed second-in-command flushing ever so slightly, but Reborn knew that they would clearly be remembering it later in private. It was almost a pity that he would be back in Japan and miss the resultant teasing – decades’ worth of unresolved sexual tension was always amusing. Still…

“Don’t you think that he’s done well enough for today?” he remarked idly, watching with apparent indifference as Tsuna’s canine, which had been biting into his bottom lip as he aimed his absolutely concentrated will at his senior, finally split it open. The single scarlet drop slipping down his chin becoming the stunned focus of his Guardians, who then turned their wrathful eyes on Nono.

Alas, not wanted things to deteriorate into a pointless squabble, and quite frankly more than a little impressed that Tsuna had held his own even half as long as he’d managed without more serious consequences, the man sighed in exhaustion. He may have over done it… Well, he comforted himself, he definitely wasn’t as young as he used to be after all, and Tsuna’s burgeoning will felt like nothing he’d ever dealt with before the child. Wrestling with him took energy that Timoteo rarely had any more, and unconquerable control to not lash out and cut his budding potential short in the most brutal way possibly out of the sheer instinct. The situation as akin to that of an aging lion perceiving a promising cub as a future rival and striking it down for the sake of its own survival.

He’d be a terrifying thing, Sawada Tsunayoshi, a monstrosity the likes of which no-one had or hopefully would ever see before or again –when he was all grown up, of course.

Reborn must be so proud…

Timoteo, eyes closed in both resigned acceptance and reluctant approval, gave Tsuna a firm nod.

“As you wish, Vongola Decimo.”

If nothing else, maybe getting tricked would add some caution to that naivety.

.

Chapter Text

He wasn’t quite sure what to think of him: the bunny, Ken called him.

Kind and sweet, with that fluffy hair, equally fluffy personality, those big brown eyes and even bigger heart, he really was the ‘Little Animal’ that The Skylark was always accusing him of being. If Mukuro had to sum him up in one word it word be naïve, but in reality, secretly, when that child came to mind all he could think about was how gentle he was. His soft touch. His tender tone. Those fond eyes. That soul-stealing smile… And to have those traits survive his ancestor’s curse…? It stunned him -left the prisoner utterly baffled in the face of such persistent weakness. And he wondered if all the little things about him that gave Mukuro shivers, if all the little things about him that filled Mukuro with warmth would survive the blood-stained Mafia after all. Alas, it wasn’t possible. Mukuro couldn’t –wouldn’t believe it. And yet, combined with those affectionate arms, almost maternal nature, and endearing mannerisms- that boy inspired preposterous thoughts in his head. He was clearly dangerous. Practically deadly. Yes, that boy, Sawada Tsunayoshi, the (allegedly) Omnipotent Sky, Vongola Decimo, future Head of the infamous Vongola Alliance. For all intent and purposes they were clearly enemies and yet-

And yet-

Why was he so…?

“Mukuro…?” The gentle call, accompanied by that timid tug on the mental link created by his foiled attempt to take over the brunet’s existence, drew the Master Illusionist out of his rueful musings.

“Mukuro?”

And there it was again.

Why was it always like that? It fascinated the older, the…warmth that radiated from the little strand of interconnected conscious. They were so different, you’d think that it would have faded with time and yet, like the astonishing existence it belonged to it persisted aggravatingly despite the time and distance. He’d tried to cut it, sever the bond between them many times before out of anger, frustration…fear, but for all that it was impossibly small it was incredibly strong.

Much like its owner.

“There you are!” Came the echoing, cheerful chime, and the taller turned to find the typical set up all laid out yet again by the amazing, little annoyance. “I am so sorry that I’m late, but Lambo got a new shipment of grenades this morning and he ended up making a huge mess of the backyard. Honestly, despite the fact that that I know it was all because of Reborn and his nonsense, that…little devil refuses to admit to it. But I mean, what’s even the point of that? He’s gotta know that I know that he had more to do with it than he let on. But instead of at least hinting that he’s sorry that I had to fly all the way to Barcelona to get that special terracotta for the new porch that Dad brought last time he overnighted at home, he laughed! He’s completely unrepentant! Though it’s totally like him to just shamelessly stand aside and watch chaos take its ‘natural’ course after setting everything up himself, this time he’s gonna regret it!”

Freezing internally at that pronouncement, he casually wondered, “And how are you going to do that?”

All the while, trepidation gnawed at his soul.

Was this it?

The evil eventuality?

The cruel revelation of every man’s truest nature?

The…betrayal of all his most secret hopes?

“Oh,” Tsuna bit his lip in contemplation, eyes hesitant and a little lost. “I guess I’ll just conveniently forget how to make his expresso just right for the next week…again.”

He rolled his eyes to punctuate the ridiculousness of the World’s Greatest Hitman’s one true weakness, before sighing in exasperation.

But even as he grumbled adorably about being worked like a slave by “that ungrateful imp,” Mukuro’s heart soared.

But of course…

It was the only natural outcome…

Tsuna would never-

Clearing his throat, the amused elder wondered aloud, “I wouldn’t advise that, Sawada Tsunayoshi; you’ll be killed.”

Blanching momentarily, he agreed, before promptly pouting.

“Still, it’s not fair! I guarantee you that that our one and only Spawn of Satan was taunting poor Lambo again. Probably about the bright, Barbie pink of the new batch, and you know how Lambo is - he’s as hot-headed as Hayato! All it takes is a single, snide side-comment to trigger another fit. And since Reborn is the undisputed king of stupid, sarcastic side commentary that no-one asked him for, it’s is all his fault that we gotta hurry today, or I’ll be late my part-time job…!”

Accustomed to being bombarded with useless information about his primary target’s daily life, Mukuro rolled his eyes at the other teen on the lotus patterned futon as he came to stand before it.

The boy pat his lap in invitation from where he sat wariza, (which, as the illusionist had learnt from the boy in question was different from seiza, as everything beneath the knee was bent off to it respective side in place of under him), and coaxingly called out to him again.

Needless to say, he obeyed and laid down with his head on that surprisingly firm lap, but not without grumbling first.

“This is ridiculous,” He declared in a cranky grumble yet again, cuddling into Tsunayoshi’s thighs.

And he didn’t just mean their religiously kept, but rather pointless appointments, but also that the boy had rented an apartment in one of the better parts of town for them. What’s more, instead of getting the Vongola to pay for it, he’d gotten a job at a little pizza parlour in town and was dedicatedly earning enough through that, (and secretly, small missions anonymously for various Allied Famiglias, but Tsuna didn’t know he knew that), to fill their pantry, their wardrobes, and their schedules with ever more mind-numbingly mundane, everyday amenities. How he managed to pay the utilities while slowly having added a television, satellite TV, DVDs and its respective player, and even several game consoles with a plethora of both regular, and strange, flame-based games made by the irritating, orange-haired genius he met year before the last was considered a miracle by his more naïve friends.

“Of course not!” Protested Tsuna, Q-tips at the ready. “Xanxus travelling from Russia last Saturday after a mission just to demand more cookies at gunpoint is ridiculous. This makes perfect sense. Besides, who else is gonna clean your ears for you?”

Mukuro sighed.

He could remind Tsunayoshi that this wasn’t actually his him, remind him that his real body was floating in a person-sized jar in Vendicare, but then the other would just get all sad and pathetic-looking. And he really didn’t want to hear him guiltily apologize for having the common sense not to have fought the Vendice for him two years ago. Although, truthfully, it was more ignorance than actual sense that had allowed them to avoid that disaster, considering Tsunayoshi’s innate compassion and penchant for self-sacrifice. Mukuro being his enemy wouldn’t have mattered one wit if he had known what awaited the older boy back then; he would have challenged the impossible to save a rebellious experiment, and those merciless monstrosities would have quite possibly ended the Vongola lineage right then and there. Thankfully, they had avoided that disaster, but instead of letting sleeping dogs lie, that is, letting Mukuro suffer for his crimes, Tsuna’s overwhelming empathy and sense of justice had him attempting to make contact with the soulless wardens holding him (and so many other hopeless deviants) captive. What’s worse, the miniscule moron was seriously perusing his permanent release – as if that would ever happen. There was absolutely no way the Vongola would put their heir in such jeopardy. The only intelligent decision they’d made when it came to him was to leave him incarcerated. Should he escape, he fully intended to bring his plans to fruition. Maybe not immediately after, no, he wanted to lay claim to that body in other ways first, to enjoy the boy as he was now: soft, sweet, ripe…And for that he’d need his trust. So he’d bide his time for now, and wait until Vongola Nono died and Sawada Tsunayoshi had no choice but to take the throne being prepared for him. The child would have the power then, and none were likely to quest him - by then they’d have all been exposed to him long enough to fall under his thrall. He’d be several times as powerful as he was now, and eons more influential. He had the knack for charming weak-minded fools, and what sect of society was more foolish than the mafia? Case in point, their proverbial prince was performing menial tasks for him and running himself into the ground for the sake of him.

But for now, for now he’d play good and enjoy the perks that came with being domesticated –or playing at it, rather.

At least he wasn’t insisting on cleaning his nose with that weird bulb that he used on the cow-child when he had the flu, the navy-haired youth drew the line there.

And as Tsuna began, Mukuro reflected that, all things considered, this wasn’t half bad.

Even if it was just playing pretend.

.

Now, kneeling at Tsunayoshi’s feet with his head pressed into the small hollow on the inner side of the curve of his jutting hipbone, Mukuro reflected that playing pretend was a common theme amongst Tsuna and his Guardians. Like now when they pretended to obey him out of fear and respect, when it was really out of the absolute adoration etched in their every movement. Never had Mukuro had the privilege to witness the lines between love and obsession blur so thoroughly, but since they were even more transparent than the one dividing right and wrong along the moral spectrum, he relished in the experience and thanked fate that he’d not been destined to join those fools in that perpetual hell.

For it was the most agonizing and final of them all.

…or so he’d heard.

It was no secret that being part of a complete Elemental set was as much a curse as a blessing, and that more often than not it was better to be alone. The sheer power a Sky could have over their Elements was terrifying enough, and Mukuro was unashamed to confess that having Nagi actually accept that burden had been the best immunization against that irresistible enchantment. She had made excellent insurance, and so he wasn’t at all concerned about his racing pulse and the spike in his temperature when the older Sky attacked his. No, Nagi’s. He was Nagi’s. Chrome’s. It was she that would suffer through the heartache. It was she that would give her life for him. It was she that would hand him the world on a silver platter if he wanted it. If she ever fell that far.

And she never would.

Not with Mukuro standing guard firmly between them. Not with his plan to seize even Tsuna’s very existence from him. He would consume him to become him. To seize his thoughts, his breaths… All he was would become Mukuro. And all that was Mukuro would become his. Unfortunately enough for him, the Illusionist’s physical form was trapped, sealed within Vendicare, never to be allowed to feel the light of day again. Cold. Silent. Distant. With only terrors for company. And the company of the various corpses around you in the same position as you for comfort. Not that would matter, after all Mukuro would have achieved what he wanted. And if he played his cards straight, he might even trick those nitwits into believing in him and serving him.

And if it was for Tsuna, they’d rip the universe apart.

So really, what was the Mafia in comparison…?

Holding fast to that promise, Mukuro buckled down as objects rattled and the walls threatened to crumble into dust. Even as his bones shook and his pulse thundered. Even as his nerves vibrated and his muscles cramped with tension. And when the elder pushed Tsunayoshi to increase the force or be crushed, both he and the five others simply grit their teeth and bore it, trusting their Sky to control himself just enough to avoid destroying them as he attempted to survive the mental brutality and prove his worth to his older, far more skilled challenger. But the test was rigorous, and if this tarried any longer, his ability to contain overwhelming energy would wane with his vitality, and when it did, if he did accidently injure any of them…

The kind-hearted fool would never forgive himself.

With the arrival of the Arcobaleno, however, Mukuro sensed that Chrome hoped that the little devil might plead with the Ninth Vongola Boss to end the battle of Wills, but Mukuro knew better. The infant would do anything to test Tsuna, to measure his growth. And what better opponent than a fully accomplished sky? A Vongola Sky to be precise, and not just any of them, but the longest lasting Sky, the one called ‘Timoteo the Titan?’ The one adversary that seemed impossible for Tsuna to beat as he was now, without outright killing him and igniting what might be the worst conflict between two Vongola generations since the spat between Primo and Segundo…?

Saddest part was, Tsuna could.

Easily.

All it would take was a push that was just a tad too strong and-

And that would be it.

The sun would set on the rule of Nono, and rise with Decimo.

The only problem, since Mukuro didn’t mind the obvious bloodshed that would come with such an ‘accident…?’

Unleashing Tsuna like that would likely kill everyone in this room, if not the entire estate, and if such a drastic thing didn’t unlock his sealed reservoir completely and leave him braindead, the resulting shock he would get from seeing the sheer amount of splattered gore surrounding him would surely leave him either comatose, or utterly insane. The former would have thus started an unquenchable fire that would incinerate thousands more in the neighbouring villages until the Vendice realized what had happened and stepped in. And the latter was sure to prompt him to end the world by painting it the most beautiful shade of crimson. Slaughtering everything that moved in anticipation of the moment where it all turned black and he could meet them all again either in his exhausted dreams, or in the Vongola Rings’ Hyper Space after death. Tragically, being locked in Vendice and all, he wouldn’t be able to see either anyway.

…and to think, it would have all because of one sadist’s need to push.

Speaking of which, as Mukuro sensed Tsuna fighting the urge the lash out at the aging Sky before the elder could snuff out his threatening potential in instinctive self-defence, all while casually conversing with the wielder of the Sun Pacifier, the collective unit he belonged to was stunned. Frozen, their eyes were fixated on a single drop of blood that had burst forth from a plush bottom lip to leave a scarlet trail down to his chin. It was so hypnotic, the vibrant colour of Sawada Tsunayoshi’s life in liquid form. So lovely, so arousing. It was the perfect shade and caught the light in such a picturesque manner. So why? Why did it make him so ill, so, so-

Livid…?

Indeed, white hot, blinding fury filled him, filled all of them. It wasn’t enough that his very soul had to be tested day to day, that his smiles grew dimmer in empathy, that his all-accepting heart was scourged because of its purity, but to face this unnecessary turmoil simply because he cared just like they had wanted him to? Needed him to? Unforgivable. Madness sparked within their barely assimilating consciousness –the results of the devil’s own training and conditioning. The Sun’s radiance flickered in ire, the Cloud darken even further, the Storm brewed, Rain wishing to burst forth and cleanse the space of the assembled filth. The summoned Lightening flashed threateningly as the Mists gathered their cruel imagination together prepared to create sheer devastation. Energies reaching forth and uniting at their fringes –the best they could do with their current level of power, but prodigious in comparison to the average age of unification- they were naught but an angered titan. Potential roused in wrath it boiled, it raged, and finally, in a flicker, from one moment to the next, coalesced with that of his fellow facets to form a force. Intensifying, about to bubble over-

-when a small hand, in a soft, woollen mitten, so at odds with the other that was held out in front of his Sky to aid his concentration, in its titanium-armoured glove, caressed the carefully styled top of Mukuro head. Those tender, calming strokes took all the fight out of him, and the minor fluctuation of the gushing inferno as that one hand reverted to its gentler form, drew the attention of the others and silenced their ire.

None of them ever even realized that Nono, too, had attempted to stop them from starting a scandal right then and there, or that Reborn had interceded for them himself seconds before that.

Still restricting the pulsing power pouring from him Tsuna gently stemmed the flow instead of stopping abruptly. Somewhat dizzy, and somewhat drunk on the symbiotic connection with his guardians that he’d entered when they took off for Italy, Tsuna took a quiet moment to struggle back into the role of Decimo. Senses closed off, and mind settling after the battering it took, a voice from long ago, and deep within one of his most prized possessions warned him, echoing and recommending his instincts.

‘Be unshakeable, Tsuna - steadfast. You know what you must do.’

It was odd for Mukuro to catch thoughts from Tsuna’s side of the link at random, but he rapidly understood that it was Vongola Primo again communicating with his successor and forgetting that he was there on the other side, rather than a slip on the part of Tsuna. But perhaps, it was no mistake on any front, and Primo was simply untroubled by him overhearing.

Naïve as ever, that one.

Would Tsuna grow out of it like the Young Lion he wondered? Or remain optimistic like the Great Sky? Only time would tell he supposed…

Meanwhile, usually chocolate brown eyes opened slowly, revealing glowing gold, as all around, people gathered themselves. Some had tumbled from their seats or ducked for cover, others were paralyzed with fear, but in whatever state of disarray, they now sought their composure.

Finally, Nono gave the sign:

“As you wish, Vongola Decimo.”

There was a pregnant, expectant silence as Tsuna turned to face the assembled Dons of the Vongola Alliance. Many petrified, others seemingly apathetic and unafraid, but apprehensive, and others yet alive with awe.

This child, what a perplexing contradiction…

Mukuro could understand their unease; to see such magnificent power in the hands of one so young – his temperament was nothing short of a miracle.

His voice, when he spoke, was soft. Its gentle, rhythmic tone lulling, enrapturing, beguiling-

Dangerous.

But the ignorant or over-confident fools scattered around them amongst the wise didn’t understand the inherent threat.

Hopefully, for the sake of his own, much more nefarious purpose, they never would; it would make it all the easier to manipulate them with a honeyed tongue and tender hands.

As he was scheming, Tsuna was, as Xanxus would put it, “preaching.”

“The Mafia was founded by families to protect one another, to help one another, to cherish one another. Generation after generation of families continued it, long after it was explicitly needed, first out of love, then out of tradition. And soon, the tradition of love itself, and brotherhood between dons, between families, gave way to Famiglia surviving solely to continue mysterious, materialistic Tradition. The love had died.” Thus, after his greetings, Tsuna began what would later be remembered as the monologue that began his eternal reign. “That awful, new tradition dictates that I am not supposed to use any of a Sky’s special gifts on you. After all, it’s unnecessary considering that you’re supposed to obey me out of fear of my anger, even as you thirst for my favour which, apparently, is to remain ambiguously ever out of any and every one of your reaches. Tradition dictates that these most obvious facts themselves should not be said, that they should remain unspoken but understood. That I should remain, in the inverse, much spoken of, in awe and terror, and yet never understood. I should become a shadow. Ironic really, since, as the Vongola Sky, I’m also supposed to become the star of your world, with a radiance that eclipses all. I should become an ever impending storm just beyond the horizon to keep you all in check, and yet I should become a soothing drizzle that quiets your arguments. I should be the spark that electrifies and shares your human passions, and yet the solitary wisp that floats above your simple-minded avaricious that stems from your intrinsically flawed search for something to surpass your lifetime, a lineage that defeats the damnation that awaits you at the end of your mortality. And finally, as the transient haze, I myself am supposed to fade out with the dawn of a new Vongola Don. But this too is untrue. Isn’t it?”

His eyes pierced the assembly, and many averted theirs so as not to meet that frighteningly intuitive gaze. Others sneered in defiance, refusing to admit to any weakness.

“In a riddling contradiction, you have come to damn those very foundational traditions. You fear the ambiguity, the insecurity of the mist, the rise of a new regime, the beginning of a brand new day that washes the sins of the past away, and may very well scorn the idea of repeating the old mistakes that yesterday accepted.”

His eyes flickered back to his predecessor for an instance, but it was enough for Coyote’s own orbs to narrow into a laser-like glower. Unmoved, he didn’t bat an eyelash, and Timoteo restrained a laugh, eyes closing in silent amusement at his ever-overprotective Storm. It wasn’t as if Tsunayoshi was wrong. He had erred, and often at that, and his mistakes were not ones that his successor could repeat if they were aiming to leave the gritty, grime-ridden world of crime behind. Indeed, the task before the younger was monumental, and was only minutely easier due to the efforts of the last two Vongola Dons. Still, it was a comparatively small, practically insignificant amount when considering the other burden Primo himself had given Tsuna. The boy had every right to be brutally honest and unbiased with others in these times, Lord knows he was far harsher on himself. As he should be, less he lose himself.

“In your self-centred hypocrisy,” Decimo observed lowly, “your heartless newly enshrined tradition had you abandon Mukuro and his comrades to their fates, and now you wish to leave him to rot in a jar in the depths of Vendicare because you think he’s too dangerous…?” Drawing a deep breath as his outrage reached the peak of its crescendo, said adolescent continued, “Fools, you’re just a bunch of cowardly herbivores masquerading as carnivores in this dog eat dog world you’ve created. You clearly don’t actually understand what’s actually dangerous. Quite frankly, it would be sad if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

There were several indignant gasps at this, mostly from the various Famiglia Heads who didn’t understand the incoming, implicit implication, the pending other shoe waiting to drop.

“How dare you, you mongrel!” spat one.

“Yes, you are nothing but a mix breed mutt chosen out of desperation by a dying regime!” accused another.

“Who are you to judge us!?!” decried yet a third imbecile.

“…Who am I?” At that, Tsuna began to laugh. It started out low, then his cackling started to grow. Soon, the maniacal chuckling rivalled both Mukuro himself and the Skylark at their finest.

At last he replied: “Long ago, a boy with very little to no material wealth met six very different individuals. Wagering his very soul, his cursed his bloodline to ever there after protect the defenceless – no matter the personal cost. Out of selfishness, lust for power, and a heart-wrenching emptiness of the things most significant to the soul, his estranged half-brother and a wounded friend that had lost his way set out to steal the sacred gift entrusted to Primo for the sake of the vulnerable. The corruption, the greed, the sin…it would only grow and grow Giotto knew, but he didn’t have the strength, the Will, to hurt those so dear to him. In his selfish but oh so comprehensible humanity, the poor man fled from his conflictions and responsibilities, entrusting it all to his descendants in the future. So now I, Sawada Tsunayoshi, great, great grandson of Sawada Ieyasu, also known as Giotto Taru Del Vongola, the legendary founder of this Family: Vongola Primo, have returned bearing his Will. I will succeed him, cease this cycle and continue what he began. When you ask me who I am, I can only answer that I am your reckoning, the Angel of the Apocalypse assigned especially to the Mafia: prepare yourself for the revival of the original order.”

Silence pervaded, as they processed his retort, and one by one

“Reborn…” Tsuna summoned briskly, not averting his eyes from the distressed crowd.

“Yes, Decimo?” He replied with a proud twinkle in his amused eyes.

“Can you please retrieve Fuuta?”

That gave Mukuro pause.

What?

But he had seen, in Tsunayoshi memories that is, that-

Heard him say that he wouldn’t-

Heard Tsunayoshi promise that he would never-

“He begged to come and help, Mukuro-sama,” Nagi’s calm voice cut through the borderline panic building in his mind. “Bossu wanted to refuse, but since I-Pin-chan was visiting with Hibari’s sister for tea and later, dinner, and Mama-san went with her to meet her ‘future in-laws,’ Fuuta-chan would have been home alone what with us needing Lambo-chan to present a united front, and Reborn-san as an escort. Bossu had Cloud-san post Kusakabe-san and a few others around the perimeter of the residence just in case, but felt it would be okay so long as he didn’t leave…temptation within the house.”

At that, there was no further need for explanation -even though it soothed and reassured him, bless his Chrome; all the rest could have been left out in favour of that.

Tsunayoshi’s world renowned Vongola Hyper Intuition was supernaturally incapable of err, even if it’s still growing leader was, but with the experience the unfortunate sacrificial lamb had received at torture’s knee the last year, Mukuro would bet his soul on it.

He wondered what class of fool was observing the already infamous Vongola Decimo’s residence while they were here, and what’s more, what class of fool would dare attempt something…

There were many a shady and inquisitive person that had the gall to spy on his Sky –Nagi’s Sky, too many too count as a matter of fact, and so many lived or had connections to Namimori that it was no surprise that the people there were so immune to the obviously strange happenings that occurred around that all the time. To start with, there were the pathetic remnants of the Momokyokai, the Hibari’s and therefore the Triads, The Giglio Nero and their Boss’ Arcobaleno and therefore their various other affiliations, the Ninth Vongola Boss’ Cervello…and those were the one they could name immediately! Then there were at the very least a sole spy for each Famiglia of the Vongola Alliance, double of the same for neutral or hopeful Dons’ that desired to join the alliance under the up-coming reign, and triple of those for enemy Famiglia not part of the élite Alliance. Finally, of the obvious were the help: Vongola or Vongola Alliance henchmen, and hitmen and hitwomen intent on protecting and/or moulding Decimo and his Guardians, freelance hitmen and hitwomen hoping to meet Decimo and get in his good graces, enemy hitmen determined to end Decimo and attain infamy. It was the unknown, hidden few that bothered him, and those were- but the Arcobaleno’s high voice interrupted his musings.

“As you wish, Decimo,” he acquiesced with a respectful nod, before hopping off to gather the child.

Murmurs began to emerge from the uneasy crowd as they postulated. Were the rumours really true? Did the future Vongola Decimo really possess Ranking Fuuta…?

Apparently, he did, for in the next moment, the double doors of the meeting room opened and in strolled a boy, brunet, looking to be around twelve years old with that height, but known to be only ten. With an easily recognizable scarf, his trademark, framing the folded top of his beige turtleneck sweater, and the tails dancing above the tan belt holding up his tailored khaki shorts, with every step taken by his crème-coloured loafer-clad feet, there was not misunderstanding who he was. His well-known stealth was another indicator, as he made no sound as he was admitted into the circle of desks and recliner-type seats, crossed to the centre where Decimo stood. Mukuro pulled away and stood, joining the ranks at the Rain’s side. It was just to allow the other to greet his big brother properly, knowing that to stay clinging would only bring him uncomfortably close to the pawn he’d once possessed.

Bowing at the waist with his right hand over his heart, Fuuta de Stella sank to his left knee.

Tsunayoshi offered him his own right hand, just as tradition dictated, and the child took the only slightly larger hand into both of his and pressed a devout kiss to his saviour’s ring.

“How may I serve you, Decimo?” He inquired respectfully.

Tsunayoshi laughed jovially, and the light, cheerful sound of delight startled the crowd as it resonated, raising to the destroyed skylight. On the edge of the nearly empty other frame, Hibird sat, and at the familiar tinkling echo, chirped back and flew down to rest itself yet again atop one of his favourite persons’ head. The teen blinked in acknowledgement, petting the yellow ball of fluff in absentminded affection with his left hand as its other favourite human leered possessively at the view of his pet and his targeted mate. With the hand cupped in Fuuta’s own, Tsuna caressing the contours of that soon to be maturing face gently, the unconditional love in his eyes stealing the breaths of many in the room.

They knew that he’d be like this; they knew that their Angel of the Apocalypse was still an angel at heart.

Others sneered, jealously and ignorance at the source of their scorn for the image.

Unfazed, Tsuna continued to stroke the boy’s jaw and then tipped his chin playfully before pecking his forehead tenderly.

“This is my little brother, Fuuta,” He murmured, drawing the prepubescent up to his feet and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “He has some information to share with you.”

And then, in a move that would go down in history, the overprotective Ranking Prince glowered darkly at them for nearly a full minute before announcing that that day, he had four lists to present to Vongola Nono any time his ‘Tsuna-Nii’ wished.

They were as follows:

1. The list of top ten dons of the Vongola Alliance most likely to betray it of its Head and which enemy they were most likely to do so with.
2. The list of top ten Famiglia members with the member families of the Vongola Alliance most likely to betray their respective families to the Alliance and why.
3. The list of top ten most nefarious plots currently being masterminded to upset the balance of the Alliance.
4. The list of top ten most insulting things the Dons of the Vongola Alliance have said about Timoteo de Vongola.

There was horrified, chokingly tense silence for a few long, painful moments as they all, finally, realized strength of the combined force they were up against.

At the head of the gathering, Timoteo erupted with laughter, blessing his successor with all his heart and soul – now this was interesting!

“See?” The coo was revoltingly sweet and chipper even as the boisterous cackles of the current Capo di tutti capi laughed himself half to death. “You were worrying about Mukuro, but it’s me and my ruthless streak you should really be afraid of…” Tsuna smiled in a twisted fashion, sadness and satisfaction warring in the depths of his eyes. Just then, thick grey clouds passed over Vongola HQ and blocked the natural illumination shining down from the massive skylight. Without artificial lighting, all was as if it were night, and a pair of glowing amber orbs stood out like a beacon. The gleam of unshakable resolve making them all shudder as a bone-deep chill filled them. “You have until sundown to agree to Mukuro’s release and negotiate the details and terms so that I will be given leave to contact the Vendice. One minute after sundown, I will return to work out a deal for your signed consent, or for your heads –your choice.”

The daylight returned a minute later, but by then the Tenth Vongola Generation had already silently vanished from the room.

.

Chapter Text

It was just the two of them today - that was what his beloved, almost seventeen-year-old brother had said.

“I need to feel your flame raw, Onii-san. So, it’ll just be the two us today,” Tsuna had chirped brightly.

The information had sent a secret thrill through him, and, too content to overanalyze his confusing reaction while admittedly being accustomed to it, he’d shrugged it off like always.

Don’t think, Ryohei. He told himself. Don’t think.

It was as extremely awesome as usual, and most times that he did think about it, he was careful not to peer too deeply at the reasons behind it because they always gave him a headache. Further befuddling him, was the fleeting but common thought that it was a pity he felt strange about it, because he wished it could be his constant state of being. But when he asked Tako-head about it, because that boring nerd was obnoxiously smart, the other had flushed and furiously emphasized that it was wrong, and forbidden.

“It’s sacrilege,” he’s hissed, green eyes dark and turbulent with a plethora of emotions.

Ryohei didn’t know that meant exactly, but he got the idea though, from the pain in the silveret’s gaze and first two words, and felt torn. It hadn’t felt “wrong,” so why was it “forbidden?” Nevertheless, despite everything, he knew that Gokudera would never mislead him when he told him he was serious, stance ram-rod straight with nervousness, and terrified of what it could mean to either acknowledge or deny the pounding of his heart and throbbing of his pulse when he sensed Tsuna near.

Alas, now that he knew better, he wished that he was ignorant again, so he wouldn’t feel so guilty about craving inappropriate closeness with the Sky. He had already almost crossed that line once; he wouldn’t go near it again.

Aggrieved and bitter, even as he tried to convince himself it was for the best, his hotblooded zeal tried to rob him of control over and over. And now, after many close calls, all he allowed himself was to relish it when it happened, and shake it off before anyone noticed. After all, it was extremely bad.

But still-

Just the two of them, naked as the day they were born, sitting in a cave near the uppermost point of Death Mountain: Training Version.

“I need to refine my Flames’ healing properties,” The lion cub had begun. “Now that I’m working on expanding what I can do with Zero Point Breakthrough: Custom’s Cambio Fiamma technique, I figured that if I could put someone in a cocoon of A-Class Sun Flames or higher they’d be able to heal from just about anything. It’d kinda be like a Sky Sphere, but out of Sun Flames, and thus should, in theory, heal to an unimaginable degree. Now that I have access to that grade of Fiamma potency with the conversion and division of my Sky Flames, I’m hoping I can help civilians and Famiglia alike in the future.”

The brunet had explained this all casually, hiding his anxiety as they’d climbed up the sheer cliff below that was the only way to reach the alcove just big enough for them all to huddle together when the seven were united.

Sighing in exasperation, he sheepishly continued, “Though I keep thinking I’ll need it a lot sooner. Knowing me, one day I’ll probably trip down this cliff one day and somehow survive to face Reborn’s torture for another day. Speaking of which, would you believe that bratty baby still thinks it’s too soon to try any of this? I mean, sure, I get it. Since I’m still Dame through and through, regardless of my flame’s quality as a Sky, it seems to degrade or revert or sometimes even both when I try to split it into its six base elements.”

Aghast, he paused before finally reaching the little ledge that marked their sanctuary’s entrance.

“At this rate,” he bemoaned dramatically, shuddering as Ryohei offered him a bandaged hand, having already clambered up himself. “I’ll never master the Cambio Fiamma technique before I actually need it. And then, that smug Sundrop will never let me forget it.”

Sasagawa Ryohei tried not to feel invidious of Reborn and his baby brother’s closeness, but he knew it was no use. Much like the sick, steadily growing jealousy he felt towards Kyoko, who never failed to distract Sawada by means of her mere presence, it was a lost cause to attempt to restrain the instinctive opposition he felt when he saw the other Sun with his Sky.

The whole thing became worse when, unashamed and all too trusting, Tsuna promptly stripped. Endearingly clumsy even now, the brunet wobbled as he attempted to remove his socks. The younger bit his temptingly plump bottom lip in concentration and Ryohei gulped. He was hypersalivating again. Trembling with desire, he fought not to stare as Tsuna bent over to gather his pants and underwear, but his eyes refused to obey him. Though the other wasn’t built like himself, his lean body was sleek, and his pale, peach-toned skin was soft and glowing with the healthy presence of his addictive flames. They trained in the buff so often that Tsuna was now mildly tanned. Not surprising since summer vacation had just ended. His complexion was seamless safe the plethora of faded, barely visible scars from his younger years and the business of their very early beginnings scattered across his form, and the adorable smattering of freckles along his shoulders were the only other interruptions. (Ryohei was always attentive to even his most minute injuries, since he was useless to aid him in healing the wounds beneath the surface.) The cocoa-coloured locks now framing his jaw attractively to the front and curling enticingly around his shoulder blades behind became shaggily tousled as he whipped his black, short-sleeved, V-neck T-shirt off. Pouty lips the same shade of faint pink as newly bloomed sakura flowers parted in a quiet exhale as he flicked the longest of the swath of forelocks that cut through his visage diagonally out of his now typically caramel orbs. Not that it worked. No, the hair just fell back into his eyes and Tsuna heaved a frustrated sigh.

Ryohei itched to sweep it behind a small, pierced ear.

But the jade stoppers in the younger boy’s lobes reminded him of Gokudera, who had gifted them to their Sky last Christmas, and more importantly, of his warnings. Right. This was improper. They weren’t gathered today because of regular training, no, but it was training nonetheless. They were here because of Tsuna’s extreme needs. The thought of that finally had him turning away and attending to his own clothes as punishing remorse swamped him in determined waves.

It was unforgivable, here he was being a disgusting deviant with strange…wants, when, the previous night, Tsuna had dreamt about being killed, over and over again.

Elder Pao Pao had told him that his little brother’s nightmares were getting out of control, and that the range of the visions had reached as far as Namimori southernmost medical facility, an extremely expensive, private hospital and research center revealed to be formerly owned by the Momokyokai. The current owner was a pharmaceutical company by the name of Sogéz who both Tsuna and Reborn were extremely suspicious of. Tsuna, because he’d had an inexplicable panic attack the first time he heard of it changing hands, and continued to be nauseous all during the reconstruction of the innocuous building, and still broke out into cold sweat every time he heard of it. And Reborn, because of Tsuna’s reaction to it.

The things Tsuna ‘saw’ were always prophetic these days. Ryohei remembered that they had always been vague flashes of people in close proximity, but ever so slowly to their horror, the images of hell had unveiled themselves until they were crystal clear.

What’s worst, Tsuna usually saw the victim’s perspective.

Over the last odd year, Tsuna had experienced being robbed, beaten, accosted, and outright molested endless times. He’d lived through the feelings of being stabbed, shot, immolated, drowned, electrocuted, and crushed – the last several times as of late thanks to summer break, drunk drivers, and an increase in fatal car accidents. Once, he’d screamed his way through his American neighbor’s memory of being gang-raped back when he was in the military. Last week, new people moved into an apartment near the school, and he’d had to deal with a recently-widowed, newlywed housewife’s memories of her deceased, abusive first husband. When a girl in Midori High had committed suicide, Tsuna had fallen down three flights of stairs at school from the shocking feeling of choking from the rope that had her dangling from the chandelier in the foyer of her parents’ mansion.

And that was only some of what they either forced out of him, or he told them about so that they could help the actual victim. Now, they were coming every day and several times night, sometimes even before it actually had happened, because he’d also dealt with the all-consuming guilt of being the perpetrator too.

Those were the times when he’d enfold himself in his flames and go see that strong ghost that extremely resembled him. Hours later, their sad Tsuna was back, and ready to live through it again with his extremely manly will glowing in his beautiful eyes…

Miraculously, though he cried and reacted physically, he never complained.

Sometimes, Ryohei wished he did, and that he shared more, but since he could scarcely stomach it now, he quietly stood by him, more determined with each passing hour to defend him from physical harm with his body. Tsuna was already suffering enough, he shouldn’t have to deal with a battered body while his mind and soul took a beating. He regretted the days when he’d cursed about the injustice of the seal; it had been a blessing, keeping everything except the feeling of people’s intense emotions away. Now, with the seal all but gone, worn down and barely there to keep the floodgates closed, with unnecessary torment gushing through its tattered gaps, his range of sensation had widened until it had all but engulfed most of Namimori. He was doomed to more mental agony. And at this rate, it would only get worse, because the seal would be gone sooner rather than later, and Reborn himself wasn’t sure if Tsuna’s range would ever plateau and cease its merciless expansion.

Today, Tsuna had been waiting for him at the foot of the drop, staring out into the distance somberly with eyes like dull, beaten gold. Not wanting to see that sad look on such an extremely cute face, not wanting to see such a dead look on the one who made him feel extremely alive, Ryohei asked about the others. Sawada always looked happy when he was surrounded by the people who loved him, and love itself looked extremely flattering in his amber eyes.

Indeed, the mention of their friends and family worked like a charm, and Tsuna’s face lit up as if the heavens had parted and sworn never to darken again. He informed him of their plans for the day, and since then Ryohei struggled to keep his mind strictly on today’s task as they stripped and settled down to meditate. It was getting harder though, to avoid recalling how he’d stopped Tsuna’s cries a few months ago. After Xanxus, after the curse, after-

He’d pulled that writhing body backwards into his lap and held it firmly against him as it thrashed ever more wildly. Yamamoto had dropped right between their knees then, pinning Tsuna’s thighs down over Ryohei’s and sliding forward to press his forehead against the boy’s glowing one, shushing him gently all the while.

“OI!” Yelled Squalo, leaning forward enough in his chair so as to test the restraints. “You need to give him some of your flames, sword-brat! Otherwise, he’s probably going to go into cardiac arrest!”

“How do I do that?” Yamamoto asked, turning to meet the Varia Second-In-Command’s gaze head-on.

“Well,” Began Dino awkwardly. “Usually you can feed your Sky via contact between your rings, but something tells me that that won’t work this time.”

“Hum! So you were paying attention, Dame-Dino,” Reborn harrumphed pompously as he leaped up onto the baseball player’s shoulders. “We don’t have time to teach you the sophisticated way of doing things, Yamamoto. So go with what your gut tells you is the best course of action - as a Natural-Born Hitman, you should have some idea of what you should do now.”

“Reborn-san,” Interrupted Gokudera, paling. “You can’t mean-”

“Ah,” the baby confirmed, nodding.

“But the Sky Scroll says-” Tako-head had started, only to be interrupted by Reborn.

“Forget the Sky Scroll,” the infant fixed the other teen with a piercing stare. “Would you prefer Dame-Tsuna dead and untouched or alive and tainted?”

When the silver-haired boy paled, before stuttering out the latter option, Ryohei chuckled as Gokudera blushed darkly at the end. Reborn himself smirked, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Though I must say,” He began. “Dame-Tsuna has quite the record thus far: first Shamal, now Yamamoto… I wonder if the universe is trying to tell him something that he may be in denial of…”

Gokudera seemed to go blank at this, knees buckling at some connection his brilliant mind had made, before he turned, teary eyes glaring hotly at his tutor.

“Shamal, you pervert!” He hissed, jumping to his feet as he withdrew a bunch of dynamite from Tsuna-knows-where. “What did you do to the Tenth!?!”

As chaos began to rage in the background, Reborn nonchalantly turned to the young swordsman.

“Do it,” he ordered.

Nodding, the younger athlete leaned forward, and to the shock of the teenagers, sans Octopus-Head, who was distracted, and that extremely weird Prince, who was another genius, kissed Sawada full on the mouth!

Ryohei choked on his saliva in shock, having not realized that he was drooling just from the feel of the ridiculously soft skin under his large, calloused hand. Though bruised and scarred in some places, it had been hypnotically smooth and supple everywhere else, and the elder Sasagawa was ill-prepared for how silky it would be against his rough fingertips.

“For sexual harassment, and for sullying the wholesome sanctity Nami-Chuu, herbivore, I’ll bite you to death!” Hibari growled, stalking forward with death in his flashing eyes. He had surfaced from the basement seconds before, just in time to see this travesty, and wondered at the source of all this nonsense.

“I wouldn’t interrupt him, if I were you,” Reborn commented casually, using a random green cane to stop the impending rampage.

“Oh?” Inquired the upperclassman, before demanding that he, “Explain.”

“Tsuna will die if you separate him from Yamamoto right now,” Reborn answered, pointing at where the pair’s lips were interlocked, small bursts of blue light pulsing from the point of contact. “Without those Rain Flames calming his heart rate with its Tranquility factor, Tsuna’s little heart will beat so hard and so fast that it might go ‘pop’ in his little chest!”

Staring at the scandalous scene for only a moment more, Hibari tsked in irritation and walked away, going in search of the Cervello to make his demands of them. His school wouldn’t fix itself.

The danger having passed, Ryohei turned back to observe Tsuna then, a little worried about how lax his body had become all of a sudden.

“Opps,” A voice murmured abruptly, as, out of no-where, Elder Pao Pao hopped up to him. Examining Tsuna’s finally closing lids with discerning care, he said, “I got so caught up watching Gokudera bring down the explosive hammer of retribution on Shamal, that I may have left Yamamoto at it a bit too long. Do me a favor and rouse my stupid student before he slips into a coma would you, Ryohei?”

“Eh?” He grunted in extreme confusion, not opposed to the notion, but having no idea as to how such a thing would even function. This prompted Reborn, who must have sent Elder Pao Pao for some kind of manual or instructional aide, to request that Takeshi give him a demonstration. After all, apparently, Master Colonello had said that he learnt best from experiencing things himself.

Grinning, Yamamoto moved his hands from Tsuna’s inner thighs and laid his slimmer hands on the white-haired boy’s shoulders instead.

“Like this, Senpai!” he chirped, hauling Ryohei forward and planting his lips on the Sun-User’s.

The boxer instinctively raised his right fist to punch his bold underclassman, before the lesson on how the sparkly kiss-thing actually worked sunk in and he lowered it. Hum…

“Extreme…!” He barked excitedly as he broke away, maneuvering Sawada in his arms and crudely smacking a big one on him.

The Sky’s eyes immediately flew open as he jolted awake, the sudden shock of Sun Flames having done their job magnificently and jump-started his vitality. Those feathery lashes fluttered like hummingbird’s wings as the smaller jerked in his crude grasp, squirming at the tickle of Ryohei’s active tongue. The larger boy slid his left arm around Tsunayoshi as the right buried itself in his hair to tilt it back and plunge himself deeper into that tantalizing heat. Tsuna trembled at the energetic bursts of flame, struggling against him he would later realize, but he was too far gone.

Too drunk on the taste of gentle-strong-loving-home on his tongue to feel Yamamoto reaching out to try and haul him back by the shoulders, or Gokudera fighting his grip on Sawada, or even Cavallone grabbing his sweatshirt from behind and trying to pull him by the torso off of the tiny slip of a boy. He just clung to the small form tighter, and buried himself deeper. He hadn’t even noticed when he’d pushed Sawada to the ground, or gotten between his squirming thighs, engulfed as he was in sheer bliss.

If only he’d known that once he’d sampled it, the taste of his Sky would become addictive, would drive him mad…

In the end, it was Reborn that wretched him away by force. And to do it, he’d had to use a green version of Dino’s whip and wrap it around the thickly corded muscle of his throat, and, with might his minuscule form belied, wretch him away from heaven.

The lack of air to his brain stunned him as he hit the rough cement of the destroyed courtyard - hard. The jolt wasn’t the worst of it though. When he’d risen up, gasping, and saw Tsuna, cradled between Gokudera and Yamamoto, shying away from him with a fearful knowing in his wide, shockingly golden eyes…

…he felt wrecked. His heart had been instantly K.O.ed, and he suddenly understood why Tako-head had been so scandalized earlier when Reborn almost carelessly suggested this.

Sky Flames; they were extremely strange.

They drew you in, trapped you, entranced you.

In the moments when he’d had the tiny Sky in his arms, he’d felt capable of anything – absolutely anything. The power encased in such an innocuous form had hypnotized him, and he felt deeply disgusted with himself when he wondered how far things would have gone if no-one was there to stop him. Eying the way Tsuna was shakily buckling his belt (and when had that happened!?) before he reached for him, eyes watering in empathy, Ryohei had a sudden, horrified epiphany.

Absolutely anything meant both the positive and negative extremes.

His temporary insanity had lasted less than a minute, but, for some reason, that kiss was all Ryohei could think about whenever he saw Sawada afterwards. He’d even begun to sometimes call him ‘Tsuna,’ and swore that his heart skipped a beat whenever the other teasingly called him ‘Ryohei.’ For now, all he had to do was control himself, to rein himself in, and the forbidden feelings would fade. This phase would pass. He could do it; he would do it. This was his last school year here in Japan. September of next year would find him in Italy studying medicine. He just had to control himself until then.

Time and distance would do the rest; it had to.

He wouldn’t let his longing, his sick craving, hurt Tsuna, and he’d stop the other’s from hurting him too if he had to. Even if Tsuna had never reproached him for his loss of control, even if he knew that Tsuna would unconditionally give any of them whatever they wanted of him.

It was especially because of the self-sacrificial spirit that he would reign the others in; whatever it took, he’d sworn he’d stop the other’s from falling into the hell that was his damnable temptation.

The light reflecting off of Tsuna’s thick, leather choker, (a questionable gift from Hibari that he hadn’t seen Tsuna without since it was given to him in late January), reminded him yet again to watch the others more carefully.

For the signs were all there, and not one of them, (save the too young Lambo but not excluding his older self), were innocent and unaffected.

Until Kyoko took those slight hands with their calloused knuckles from him, he would protect them.

.

(But he couldn’t, because he was useless. The results of the raid to that accursed facility that very night proved it.)

.

Years later he would look back at that first kiss as the beginning of the end. He would console himself as he helped Hana put her bags in the trunk of the Famiglia vehicle that would take her to the airport and out of his life for good, that it had been useless to begin with, that he was not a failure as he had been lost from that very moment.

So why fight it anymore?

He’d done well, hadn’t he?

He’d tortured himself, resisting the slender arms always open to him, always welcoming him home. Now, he couldn’t lie to himself any longer. Last night, in the thrones of his obligated denial, he had defrauded Hana, their marriage, their children. He’d called out to someone that didn’t belong in his bed, wasn’t in his bed, but hauntingly enough was deeply hidden away in the folds of his heart. He had tried so hard to pull back, but he didn’t have Reborn’s legendary strength. Again, he couldn’t stop himself, and in his own head there was no-one but him and his plethora of broken lies to stop him.

I’m alright like this.

Don’t think about it too much.

Tsuna needs you.

It’s just flame transference.

I’m normal.

He’s like a brother.

I’m just trying to help.

I don’t want him.

I can’t hurt him like that.

I won’t want-

It’s sick.

I’m not like Hibari.

I’m not like Mukuro.

I don’t need it.

I can’t have-

I won’t give in to-

He bit his lip to hold back the helpless tears.

He was a man. And men don’t cry. At least, not men like him. Mafia men, a strong, independent, soon to be single father…these men - they didn’t deserve the release of tears. Not when Tsuna himself had long since stopped crying even while baring unspeakable agonies.

But-

The naïve lies that had bought him a decade of anguished, self-imposed normalcy…they weren’t strong enough anymore.

Of course, it wasn’t all as simple as that; Hana had begun to doubt him. And not without reason. As the glow of their whirlwind romance dimmed with parenthood’s trials, she’d found him sometimes emotionally absent. In the wake of the loud gestures and copious luxuries he’d piled on her from since the beginning to distract her from the wayward direction of his thoughts, she’d come to realize how shallow they were. For months, when she needed him, she’d found him gone. Then he’d return and be welcomed with icy mistrust. Naturally, she’d suspected him of betrayal, she was certainly no fool, but never would she have guessed at the truth.

The earnest truth, the clumsy truth, the awkward, gentle truth embracing him in homecoming, and seducing him with smiles. That affection was an aphrodisiac, and lo did Ryohei acknowledge it, he had failed utterly at suppressing his truth in the private moments when he’d thought them alone. It showed in his eyes. It showed in the unusually soft tone used. It showed in the lovestruck, tender handling of his truth. Bestial hands on lower backs and brushing back caramel fringe, and possessively trying to monopolize the truth. Surely, Gokudera knew. He’d have to, spending as much time with the truth as he did. The silveret had taken to glaring at him with both disgust and envy, and Yamamoto followed, beating him down in murderous training sessions that he no longer had the gall to defend himself in, near hatred tucked behind the Rain’s slasher’s grin. If for nothing but the sheer amount of time he invested unwittingly chasing after the truth, Hana had to have wondered. Grasping at that truth with greedy hands, under the innocent guise of fraternal love, repulsive mind barely remembering that not even the truth could actively know. It helped that Tsuna yielded so easily when needed desperately, never complaining at the long hours Ryohei spent wrestling him into submission in almost weekly spars.

Or the almost religiously kept, monthly calls for company when drinking, so that he could cuddle, and fondle, and caress his sacred truth – all disguised as a drunkard’s confusion.

But when monthly became weekly, as the weekly became daily…Hana would have had to be a bigger idiot than him not to notice. His fumble during orgasm last night had been the last straw.

It was only natural when she’d begun scorning him. He would come back drenched in the taste of alcohol. He must have reminded her of all the awful men she met through work as an attorney for the prosecution. That besides, he imagined that the blend of scents was off-putting to anyone not accustomed. He really couldn’t have blamed her; the sakura perfume that Hibari had brought the young Don was already distinctive. Further, the potpourri Tsuna had made of the whopping ten dozen yellow camellias he’d anonymously had delivered to him out of sheer desperation (to confess the twelve long months in every of the hard ten years suffering from this longing building within him), was pungent.

Together, they were intoxicating. Especially when you had your nose pressed the delicate column of his throat-

…but all the more devastating when you picked up the faint remnants of Kyoko’s preferred Victoria’s Secret body spray.

If- no, when, she found out about this from her best friend, she would never forgive him.

But how could she selfishly keep the Sky all to herself?

Didn’t she see how much he needed him?

Couldn’t she just…share a bit of euphoria with him?

The slam of the car door jolted him out of his wild, near delirious musings. He watched, internally numb and almost happily resigned as the car pulled away from the mansion. Hana aimed a blistering glare at the anxious, innocently ignorant Tsuna from the rear window as the sleek, black Porsche curved around the fountain. Ryohei didn’t bother to stop himself from stepping between them, even if it only resulted in his wife letting out another mournful sob as the vehicle passed the fountain. The stunning young man behind him had only come out of his office out of concern after all, and had been met with the sight of own wife’s best friend charging down the stairs with Ryohei calmly trailing behind her, taking all the abuse she flung at him without complaint as he carried her bags like the gentlemen he’d tried so long in vain to be. He deserved it. He deserved it all for lying to himself, to her, for even attempting to deny his fate. Yet again, doctor-rate in medicine or no, Ryohei was blatantly reminded of how stupid he was.

Tsunayoshi however, had done nothing wrong, so Ryohei wasn’t about to let her take it out on poor Tsuna for just being exactly who he was. For being kind, patient, and selfless, he hadn’t done anything to warrant such hostility. Tsuna had settled down like a regular person, it was her soon-to-be ex-husband who had failed. Just like all the others, he failed. Letting out a sigh of relief as the nondescript black car drove out of the gates, he turned to embrace that wonderfully docile form into his arms and allowed himself to just…give up.

To give in to his bottomless desire.

At least she had decided to leave the twins with him; it would have broken both Tsuna’s and his heart if they’d been taken, but he was done trying to usurp destiny.

For the truth was that destiny.     

.

Years before though, and still brimming with hope, he had dared to consider himself an asset –important somehow even as he lied to himself – and everyone else.

Protect Tsuna…?

What a joke!

Who was going to protect Tsuna from him…?

Nevertheless, when Reborn called a seventeen-year-old Sasagawa Ryohei, months before he would be tested by of those memorable one-on-one training secessions, he didn’t hesitate. The Extreme Lion Punchinist was able to charge over to the Sawada house at two in the morning, at full speed right away. Heedless of the hour, and foregoing the usual roar, he was there in all of two minutes after tossing a hoodie on over his sleep-soft track pants and pushing his feet into his comfortable jogging sneakers. Shedding said shoes at the genkan, he barely acknowledged Reborn and the swiftly departing Hibari with a nod. Tsuna’s Mama was up again too, brows worriedly wrinkled, lips pursed as howls echoed through the house over the quiet sounds of a late-night infomercial.

“…our products can be personalized to suit your needs! Whether it’s as easy as nightmares or insomnia or as bad as Biliary Colic, we can solve all of your chronic aches and pains-”

Rolling his eyes uncharacteristically at the empty promises that the shameless made to the desperate, the blanchet murmured a soft ‘goodnight’ to her tense shoulders and turned back before flying up the stairs. As he took the first three in one go, he heard the prefect’s voice as he spoke to his most trusted subordinate, “There’s a herd of herbivores that will attempt to inflict obscenity on a nine-year-old girl in the shopping distinct, behind the convenience store. Find them and restrain them. I’m on my way to bite them to death, so inform an ambulance to meet us there.”

Worried about the intensity of such an atrocious premonition on Tsuna, it was all he could do not to barrel straight into the space where he could feel the concentrated calm of Yamamoto’s rain flames. Instead, he calmly, quietly slipped passed the barrier of Reborn’s sun flames, only to be dismayed to find Tsuna not out cold from a potent dose of raw tranquility, straight from the source, but ripping his mouth away from Takeshi’s to bury his distraught features in Gokudera’s chest, tears renewing worn paths down his face. They must have abused Tsuna’s Rain threshold while waiting for him; that was a sure-fire way to depress Tsuna’s mood father, but what else could they do? Gokudera must have tried to stabilize the balance of elements within Tsuna’s core with his own, but, honestly, the last thing Tsuna needed was to deal with the sometimes auto-destructive turn Storm Flames had on his psyche. Still, that was always a coin toss of probability. So perhaps it was unfair to feel as extremely irritated towards his towards their resident genius as he was right then. All his increasingly jealous musings went flying out the window when Tsuna whimpered and reached feebly for him. In a flash, Ryohei had crossed the room to tug him into his firm lap without question. It was obvious what had happened. And even more so what he needed.

Tsuna had had another dream, so regardless of whatever the others could and did do, he needed him.

At the end of the Battle against Xanxus two years ago, when the ring had begun to reject the older, Tsuna intervened, unable to see the scarred young man in any more pain. As a result, a furious blonde had appeared to them and, before any of them could react, enfolded Tsuna in an orb of rose gold flames. Ryohei didn’t understand what that did, (though Tsuna had told them that the man he called ‘Giotto’ had simply looked into his heart), or what the other found, but he seemed impressed, because he softened and embraced the beaten, brokenly-sobbing fourteen-year-old to his chest after dispelling the orb of flames.  

“Poor child,” He’d said. “With such a big heart you’re sure to suffer, but what else could the universe do? It needs a place for its source to survive…”

That was an extremely weird thing to say, and the young Sun-User hadn’t comprehended heads or tails of it, even as pulses of gentle Sky flames washed over him and calm descended over him. What’s more, he was quickly distracted by what the man did next. Tipping Sawada’s chin, he wiped away his tears and kissed his eyelids gently.

“I’ll help you, sweet Center,” He murmured decisively, eyes sad. “Not just because you should be able to spare so many of their tragic fates and set them on better paths, or because even the ‘you’ with the greatest potential will owe his many victories to this you, but because no-one else will be able to and at least due to your sacrifice, I’ll never have to doom another innocent child to the repulsive world of the Mafia again. And as this solitary fate is my fault, I’ll lighten your burden as much as I’m allowed…”

Then, he’d tipped the child’s head back, and pressed the flame on his forehead to Sawada’s. For a single beat, nothing happened, and the specter pulled away. The moment he was a few feet away though, Tsuna’s forehead and gloved hands erupted with a strange, colossal, neon orange flame. His eyes snapped open before rolling into the back of his head, and then glowed with brilliant, golden light. He hovered, a good three feet off the ground as gale-force winds whipped around him, and, with a jerk, light burst from his mouth too. Weird symbols appeared in several spirals around him, slithering up his form and into his wide-open mouth and gaping eyes.

The tears began falling then, in torrents down poor Tsuna’s cheeks before, abruptly, it was all over.

The light disappeared as if it never was, the flames died down, and Tsuna’s limp body hit the dirt with a thud.

That should have been the end of it, but then, all of a sudden Tsuna began to scream as if he was being murdered, clawing feebly at his eyes, temples, and face in general as he spasmed.

And then-

He forced back the memory of that first kiss and his subsequent loss of control with great shame, cursing the arousing memory of it.

Since Tsuna’s grandpa was still too sick to help, they’d needed someone else to piece things together. An old man named Boreen who was apparently a professor had been contacted by Reborn. He had summoned the weird school nurse and a friend of his extreme tutor, Master Colonello, called Verde. By the end of the week, all those extreme people had gathered together to figure out what had happened to Sawada. And of course, it didn’t take them long. Apparently, this ‘Primo’-person had ‘unlocked’ what he had dubbed Tsuna’s ‘Ultimate Intuition,’ whatever that meant, and they had to seal it. An extreme light show on behalf of six little babies later, and things had calmed down, but not for long. Soon, Tsuna’s Grandfather himself had to intervene to ‘re-enforce’ the seal or something. Ryohei hadn’t been paying much attention during the event, even if the actual memories of the ghost’s words were burnt into his and everyone present’s minds, he had been too busy watching Tsuna’s gradually worsening condition.

What haunted his dreams even earlier this night, was the way the already frail form had fallen into a lifeless-looking heap after the ordeal. Before he knew it, he’d moved instinctively to help. And, believe it or not, the barrage of bloodcurdling screaming that followed was practically a blessing to Ryohei, because it had reassured him that at least the younger boy was alive. Even as Gokudera turned to demand answers from the oddly depressed-looking specter, and Yamamoto drew his blade threateningly, the elder Sasagawa had felt nothing but relief. Tsuna was alive. Alive. He was alive.

And so long as he was alive, Master Colonello had told him, Ryohei (and the others) would be able to make sure he survived the rest.

Sometimes however, when he had Tsuna tucked up under his chin and weeping helplessly into his neck, straining against the angst-ridden abyss within his mind, Ryohei felt his belief in such an optimistic statement wane. The younger was being tormented. Nightmares ruled over his every night, whilst visions and near omnipresence held sovereign over each of his days: that was his curse. He was being bludgeoned with other people’s pain. Ryohei had always thought kindness was a great trait to have, and that compassion was admirable. But this level of empathy was utterly extreme – in the worst way ever.

To be given horrific visions of others’ hardships would have been trying for even the desensitized Xanxus eventually, so for Tsuna, who was so caring, so open to others wounds and willing to take all their agony into himself, it was basically psychological torture. That Octopus-head of theirs himself was rather jaded himself, and what’s more, a genius, so Ryohei had been unfathomably incensed when he had confessed as much. If that was what happened when this ‘Giotto’ tried to help, Ryohei prayed he never attempted to ever again. Even more crushing was the fact that whatever Tsuna had been cursed with was irreversible, so this was permanent. Tsuna would be persecuted perpetually by the world’s sorrow for the rest of his life.

It was enough to taint his flames whenever he thought about it, so, since he needed his flames as pure as possible, and was clearly incapable of ignoring the tired, haunted look on Tsuna’s face, or the quiver of those delicate hands, fisted as if in prayer, or the grief written into the lines of the slender body held up by a rigidly erect spine…he had decided simply not to think.

He wasn’t going to think as he molded that sweet-smelling form to his.

He wasn’t going to think as he brushed Tsuna’s tear-dampened bangs from his rosy cheeks.

He wasn’t going to think as he pressed the first of many kisses to the little Sky’s furled brow.

He wasn’t going to think as he pressed the second to his twitching nose and the third to his flushed lips.

He wasn’t going to think as he deepened the faint peck, shuddering with want as he slipped into the sanctuary of Tsuna’s hot and responsive, but inherently bashful mouth.

He wasn’t going to think as he put greater effort into the kiss, nearly forgetting to add his flames to the mix because he was enjoying twinning his tongue around Tsuna’s and tickling the roof of his mouth.

He wasn’t going to think as he tightened his arms possessively around Tsuna, and tugged the plaint vessel unto his clothed erection.

He wasn’t going to think as he slipped his hands into Tsuna pajamas while pouring Sun Flames down his throat with every suggestive stab of his moist muscle into the younger’s wet cavern.

He wasn’t going to think as laid his whimpering partner down and all but made tender love to his aching effigy as best as he was able without violating every law and code of Fiamma responsibility that they were bound to.

It was harder every time, and he was simply waiting in muted horror for the day when warnings would cease to be enough to restrain him and he’d defile that gentle trust.

.

Two years after that, (after cradling Tsuna’s fragile form to his chiseled one a couple days ago when he’d received the tragic news about his mother’s condition), the last thing Ryohei expected was to have to help Tsuna through a trauma unspeakable enough to have him casting Master Colonello’s words of wisdom to the four winds. He didn’t mean to question the elder, and he didn’t want to disrespect the far more experienced fighter by calling him naïve, (even within the confines of his own mind), but how was anyone to survive this? He couldn’t fathom Tsuna making it passed this sane; this was brutality in its most base, most disgusting form. This was a life-changing cruelty that stunned Ryohei, a professional-level boxer and a burgeoning assassin, with its violence.

And to have it committed by a member of his own family was probably what shocked Tsuna the most.

Swallowing down his nausea, (and his guilty thoughts), Ryohei slowly approached the bleeding, quivering figure on the bed that kept flinching, and then apologizing for his natural reaction each time. It broke the white-haired boy’s heart, and he reigned in the murderous urge building uselessly within him; he’d only end up scaring Tsuna. He’d almost done the same before, so it was a miracle the younger could even stand the sight of him right now. He wasn’t going push it. As it was, the Sky, curled up in fetal position in the corner with his back to the place where the two walls bordering his bed met, and his overflowing eyes aimed at the doorway Ryohei had just entered through, was already terrified. Behind him, a bitterly sobbing but absolutely livid Bianchi was taking a bundle of ruined linens to her lover to burn in a bonfire he’d started out back. Thankfully for all involved, the evil that had done this was now gone, taken into custody by allies and in too hidden a location for anyone who loved Tsuna to find.

Distantly, he wondered if housing even a smidge of Tsuna’s flame so often was enough to give him a hint of that superhuman intuition too. Because, for a long time now, a single image from a single nightmare had plagued him, and this was it.

Ryohei had had a dream that a broken Tsuna was crying.

Tsuna had had a dream that the broken world was crying.

Neither ever awoke, because those were, unfortunately, unchangeable facts.

.

Chapter Text

Dino was on his way towards the Assembly Hall after dropping by his guest suite to change his clothes. Whilst keeping an eye on Fuuta earlier he’d stumbled backwards into a large potted plant and ended up having to leave him with Ivan. Of course, he was further delayed when Romario had to take a call to monitor their Family and thus left the set of rooms without him. Naturally, he’d then gotten unbelievably lost. He was finally back in a part of the mansion he recognized though, so, with a skip to his step he rounded a corner and almost rammed right into a trio of men.

“Watch it, brat!” A buff man with chocolate brown eyes and long, red hair tied up in a man-bun screamed in offense, before his mind caught up with his eyes and he reeled back, stammering. “D-Don Cavallone! A million apologies…!”

Dino eyed the two others cowering behind the tallest, a lean but mousey-faced raven with hazel eyes and a straw blond with pale green eyes, and nodded in a polite but curt fashion.

“No harm done, Signori,” He returned calmly. Something about them as they made their excuses and slipped pass, rounding the corner behind him, tugged at him. He may not have the lauded Vongola intuition, but even a blind man could see they were up to no good.

He followed them stealthily for almost ten minutes as they expertly maneuvered through the labyrinth of a home, observing as they went out a side entrance to meet up with a familiar, distinctively tiny blond man whose name came to him immediately.

‘Canarina…! That traitor!’ He exclaimed in horror mentally. ‘This is bad! I gotta tell, Tsuna!’

But first he had to find Romario and the binder with profiles on all the Dons of the Assembly so that he knew who else he would be accusing.

.

When Timoteo returned to his office after dismissing the gathered Dons for an impromptu recess, he found Tsunayoshi on the couch on the opposite side from the Vongola Throne.

His Storm seated to his right, burnt sienna colored, electric cigarette drooping as he nonchalantly read something on his phone. He’d paused the moment the door opened, adjusting his proximity to Sky (or lack thereof) and pushed his also burnt sienna glasses back up the bridge of his nose. The Rain on Tsunayoshi’s left, casually tossing up and catching a worn, sunset orange softball, didn’t even blink, playing dumb even as his eyes flashed and he subtly traded the homemade symbol of his boss for a microhammer with some expert sleight of hand Timoteo blamed on Reborn. The Ranking Prince was squeezed between the Sky and his swordsman, absentmindedly tracing the distinctive characters embroidered on the royal blue cloth sheath of Shigure Kintoki in that same, soft sunset orange. As he moved, so did his trademark scarf, revealing a golden, tuna-shaped brooch pinning the length of knitted wool to the collar of his shirt. The Sun draped his arms about Tsunayoshi’s shoulders, both the neon orange tape holding the bandages wrapped around his hands and wrist in place, and the gold watch dotted with small, brilliant orange zircon marking the hours, catching the sunlight. Actually, it was much like the peach, Imperial topaz stoppers the female Mist wore; he noted that it matched the pair her alter ego had worn in upper cartilage piercings earlier, though his was of the darkest part of Imperial Flame topaz. Unperturbed by the entrance of him and his guardians, she merely nodded, humming in response to something the giggling persons on the other end of her video call had just said. She was perched on the right arm of the plush antique, the heels of her boots propped on the edge of the cushion near the smoker’s knees. She casually fingered the edge of her skirt above the glinting knife that made up the head of her Master’s trident from its place on the peach lace-trimmed, black leather garter belt on her right thigh.  On the adjacent wall, beside the windows, the Cloud rested with his back to the upper left corner of the room, and his angular eyes leered at Timoteo’s heir. The littlest of the Bovino Famiglia, the young Lightning, was seated on Tsunayoshi’s right knee, swinging his legs and singing softly to himself as Reborn stood on Tsunayoshi’s free thigh, tiny body unusually relaxed – his posture not so erect, his guard somewhat lowered. Leon, the Arcobaleno’s preferred defense, was snoozing on his hat with an orange ribbon tied as a ridiculously bouncy bow around his neck. A pair of soft orange, diamond cufflinks glittered from where it peaked out under the wrists of his master’s tailored black jacket.

If he was confused by their collectively calm but alert state, (a marked difference from when they were last here, all uneasy and trigger haired, and leagues away from when they first came, rigidly tense and mistrustful), his doubts flew out the window as he took a step forwards and a dense dome of Sky flames appeared out of thin air. Flanked as always by Coyote and Schnitten at the moment the originally invisible monstrosity of flame unveiled itself and seemed to throb warningly in their direction, he felt their hackles rise and was unsurprised to find himself abruptly tucked behind them. Ordinarily, it would be humiliating to have them visibly imply that he was in any way vulnerable, or in need of their protection, (not to mention, that their very presence was supposed to be a deterrent, so, to make them actually, instinctively move was rather impressive especially even though they could and had defended him from other parts of the property from unforeseen threats previously), but the now gargantuan Fiamma pressure had been utterly undetectable up to a fraction of a second before it was suddenly there.

The fact that his heir was capable of such an ability and had flawlessly executed it here, in his own home, in his own office, most likely with his own flames was quite frankly stunning.

-and dangerous.

Nevertheless, this reaction to his minor mischief with the whole Rokudo Mukuro matter was simply too precious to dislike.

“Tsunayoshi,” he called out fondly, gaze tender.

It was as if he’d fired a bullet into the air, because all the adolescents froze at the sound of his voice, turning to survey him out of flame suffused eyes.

Amber eyes narrowed with trepidation rose to meet his dead-on, and Timoteo realized that this move, the revelation of this technique, something that otherwise might be misconstrued as the cub encroaching on his territory, was actually a test.

As to what his young heir was testing, Timoteo was uncertain.

Perhaps the limits of his patience? His tolerance? Had he wanted to see how he would react? If he would attack?

Maybe it was his senses? Or his stamina?

Whatever it was, if Tsunayoshi was expecting some sort of aggressive reaction, physical or otherwise, he was going to be sourly disappointed.

“Can you come out here, please?” He politely asked. It seemed like a request, was even phrased like one, but, naturally, considering his position and the way his own guardians had framed him, it was obviously anything but.

So, no. Not an aggressive reaction, but a cautious one. Because if Sawada Tsunayoshi had just really harmonized his own flames to hide something this massive, Reborn had obviously been remiss in his reports.

Then again, friend or no, not once had Reborn accepted his overtures to be claimed, housed really, under him. Reborn had never once accepted a claiming gift, not even when Timoteo had actively been trying to seduce him into his ranks. His pursuit had only gartered amusement, at first, and later, an embarrassing, rather pointed and very firm reminder that Reborn’s sole sky had died long ago. Their friendship had actually deepened once he respected that and correspondingly abated his attempts to woo the freelance hitman.

A year later, when he hadn’t even joked about it in months, Reborn officially allied himself with the Vongola.

But here was the Arcobaleno now, wearing his heir’s gifts. He was smirking softly at the younger’s trepidation, fondly raising a brow when Tsunayoshi set the Bovino boy in Gokudera Hayato’s lap with a subtle pout. In an absolutely hilarious twist, the compact hitman made no fuss as he was scooped up into the adolescent’s arms like a real baby, and cradled lovingly as Tsunayoshi made his way over to Timoteo.

Timoteo, who would never have never imagined in his wildest daydreams to treat him like that, who would have given him impressive freedoms and powerful independence from the Famiglia in exchange for his consent to wear even just one of his various multimillion-dollar presents.

That man had lost out to a boy that refused to touch the monthly, quarter-million euros allowance sent in an account prepared for him, or live in the fully furnished and exquisitely decorated, duplex penthouse in Tokyo bought in his name. The boy who had started working a month after recovering from the Ring Battles to house a psychopath imprisoned in Vendicare, and then to buy his claiming conquests’ gifts with the fruits of his labour.

…as if he hadn’t already shed blood, sweat, and tears for the Vongola Empire.

Unbidden came the memory of Tsunayoshi quietly declaring at his Coming of Age last week when Timoteo had inquired, that he refused to use the fruits of the Ninth’s loyal family’s devotion unless he absolutely had to. What’s more, definitely not for ‘something this important’ – it would stay with Timoteo for the rest of his life.

“I had to earn it with my own two hands, just like I’ve decided to trade my insignificant chance of freedom for my…for Mukuro’s. If he can breathe for himself again in a world in which I can protect him, everything will be worth it.”

How surprising, how sweet, and yet, how sad.

Firstly, it surprised him that Tsunayoshi knew the truth. The rings could not be forced, only accepted, by anyone. Further, only Primo’s spirit, could accept, or reject, any one applicant.

Secondly, it was just like that boy to make such a sacrifice.

Thirdly, the lad had no idea his worth. Just recalling the intensity of that Primo-born Sky Flame, so pure, so…bright, was enough to give him, another Sky (and a Vongola one at that), shivers. If it meant soaking what little was left of his soul in blood, committing unforgivable sins and cursing his guardians to hell with him, it would be a reasonable price.

No, it would be a steal, to leave his life’s work in those praying hands. To have that child martyr himself for his mother’s cause. Octavo would be angry with him when they reunited in the Sky Space of the Vongola Sky Ring, but she would understand. Existing alongside Primo himself, she would be sure to understand. Feeling the soft, coaxing pulse of that which surpassed the top tier Triple S, the Sovereign-Level, and became Omniscient, O-Grade Sky Flames - drawing her ever closer right from the very source of this curse, she couldn’t deny understanding his motivations. There was rhyme and reason to everything he had decided to do. And she…they would all see why.

Why he’d sent the strongest Sun to ignite Sawada Tsunayoshi.

Why he’d sent the untamable, lonely Mist to incite him.

Why he and his guardians had released Xanxus to refine him.

The Cervello supervised it all, and it still thrilled him to recall the blast of flames that had grounded the Gola Mosca he’d permitted himself to be trapped in just over two years ago.

So, no matter what, he would obtain it, the Omne. He swore that he would capture the captivator.

Even if it had meant kidnapping and conditioning him, even if they had to cut off his every escape, and do unspeakable things to convince him, Timoteo would order it without hesitation.

Had ordered it without hesitation.

Tsunayoshi paused just ahead of the border created by the brunet’s own barrier, wide chocolate eyes wary, as if he had read his elder’s unforgivable thoughts.

…it wouldn’t surprise Timoteo if, even with the renewed seal in place, the child’s Ultimate Intuition had revealed the intentions hiding behind the (covetous) tender smile on his lips. But whether he had or not, when Timoteo offered his hand, his heir closed his eyes in mute acceptance and slipped his own, already worn and scarred hand into his as he crossed over into the circle of men. Reborn seemed to be the only one in this room that had sensed the odd moment, the minute tenseness before Tsunayoshi had willingly submitted to his fate without further fuss. Had been the hitman’s ultra-attuned senses, he wondered as he guided Tsuna to the seat of his demise. Or was it the fact that he was pressed up against his ward’s chest that gave it away?

Had that gentle lion’s heart stuttered?

Had that soothing maiden’s breath frozen?

In pained him to wonder, in a way that he hadn’t since before his first kill, to guess at his victim’s silently borne agony. He almost wanted to hear Tsunayoshi scream at him, to see him rage like Xanxus.

Like Federico wanted to.

Like Massimo stifled every single day.

Like Enrico never had the courage to even contemplate.

As a father, and fellow monster, Timoteo understood Iemitsu’s distance more in the moment he placed his filthy hands on Tsunayoshi’s little shoulders and pushed him down into his place in front of his regretful but resolute desk, than ever before.

.

Watching the strange scene through Chrome’s curious eye, Mukuro Rokudo mentally pulled away from his conduit, uncertain and conflicted for reasons he couldn’t comprehend.

.

“I see that your lip’s been healed,” Timoteo commented innocently, warm honey-coloured eyes twinkling and hands elegantly clasped atop his desk. Then, almost to himself, he wondered aloud, “Was it Reborn or your young Sun?”

Strangely, Tsunayoshi reacted with horror.

“Reborn’s too small right now for those things!” He nearly screeched, rosily flushed.

That gave the Ninth Generation pause.

And Tsunayoshi, once he realized what he had inadvertently revealed, averted his molten eyes from his elder’s, cheekbones temptingly scarlet.

Timoteo chuckled.

“You needn’t worry, young man,” The Ninth soothed, expression tender and amused. “I don’t religiously subscribe to the Vindice’s Sky Scroll and its oppressive limitation of the bond between a Sky and its Elements.”

The adolescent relaxed minutely, heaving a great sigh of relief.

“However,” continued the wizened Don, causing Tsuna to tense abruptly.

He raised his doe eyes to survey Nono through his lashes timidly. The other’s crystalline gaze bore into Tsuna as he warned him. And Tsuna listened attentively because he knew that Timoteo was speaking from experience. Heart-shattering, callous experience…

There was a reason that Ganauche III was so much younger than the others, it was because he was actually Nono’s second Lightning Guardian.

Nono’s voice was heavy with the weight of a lifetime’s worth of frustrated longing, painful memories, and the ever-present struggle to resist as he explained, “You need to recognize the influence a Sky can have on the lives of those around them.”

Tsuna nodded firmly, empathetic knowing glowing in his eyes.

It wasn’t enough for Timoteo though. So, what if he knew? It was no great secret. In penance for perhaps one of his most monumental sins, he’d never attempted to hide it. The question was whether or not Tsunayoshi truly comprehended the weight of the responsibility heaped upon his slender shoulders.

“You need to grasp what we are capable of doing to them,” Timoteo emphasized, looking for all the world decades older. In that instance, Tsuna got a flash of insight into Timoteo’s mind: a single image of a stocky, auburn-haired man with eerily familiar blue eyes. Both his chiseled features and roguish grin reminded the teenager of the man’s successor.

It could be no-one but Francisco Sachertorte, the first Lightning Guardian to the Ninth boss of the Vongola Famiglia.

Oddly, he reminded Tsuna of someone…but who?

In a gesture of solidarity, Nono’s Rain placed a comforting had on his left shoulder, and the Ninth unconsciously reached up to lay his own over it in thanks. “We can rewrite their very souls to our taste if ever we so wished. Worse, you wouldn’t even have to do it consciously. If you have even the smallest wish that they would yield, or change, or want…it could be disastrous. If you’re not careful, Tsunayoshi…well, I doubt I need to warn you that even if I don’t believe in punishing you for a few harmless kisses or youthful experimentation that I will still ask you to curb your desires whilst they grow.”

His message was clear. Restrain yourself and let them blossom as they would without your interference, or twist their very beings and singular, irreplaceable lives until revolves about you and only you.

He was the youngest of any recorded sky including Giotto Taru de Vongola himself, to have reached that level of Fiamma maturity. Further, Reborn had told him that his growth under the seal was unprecedented, that, even his very survival up until the hitman’s arrival was astonishing. The fact that he had escaped any permanent damage was nothing short of a miracle to all in the know. Consequently, they had been justifiably hesitant of applying another such seal, for there had been no way of knowing the consequences. He could have been fine, or he could have ended up a vegetable. Even mental retardation or ending up brain-dead had been a possibility – though admittedly improbable by Verde’s estimations.

From what Tsuna had learnt through Reborn, when Vongola Sesto, Simora di Vongole, (who was Nono’s great grandfather), had developed the Catharsis Cage Seal, he had done it to protect his Flame-neutral wife from his heir during her pregnancy. Up until that point, if had been a well-known secret that no non-sky Vongola bride survived a sky-sired pregnancy intact. Sky brides, though rare, existed, and were little worse for wear with no permanent damage except a temporarily disturbed cycle due to flame depletion. They were the elite strongest, effortlessly harmonizing theirs and the little one’s flames. Trained ones did it the moment they sensed the first spark created within the fetus’ burgeoning Fiamma core, sparing themselves of the discomfort of first Fiamma ignition surprising them. The untrained didn’t have that finesse, but still naturally managed to do the same at the moment of the Initial Ignition anyway. However, the non-sky wives…they always had trouble with varying degrees. The ones with trained flames came through with damaged uterus, having difficulty to conceive thereafter. Those with latent flames became absolutely infertile in the aftermath. As for those that were Flame-neutral?

They died.

Fabio, the Vongola Settimo’s weakened flames had been implied to be the results of the earliest form of that type of seal, but, considering his successful reign, the Vongola bosses had simply refined the convenient skill and continued using versions of it up to this day. It was risky and, if up to Tsuna, would have been outlawed the moment the ramifications of the practice were realized. But it was only ever done in desperation, to prevent tragedies like the Lundi Létal that had befallen a now abandoned village to the north of the original Death Mountain from happening. The mafia had learnt a grave lesson that day, after the Procione Family had kidnapped an infant Quinto, and found both themselves and the entirety of the village where their base was immolated in their sole attempt to harness his flames. The mark Quinto bore had been as a result the wife of the leader of the kidnappers’ broch falling on to his forehead as she burned alive, thus branding him.

It had been Tsuna himself, in that ultra-aware state of being, that had suggested the Arcobaleno attempt the very same bloodline seal that Giotto had used to pass the infamous Vongola Intuition down the Vertical Time Axel through the generations to his descendants.

The Vongola Fiamma Prism was no joke though and hadn’t been performed more than once before, at the aforementioned occasion. Luckily, Giotto had told him how he’d done it, and Ultimate Intuition gave him the knowledge necessary to decipher how to custom tailor it for his needs.

He could still recall the comforting feel of the Arcobaleno spring, the rightness of floating upon its waters.

He could stay there forever, far away from pain, confusion, and frustrated love.

As it was, there was no rest for the weary, and Tsuna had to withstand his absentee father calling him and lecturing to him. It seemed as if they only spoke when there was something mafia-related pending, but he had to take the scolding disguised as warnings if he didn’t want to upset and therefore end up alienated by his own mother. So, uninhibited, Iemitsu was free to run his mouth and fill Tsuna’s young mind with his hearsay horror stories about the gravity of a sky and its elements. The truth was that Iemitsu suspected the worst already, but hadn’t found a way to voice his disapproval without sounding mistrustful, paranoid and cruel.

Tsuna himself didn’t think he was capable of that, but, unfortunately, though he knew that in his heart all he wanted was their happiness, he knew that merely staying platonically at his side soon wouldn’t be enough for them. Just take Ryohei, for example. Since the white-haired boy’s momentary loss of control on the night he was blest, the other was overly cautious of him. The usually rambunctious, energetic young man had grown aware of their budding relationship, had opened his eyes to the desperately crying heart aching to be filled.

Tsuna’s love was a far greedier and more selfish thing than they could ever know or truly understand. His soul was nothing in exchange. If it would spare them pain, bring them happiness, see them loved and cherished like the treasures that each and every one of them was… And if he could have them close, in exchange? Even if for just a short time? If he could keep them close…

He knew all too well what he was all too capable of. He dreamed of it at night. Imagined it in his waking hours. Every intoxicating second of every precious day of these three, perfect years his thundering desires had co-existed alongside the howling havoc of man’s inhumanity. All this time, steadily more and more, he’d wanted to reach out and drag them back into his arms and away from the cold, cruel world. His feelings were far from just possessive. Were they even sexual? Sure, he wanted to worship them physically, to take care of them, shelter them, but certainly, that couldn’t be considered romantic.

He was so messed up.

On the other end of his insane spectrum of adoration, he just wanted to watch them live normal lives. That couldn’t be normal for someone in love! But, that’s how it was. He wanted to see them smile. More than anything else, if he could be of some use to them, and stand by their side and, if it wasn’t too much to ask… could they love him? He knew he wasn’t really worth it; they didn’t deserve to have been introduced to his dangerous and awful life. They’d changed his dismal existence filled with suffering, and taught him what love and trust could be like. Life didn’t have to hurt, he’d discovered. It was only that, safe having come to know them, he was rather unlucky. But if only for the experience of being prized, of being considered precious…well, it was well worth the daunting price he would have to pay in the future. In this strange world of baby hitmen, flaming people, and aliens he wanted to feel these remarkable people love him for what little time he had left.

He would silently bury his dream of wanting to enfold them in the safety of his flames forever and be reasonable. He could enjoy it, of course. But was that worth the risk of ruining them for others forever?

-so no, he couldn’t.

He mustn’t.

If he let himself want, if he let himself need-

…he’d never forgive himself for ruining the sanctity of their trust more than what he has had no choice but to do. And that was for the sake of things greater than even them. So that they could live. So that they could grow. Giotto had been clear, and his Ultimate Intuition had made things absolutely crystal in the short time that it had been fully unleashed before the Arcobaleno and the Ninth restrained it with a thick seal. It had made no difference though. In the end, even if he could no longer divine the very motion of a soul on the opposite side of the planet, he’d had enough time with the source of all this: Giotto. The pure, undiluted state of the other’s flames had spoken for itself; his words were that of the very universe’s judgment. And so, he had dared to hope for the best as he prepared for the worse. When he was finally gone, they could leave the bloodied Mafia behind. They could move on, find a special someone, have a family, be loved. Of course, Tsuna wished to give all of that to them personally, because the thought of any of them with people not a part of their little circle made the very nasty, desperately possessive side of him throb in seething jealousy.

What’s worse, he had their unanimous, unconditional consent to do as he pleased. If he wanted, they’d let him do the unspeakable and bind their souls to his for all eternity. They wouldn’t even blink at such a request. Especially Gokudera and Mukuro. The former would allow Tsuna anything, and the latter wanted Tsuna in any way he would allow. And let’s not even get started on the beast that was Hibari. He would find it natural, as if it was as forgone a conclusion that he could mark and maim and take Tsunayoshi as his own, as Tsuna could – should, he’d say, do the same. The lunatic that was Takeshi had already surmised that it was a possible eventuality, and had confessed to Tsuna that bathing himself in bloody games of life and death was an excellent price for having the opportunity to finally force Tsuna to accept control of the life he’d saved from crushing loneliness. Ryohei was in no uncertain terms a manic, and his attempts to hold back from what he so clearly wanted was both endearing and heartbreaking. The rich flavour of raw desire Tsuna could taste through his flames drove the younger mad with frustrated lust. Oh, how he wanted to give in, to have part of his insatiable thirst for them quenched. Such behavior was counterproductive, so he had to be ever careful when he was with Ryohei. Chrome was another nut – even if she mostly seemed like the only other rational-minded person amongst Tsuna’s Guardians. However, that was a total lie, and her Mist-attribute was the reason Tsuna often forget how crazy she really was. She lacked a very basic level of common sense that Tsuna had long realized was characteristic of the Mafia, and sadly, it was incurable. She’d hand her soul over on a silver platter if she so much as thought that he’d implied that he wanted it.

People go and on about skies, but every decent sky knows the truth.

The Elements are the most marvelous (and outrageous) gifts destiny could ever offer.

Smiling painfully, Tsunayoshi made sure to reassure the Ninth.

“Don’t worry, Grandpa,” he murmured awkwardly, with a dry tone and wry expression. “I got it.”

He couldn’t afford to slip up.

Since the night when Giotto had unlocked his Ultimate Intuition, he’d known very well where this would all lead. He’d known why things had happened as they did. He’d known how they’d develop. He’d known just how far they’d all go for him.

And their beautiful devotion wounded him when he thought of his necessary plans.

If they had been anything be absolutely necessary-

…but, no.

He couldn’t.

If he loved them, he couldn’t love them.

.

It was a rare opportunity for Tsuna, training directly with the Ninth, so Dino felt immediate remorse when he interrupted. Seeing as it was important and that he’d been (admittedly) pretty excited to see such a spectacle, however, he’d unthinkingly thrown open the doors to the legendary Vongola subterranean Sky training room without warning.

Big mistake.

There was a roar of, “Colpo Di Spada Iridescente,” as the Ninth Vongola Boss’ Guardians instinctively moved to protect him from the intruder. Dino gapped, stunned, unable to process what was happening even as a burst of brilliant light flooded his vision. From its center, a rainbow-coloured blade of flame a meter wide came charging at him full speed, but the younger Boss hadn’t expected retaliation, as the ever-calm sentinels were so remarkably observant and in control that they’d never erred within the Cavallone’s lifetime – or at least not in his presence. Subsequently, he found himself rooted to the spot, facing down death. He idly wondered what had them so keyed up, so…on edge that they would instinctively attack another friendly Sky. Thankfully though, in his instant of confused paralysis, the situation took another change.

“Zero Point Breakthrough: Custom, Trinisette Overflow!”

Tsuna had intervened.

Eyes amber again, stance familiar and strong, and flame pulsing on his forehead, he’d crossed the vast, underground chamber in less than a second and braced himself to accept six of the seven types of flame with the skill he’d developed to spare the unwitting victims of his trigger-haired Guardians an untimely demise.

Who would have thought that the experienced Ninth Generation could be just as jumpy as the immature Tenth?

Even so the Ninth Guardians weren’t his rambunctious friends. Each of their flames was a time-tested, well- established and attuned force crafted to seek out weaknesses and conquer under any circumstances. Persistent apart, and invincible united, they were neigh impossible for Tsuna to absorb as he was now. To begin with, Dino was asking himself who thought it would be a good idea for the two powerhouses of the Vongola Famiglia to trash it out so soon after that rumored battle of wills that Dino had (unfortunately) missed. Tsuna had to be tired, the Ninth had to be at least a little weary, and both sets of Guardians had to be worked up from all that stimulation. Plus, hadn’t Tsuna manually flown everyone to Italy before that? Sure, skies should have unwavering strength of will, and Reborn was always complaining that Tsuna needed to improve on his stamina, but wasn’t this going too far? The blond stepped forward worriedly as his baby brother visibly shook with effort, but Tsuna glanced back with a rather piercing glare, telling him without words to stay put even as he was obviously being overwhelmed -probably by the sheer amount of Flame the attack had unleashed. What was sad was that it had been hastily cut off when the aforementioned men realized what had happened.

The fact that the incomplete technique could make him shake so said a lot.

Tsuna was exhausted.

Just when Dino was beginning to fear for Tsuna’s safety, the other’s own Guardians had finally all gotten close enough to assist him.

“Scudo A Spirale Iridescente!” They called in unison.

A small blaze of their flame appeared atop each of their rings. At that point, they turned their fists all towards a focal point in front of their Boss. The embodiment of their wills blasted out from those most sacred objects simultaneously and converged in a swirl of power that, at first, merely slowed the river of flame from reaching the youngest sky present. Then, in a sudden flicker, in expanded until it was as almost twice as tall as Tsuna, and just as wide all the way around.

The perfect circle of whirling flame stopped, and with a uniformed jerk of their hands forward, redirected the attack from whence it came. Where, it was cleanly reflected towards one of the anti-Fiamma coated walls of the training room by a near-identical shield of double its size.

A pregnant silence descended in wake of all that action.

“Did they just perform-” Ganauche III began, stunned.

“Your first viable shielding technique?” Reborn chirped smugly as he bounded up to the younger Skies. “What better than that to block your first, matching collective attack?”

Casually, he swung the Leon Ten Pound Hammer at his empty-headed former student in punishment.

It caught him on his right side and the blond howled, stumbling back into the arms of a befuddled Romario, who had just arrived to the peculiar sight of the two current generations of the Vongola Famiglia facing off against one another with the same shield in different sizes.

Tsuna’s knees took that moment to give out from under him, and Chrome immediately carried seven-year-old Lambo to keep him from getting in the way.

“Tsuna-Nii!” He cried in worry, struggling against her and reaching out to him.

“I’m alright, Lambo,” He comforted weakly, stumbling to his feet. On his way up he reassuringly caressed the back of Reborn’s cheek, accepting Yamamoto’s proffered elbow gratefully afterwards. He snuggled into his shoulder, sleep calling to him as the Rain soothed him.

Onii-san, ever possessive of the slight form, broke formation to catch him up into his arms against his token protests -all muffled against Ryohei’s pectorals. Unable to resist, Tsuna all but affixed his trembling palm to the other’s raging heartbeat and felt himself bolstered by its unrelenting strength.

Gokudera huffed, glaring at them all as the technique vanished and left them vulnerable to attack. True, the attack in question had been precipitated by Dino Cavallone’s intrusion, and only affected Tsuna because the brunet literally inserted himself into the middle of things, but it would be a long time until the Storm could let his guard down around Timoteo di Vongola’s hounds. Nono bypassed Coyote’s hovering, evaded Schnitten’s grasping arms, and took a step as to draw closer in concern, but Hibari readily put him off of such an action by snarling in his direction before taking up a full-frontal defensive position ahead of the musclehead cradling their Sky. This earned a quirked brow from Visconti as he blocked Timoteo from view with his own body. Croquant did indeed snort this time, in utter amusement as Brow Nie sighed in exasperation.

“What a day,” he drawled as he leaned his back onto the nearby wall eyes nonchalantly tracing the lines of subtle strain his trained orbs could make out through Timoteo’s jacket. Mentally he noted that the other could use a massage, and tugged his phone out of his trouser pocket. He was about to send a text to their on-site masseuse when a curious Ganauche wandered back to peak at him.

“I could do it,” he offered, peering down at the screen.

“Don’t you have paperwork?” The Sun groused. “I don’t remember seeing any report on your latest mission on Teo’s desk earlier.”

“I’ll do it tonight!” He countered with a pout that was totally ridiculous on the face of a man his age.

“Be honest: you just want an excuse to feel him up,” Junior commented with a smirk.

“Of course not!” Ganauche objected with a furrowed brow and shamefully pink cheeks. “I just don’t want him to pull something, again.”

“Keep it down, you fool,” Coyote admonished absently. He opened his arms in welcoming as Timoteo, being so much shorter, drew oh so very close in order to pluck his sunglasses off the top of his head and brush the debris from their recent bout of training out of his pale blond hair. Visconti passed Teo’s scepter back when he was done, but after that little scare Bouche, being as clingy as Mists were known to be, snagged the wizened Sky by the jacket sleeve in an oddly demure gesture and tugged him closer all while he continued detailing his suggested new course of action for this afternoon’s showdown. Coyote’s right eye twitched at the inappropriate overture, but he was jittery too and took the opportunity now that Timoteo was pinned to pull out his handy dandy glucose meter to check the other’s blood sugar levels. When Brabanter eyed him knowingly, he averted his gaze moodily.

Timoteo was pre-diabetic thanks to all those sweets they had let him indulge in when they were younger; he couldn’t be blamed for being cautious!

While most of the Ninth Generation coalesced into a crude circle around their Sky to discuss what this latest upset meant for the evening’s plans, Reborn tried to restrain his irritation at his own impotence. Unaware of the tiny orbs of burning envy following his every move, Ryohei did what Reborn only wished could, effortlessly embracing Tsuna to his chest bridal-style as he slipped out into the hall to find a dozing Shamal and get him to actually do his job.

Then, the Arcobaleno remembered whose fault this all was, and decided to take out at least a fraction of his wrath on the perpetrator.

Dino choked on a groan when the hammer made a reappearance and aimed for his gut.

“Reborn…!” came the firm reproach from Tsuna in the hallway.

Figures not even exhaustion would stop that mother hen.

Tsking with disappointment, Reborn let his evilly twinkling eyes and malicious intent speak for him.

“Tsuna won’t always be around to protect you…” It said.

Dino shuddered with fright, scrambling to his feet and over to a grumbling Shamal to avoid his diabolical gaze.

“H-Hey, baby Bro,” He stuttered sheepishly, kneeling beside the bench Shamal had had the boxer lay the younger Sky.

“Dino-Nii,” he chimed happily, extending arms asking for hugs.

Automatically, he embraced the smaller form. A tender place inside him ached at the stress he could feel throbbing in those slim muscled-limbs.

Poor Tsuna, he wondered if anyone had bothered to warn him that being a Don meant perpetual fatigue. Too bad he couldn’t give him a break even now…

“Tsuna,” He whispered, sheltering his quaking, anxious adoptive sibling as the events of the day fought to unman him then and there. “Hang on, Tsuna; it’s not over yet.”

“That was way too close,” Tsuna breathed in a halting exhale. “Dino-Nii you imbecille.”

He felt his heart break at that, and the silent sob that shook Tsuna as he forced himself to go on only made him feel guiltier.

 “I know, I know,” he relented. “I’m an idiot. But we don’t have time for any of that.”

Those chocolate brown eyes were confused when he pulled away, and Dino gulped back the dread that told him that this may be too much for one day.

“Pollame, Lumaca, Donnola, and Canarina are going to betray you,” He revealed. He had made his way down here originally to alert Tsuna what he’d stumbled upon.

“I overheard them,” he declared seriously. “I don’t know what they plan on doing but-”

“Don’t worry,” Tsuna cut him off softly with a sad smile. “The Canarina Family are my spies; they already warned me.”

‘Well, good.’ He thought, nodding to himself.

“So, what’s your plan?” He asked, taking out his cell to make whatever preparations the Sawada child needed.

“We do nothing,” Tsuna answered succinctly as Trident Shamal dropped beside Dino to take the successor’s pulse.

“Oh,” the blond retorted, dumbfounded. “Is that all…?”

“We apologize for the interruption, Decimo, Don Cavallone, but it’s time to return to the Assembly Hall,” the Ninth’s infamously capable Storm and Right-Hand Man said with a respectful bow. Romario himself appeared flustered to have the older man taking over his duties with such deference and finesse, and Coyote seemed to struggle momentarily before his reverence (and his scowl) deepened. Dino sputtered.

“On behalf of the Ninth Vongola Generation, Don Cavallone, I would like to express my most humble and grievous apologies for our unprovoked attack on your person.”

His own Right-Hand stiffened tellingly at this and Dino ignored his penetrating stare as he hastily, awkwardly rebuffed the unnecessary courtesy.

“It quite alright, Signore Nougat,” Dino blubbered uselessly as he stood. He righted his composure rapidly under his ex-tutor’s fiery glare and turned on the charm. “You were completely in the right to defend your Sky. Furthermore, I am the one who should be apologizing for my reckless behavior.”

Stiffly, the tremendously turbulent Storm breathed a sigh through his nose and quieted, nodding his acceptance a moment later.

Then, Tsuna said:

“Isn’t that great, Dino-Nii? You an Uncle Coyote made up!”

“Oops,” muttered Shamal belatedly. “I may have given him too much Rain-Concentrate intravenously. Sasagawa, help me out for a second here, would ya?”

Still, explanation or no, Coyote gapped at Tsuna’s gall, and both Ganauche and Lambo giggled.

When their respective Storms rounded on them to glare intensely, Schnitten and Yamamoto had to step in to relax the tension, hilariously in sync.

“Why don’t you breathe, Gatto,” counseled the older. “You’ll give yourself another ulcer at this rate.”

“Woah…breathe, alright?” the younger advised. “You’ll give yourself a tummy ache if you keep getting so worked up, ‘Dera.”

“You needn’t remind me so many times, Cane!” Coyote hissed in an incinerating growl as Hayato yelled, “I don’t need you to tell me that, Baseball-Idiot!”

In the silence that followed that exchange, neither Tsunayoshi or Timoteo could stop their infectious peals of laughter.

.

There was no trace of laughter an hour later in the Skylit Hall that the Vongola Alliance was congregated in.

“I object!” Dino Cavallone reiterated for a record-breaking twentieth time.

The Alliance’s court secretary rolled his eyes as he wrote it down yet again.

“We are aware, Don Cavallone,” drawled Don Gaston feebly in irritation.

“But it no longer matters, now does it?” Don Aguila groused.

“No,” concurred Don Vongola. “We have already voted and each and every one of your objections was noted…in detail.”

The blond frowned deeply, whipping his eyes sorrowfully over to his adoptive brother.

But Tsuna would not meet his gaze.

“So, the ayes have it?” A Cervello mediator questioned in a matter of fact tone as she perused the data her two assistants had just finished tabulating held out for her to read at her leisure.

They nodded in unison, and the head of the trio took the results from them. She crossed from center stage to the seat of Vongola Nono, and, bowing, offered him both the raw and analyzed information.

Without batting an eyelash or even giving it a cursory glance, he passed it to his Right-Hand Man.

Coyote gave the ‘okay’ with a rather pointed look, and so Timoteo gestured for the proceedings to continue with a flicker of his wrist.

The Cervello triad spoke softly between themselves. Then one slipped out with the penultima draft of the contract between the future Decimo and the Alliance to construct and print the preliminary version of the official document. Visconti excused himself to summon Vongola’s team of lawyers, and Bouche confirmed the sleeping arrangements of the Decimo Generation for tonight with the Head of Housekeeping since the concrete papers would actually be signed in the next day.

Ganauche, realizing how pale and shaky Tsunayoshi seemed even while sitting in the upper left-hand corner of the room behind them with his friends, and called for hot chocolate from the kitchens. There were refreshments in the back of the auditorium of course (at the corner to their right), but the kid was rhythmically stroking his left hand over his innocently napping Lightning’s back over the black jacket his Cloud had offered him to cover the seven-year-old in his arms. He was subtly trying to self-soothe, the distant look in his now amber eyes speaking eloquently to someone that knew more about him of his state of mind. He was only sixteen years old for god’s sake!

Brow Nie picked up on his internal conflict, and waved Schnitten over to their family’s bleeding heart, before returning to his task of scheduling the Vongola construction crew assigned to the headquarters to fix to the broken skylight. The maids had already cleared the fragments of glass away, maintenance had nailed wooden planks over the gaping hole, and finally security had draped a net of ultra-responsive sensors over the whole thing and tacked on a dozen extra cameras just to be safe. Still, they could have that in the same state for long; by noon tomorrow, it needed to be fixed.

Just in time for the historical ceremony that began after lunch.

Brabanter laid a calming palm on the frustrated Lightning’s fist and waited until it unclenched under the coaxing influence of his flames.

They all knew the terms weren’t utterly unreasonable, even Tsuna himself, because Timoteo had firmly vetoed most of the audacious suggestions until the Alliance had quelled and began to speak sensibly. They were all things that he would have been expected to do anyway, only the scandal earlier had come back to bite him in the ass as it had made the Alliance justifiably suspicious of this generation’s adherence to the Sky Scroll. From what they’d understood from Reborn’s reports, Tsunayoshi had never forced his companions to yield to convention in public, all too enamored of their attention and weak to their endearing eccentricities. It was only a matter of time until the tragically homophobic mafia rebelled against the idea that their heteronormative sacraments might be violated. And so, with no rational way to express those objections without revealing far too much, the young Sky had consented with a numb nod. Behind him his guardians were just barely managing to restrain themselves from expressing their sheer outrage. Their visible struggle had several bosses smirking and jeering from their places in the encirclement of desks.

When the doors to the meeting room reopened, all heads swiveled to see a pair of Cervello enter. The older, clad in a lab coat and holding a first aid kit, led the way confidently as a younger in scrubs with a tray followed slowly and carefully behind. Once they’d bowed to Nono, the pink-haired girl with a youthful pixie cut put the items upon a podium erected in the middle of the ring and stood back to assist her senior. Now there lay was a stack of papers in the Alliance’s distinctive stationary, two ink wells (one large, the other laughably small) and a pair of elaborate quills, a gold hilted, crystal dagger, and flame-capturing salve for Fiamma signatures on the tall mahogany table.

Reborn stepped forward then. He motioned to Chrome to take ahold of Lambo, and Takeshi to reel in the extremely angry Ryohei with one heavily flame-suffused hold and Hibari (murderous expression and all) with the other. Hayato stood fluidly, offering a hand to his beloved Sky, and Tsuna gratefully accepted. Together, they followed Reborn to the podium, unabashedly hand in hand – much to the horror of the crowd. The Storm stopped behind Tsuna and to his right once he was in place, and Reborn waved the foreman of this unusual jury over.

The ever-resilient, well-built Don Spiccato rose to his feet and crossed the room in quick strides.

Standing on the opposite end of the podium from the teenager, he took hold of the prized document and read it in a clear, resounding baritone, “In exchange for the prioritized search of the necessary organs to assure the health of the Conduit, Chrome Dokuro, and the unconditional release of the Convict, Mukuro Rokudo into the custody of the Heir to the Vongola Famiglia, Tsunayoshi Sawada, we, the Dons of the International Vongola Alliance request the following:

• The strict adherence to the traditions and procedures of both the Assembly and the Vongola Famiglia on the part of the Heir and His Guardians
• A biannual status report on the progress of the Heir
• That the Heir will pursue and graduate ‘Cum Laude’ from tertiary level education with an appropriate degree at a university of the Alliance’s choice, under the Alliance’s observation

Lastly,

• The continuation of the Vongola bloodline by means of a heterosexual, Roman Catholic, and legally binding marriage…”

A pause.

“Have I your agreement, Vongola Decimo?” He raised his eyes from the page for the first time to fix the young Sawada with a penetrating stare, but the adolescent did not waver.

“Aye,” he said simply, speechless and resigned in a profound manner.

The Cervello who was clearly a doctor came forward right on cue and drew a few drops of blood from him with the blade before passing it off to her assistant, the nurse, and mixed the scarlet liquid with the ink in the tiny pot. After that, she efficiently treated the minor wound and the pair retreated to the back of the gathering once more.

“Excellent, sign on the line below,” The stout man responded amicably enough, laying the contract down so that Tsunayoshi could do as instructed.

In less than a minute, Tsuna had scrawled his name in as elegant a cursive as he could, and, without being asked, applied the salve beside his name and ignited it with his potent flames. It was almost funny, he reflected as two other mafia bosses stepped up to sign as witnesses, followed by a pair of lawyers, how easy it was to sign his freedom away. Finally, the Head of the Cervello placed her approval insignia on behalf of Nono who wouldn’t sign anything but the official document tomorrow, rolled it up, and took it to her Boss.

“We will reconvene in the Caelestis Hall when the terms of the agreement are met,” Don Spiccato spoke again.

“Aye,” chorused the mob of Dons in unison.

.

The remaining details were catered to quickly, and then a drifting Tsuna was led out of the Hall and escorted up to his vast and well-appointed suite.

By whom, he didn’t know.

“What’s wrong with Sawada?”

“Something’s wrong with Bossu?”

“What do you think, you-”

“Maa, maa-”

“He’s just overwhelmed. What with the two dozen assassins he dealt with at lunch-”

“There were how many, Reborn-san?”

“Ha ha, Tsuna. Someone’s in big trouble, Mister.”

“You know what Dame-Tsuna’s like-”

“But will Bossu be okay? Mukuro-sama is concern-”

 “Actually, it’s pretty bad. He might be in shock.”

“Then do something about it, you perverted doctor!”

“I’m on it, brat. Just let me get my bag with my instruments. It’s-”

“Lay him down gently, Ryo-”

“I’m going to call Sawada-san before it gets any later.”

“Good idea, idiota. Except its already too late.”

“Don’t worry, Yamamoto. I called Maman ages ago while you all-”

Bits and pieces of conversation floated passed Tsuna as he lay strewn across the ordinate bedspread in recovery position. But they meant nothing to him; he couldn’t quite understand them, though he was sure he should.

“Hey, you kids alright?”

“Buona serata, Ganauche.”

“Don’t be so stiff, Reborn! I brought Tsunayoshi some hot cocoa with-.”

“Thanks, he’s a useless failure, but I’d like him to survive a little longer; he’s first-rate entertainment.”

Laughter.

“You’re awful! How does so much apathy fit into such a tiny body?”

“It’s a gift.”

A snort.

“I’ll bet. I gotta go, though. I’ve got reports to finish.”

The click of a door closing.

All of a sudden, there was a strange sound, like someone was weeping, and everyone got very quiet.

“Shit.”

The godawful crying continued, heavy, gut-wrenching sobs that for some reason made Tsuna quiver like the world was coming apart at the seams.

He hadn’t quite connected the mournful whimpers to their origin when he felt a sharp prick in his inner elbow and the world fell away.

.

In his blessedly merciful dreams that night, he was floating in an endless Arcobaleno spring forever. No pain reached him there, no worry or stress, no lust or love either.

It was quiet.

It was lonely.

It was bliss.

.

Chapter Text

Hooded, unseeing glassy eyes, enticingly plump lips parted in a never-ending sigh, the peach complexion of the toned expanse of his form, all drifting listlessly. There was something he had to do, Tsuna knew, but he just couldn’t manage concentrate. A bird trilled from the nearby bank, and, unable to resist, Tsuna raised his own voice in song. The sound of it was familiar. He knew the melody somehow, but how, he couldn’t quite- Oh! That’s right… It was a lullaby. He was sure of that. It was a lullaby that his…someone, had sung to him when he was very small. Nowadays, he sang it to…others. Who were they again? He tried to focus, could see silhouettes in his mind’s eye, however, a breath later, just when he felt like the fog in his empty head was dispersing and the image was beginning to clear, the almost-there, blurry figures reaching their hands out to him…it all just slipped away. Mentally, he shrugged philosophically. He was sure he would remember. Eventually. Meanwhile, the waters of the spring were refreshingly cool, and the sunlight was warm so the temperature overall was perfect. He hummed the previous tune absently, conscious mind distant, present life so far away. The gentle rocking of his floating body had lulled him into a trance. His caramel lashes fluttered, eyelids slipping closed…

Even so, the crunch of grass had them snapping open.

He was sitting up, miraculously afloat even in this position before he’d properly realized it.

Everything came back in a cascading rush the instant he saw who had entered his sanctuary.

“Buongiorno, Decimo,” Primo murmured in salutation, effortlessly stepping onto the spring and crossing over to Tsuna on foot.

When he was close enough, he offered him a hand.

A smile lit Tsuna’s face, his eyes glittering at the rare visit.

“Primo!” He chirped happily, contented with putting his hand (and his faith) into the other’s gloved palm and trusting his judgement.

Their judgement.

Up on his slight legs again, he accepted the taller’s cloak and drew it around himself, both glad and grateful. Clutching it closed with his right hand, he let his ancestor tuck his left hand into his elbow and allowed himself to be led to the doorway of brilliant white light on the bank the blond had come from. They paused in front of it, the brunet tightening his grip on the other and bracing himself. Primo quirked a brow a few moments later, and, when the boy nodded, they crossed the threshold.

On the other side, the seven other deceased Heads of the Vongola Famiglia awaited. At this point, he was released and Primo reclaimed his cloak. However, when it was swept away from his modest shoulders Tsuna found himself clothed nigh identically to the First, in a suit and cape but with the colours of everything but the golden crests inverted. His boots were high heeled though, so Tsuna knew that it was Primo’s Hyper Intuition at work, rather than a conscious thought on his part.

He was unsurprised. Sometimes, Primo was all Intuition.

He would worry about what this meant for him in the future, but, honestly, being consumed by the force in his blood was the least of his worries.

Once Primo was properly seated upon the Vongola Throne, Tsuna began to descend the aisle towards him. In his peripheral vision, the world was morphing. And by the time he took to a knee in a bow of reverence at the appropriate point of the now crimson carpet, the Sky Space within the ring had become a vast, white stone hall decorated lavishly to serve as a throne room. The Great Sky was seated at one end upon a dais with ten broad but shallow steps leading up to it in a startling ivory marble that differed drastically from the mahogany, hardwood floors. Behind him hung a richly embroidered black banner with the Vongola Crest, and his Guardians congregated around the intricate seat of power. Six narrow rectangular windows, cut from a foot beneath the roof until a foot above the floor each two and a half feet wide bathed the highest and longest level of the dais that divided the room in sunlight, casting most of the subsequent steps into shadow of varying intensity. All of them until, of course, the last, that was so short, only a meter wide, that Tsuna himself could frame it in his arms. It was aglow in a rectangle of light from the lengthy skylight the aisle runner he knelt on was illuminated by. Much like the former, high, meter-long silt windows near the roof shone down on each of the previous Dons assembled, and framed each of them individually in warmth and light. They weren’t armed this time, and the Ninth was notably absent – a reminder than he was thankfully alive.

The Caelestis Hall, as it appeared in the time of the founder.

He hadn’t the time to gawk though, and when he was permitted, rose gracefully.

“Your report, Decimo?” Primo cued him, and, unflinchingly, he delved into the plot he’d devised to counter the scheme in progress even as his body slept innocently.

The true Vongola Conclave were pensively silent.

“Are you aware of the dangers of this decision, Decimo?” Primo inquired at length, soulful eyes crinkled in worry.

“If you fumble even once, it will be your end, brat,” Segundo reminded him gruffly in a disapproving tone.

“It’s fine,” Tsuna assured, beaming. “Bianchi helped me practice!”

“And this is the same Bianchi that tried to kill you two years ago…?” Terzo hesitantly wondered aloud.

“Ah…well, yes, but it sounds so bad when you put it like that,” Tsuna replied sheepishly, eyes averted. “Although, she’s still pretty scary, the first time was just her jealousy regarding Reborn. She doesn’t consider me a threat anymore, so it’s totally fine. Probably. Once I don’t tick her off.”

The assembled blanched internally, accusing eyes going to a giggling Primo.

“We’re doomed,” stated Quarto shortly.

“Possibly,” agreed Sesto.

“Tsunayoshi,” Ottavo attempted, crossing over to him. She lay a hand on his shoulder in concern, looked deep into his eyes and said, “You’ll die.”

How reassuring.

“And with you will go all of our collective legacies,” Quinto sought to drive the point home with his matter of fact tone, not even blinking. “If the art in my palace is destroyed, or the property itself ends up defaced and abandoned because of war caused by a power vacuum due to you gambling with your life…I’ll be angered.”

“No-one cares about your frescos,” Segundo snarled.

“Just as no-one cared for your wine cellar?” Quinto remarked dryly with a smirk.

“Why’d you have to bring up the wine cellar?” Terzo bemoaned.

“Because you had one job, imbecille!” Segundo growled. “One.”

“Wasn’t that supposed to be taking care of the Famiglia and its territories?” Terzo defended snidely.

Settimo scowled, and stated plainly, “I’d have hated it if Daniela had tossed out all my digestivi, but she knew her duties to me were just as important as her goals for the Vongola and was actually respectful enough to bury me with a bottle of each in my mausoleum!”

“Father…” Ottavo hissed, brow twitching as the Fiamma pressure built with Segundo’s rage. Her father’s direct nature wasn’t helping in the least.

“It’s all meaningless without the wine!” Segundo finally exploded in retort, an orb of wrath flame blooming within his palm. “Uncultured swine!”

“How could you call your own son a swine? You’re as cruel as ever, Babbo!”

“Don’t start with your mother’s Tuscan colloquialisms! This is her fault for coddling you; you never really became a man!”

“A real man doesn’t have to poison his liver!” Terzo defended; pivoting, he addressed the first (somewhat) pacifist of Segundo’s line. “Isn’t that right, Quinto?”

But the blond betrayed him saying, “There’s nothing wrong with having some liquor now and again.”

“Traitor!” He accused, shaking a fist threateningly in his direction.

“We’re mafia, Zio,” the most heavily bearded of them replied. “You should have expected nothing less of my beloved son. Prettier than any of his sisters he may be, but he’s all man.”

“Thank you, Padre,” murmured Quinto stoically with a regal nod.

“Now if only you had turned out as well!” Segundo roared invidiously in provocation. “Look at that, he’s as majestic as Giotto, but without the ridiculously aggravating parts!”

Naturally, this offended Terzo, and he whirled to glare at poor Quinto, “See what you cause?” Quarto was next on his list, and, scowling, he clarified that, “Don’t you go on thinking you can critique me just because you became Quarto by right of battle, I can still take you over my knee!”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Quarto insisted, stroking his facial hair pensively. “But let’s recall that you failed even to produce a male heir.”

“Why you disrespectful-!” Never let it be said that Ricardo’s son hadn’t inherited his father’s temperament.

But finally, Daniela had had enough.

Hauling them both together by the collar down to her level she snarled, “Can’t you idiots be quiet?”

“Ottavo!” Terzo gasped dramatically. “And to think I’ve always respected you…!”

“No, you haven’t!” She contested incredulously.

“Well not aloud, but it counts all the same!” He admitted stubbornly.

Resisting the urge to sigh as they descended into chaos, Tsuna perked up at an almost self-conscious call of his name.

“Tsuna!” Primo whispered cheerfully. “Come here, Tsuna!”

The blond was smiling warmly, bidding him closer with a crooked finger.

Automatically he went to take a step when Giotto pat his lap in invitation and Tsuna realized what the blond wanted.

Behind them and to the left, Ricardo barked out a laugh.

Tsuna blushed, “I can’t sit there, I’m not a baby!”

“But I’m your grandfather!” Giotto protested, pouting. “So you definitely can without it meaning anything untoward…!”

“I’m sixteen!”

“I don’t mind; you’re still so small and cute!”

Asari laughed.

“Very,” he concurred brightly, causing Tsuna’s heart to flutter unexpectedly at the idea that in eight to ten years, his lovable, playful Takeshi might look that dashing.

G exhaled in amusement, as heartbreakingly attractive as ever, otherwise the picture of calm even as he did something outrageous.

“Knuckle,” he commented while Tsuna futilely attempted to stop his mind from imagining Hayato this seductively strict and eloquently sly. “Don’t you think it’s sad that Tsunayoshi’s never been embraced by a bigger, older paternal figure? Wouldn’t God have sent this as a golden opportunity? Pity he’s too shy to take it.”

Tsuna’s jaw literally dropped open in shock, gawking at the now smirking Storm.

“That’s ultimately a great point,” Knuckle uttered thoughtfully. Nodding, he came to the conclusion that, “You’re right. The ultimate tragedy is when God’s love doesn’t reach his children.”

He abruptly tossed his robe away, and, now dressed in only his white muscle shirt and black slacks, headed to ‘help’ Tsuna accept ‘the ultimate love.’

Meanwhile, the brunet fumbled momentarily, but as he struggled to articulate, the raven Sun User had time to get to him and snatched him up as if he weighed no more than a sack of rice.

Gasping at the feel of those large, powerful hands on him, Tsuna fought back a twinge of arousal from the recollection of Ryohei’s similarly bandaged palms. The sensation of the familiar pattern of callouses nearly made him whimper at the memory of his Sun guiding him through his warm-up stretches before their daily run. Mortified, he lowered his eyes as he was toted over to his ancestor.

“Thank you, Knuckle!” Giotto gasped blissfully when his beloved successor was hand-delivered to him. He quickly wrapped Tsuna in his iron grip before he could escape, and, turning back to look up at his oldest friend through his lashes as he cuddled Tsuna, he bashfully declared, “I love you, G!”

“Don’t aim those weapons of mass destruction at me,” G huffed, looking away with a rather telling blush on his cheeks.

Tsuna was going to complain, but had to pause, heart throbbing at the adorable sight. His expression was unknowingly identical to the overwhelmingly glad Giotto, who cooed softly in joy.

Predatory Alaudi, innately sadistic and addictively domineering all at once, rolled his eyes at the display, but the possessive glint in his searing gaze told another story even as their Lightning tempted fate. Lampo, delightfully cheeky and ever ignorant of what was best for his well-being, laughed openly, earning himself a positively blistering glare from the Storm. Asari chuckled uneasily, but made no move to intervene beyond touching the nib of his flute to G’s tense left shoulder blade – a subtle act that was mostly hidden behind the height of Primo’s throne and only managed to noticed by Tsuna due to his position on Giotto’s lap.

Amongst all this vivid emotion, this active life expressed by these spirits, there was but one who stood apart in the shadows of the Vongola’s seat of power.

The infamously suggestive Daemon Spade was calmly watching him.

At least on the surface.

In reality, his eyes were like neon embers, piercing through him, trying to read him, analyze him. He looked at the brunet as he if could take him apart, as if he could reconfigure and reassemble him any time he wanted. That regard, that…stare, it was in itself mesmerizing, and the fatalistically fascinated Sky peered back into the Mist. Tsuna felt a chill go through him at the marvelous phenomenon within Daemon beneath that contemplative scrutiny, and watched thick, morbid astonishment blossom on the other’s own visage.

Awed at the spectacle, he wondered at the…texture of the elder’s flame. Could a Mist Flame feel like sand? Feel physically of anything at all?

Evidently, yes.

But it was something he had never witnessed before.

“Tsuna…!”

The adolescent jolted at the sound abruptly intruding on his introspection, and drew back to make eye contact with his ancestor.

“It’s time, Decimo,” He was told in strident tones even as those nigh omniscient eyes met his, dread reflecting in the orbs glittering like fractals in the glow of the comet of flame upon his forehead.

Grandpa Giotto was gone again, Vongola Primo had returned.

Nodding with mute admiration, he went to climb out of the blond’s lap and found that he couldn’t; the arms around him wouldn’t release him from their embrace.

He turned back to his relative in confusion, and melted at the conflicted, agonized expression he witnessed on that precious face.

‘…you’re still so small…’

Oh.

Reaching up, he brought that head down and pressed an affectionate peck to the blaze there.

‘It’s okay,’ it said.

But the apprehension and sheer trepidation in those golden eyes gave him pause.

“Don’t worry, Grandpa,” He assured him as he gently cradled his face in his dainty palms. “I won’t break.”

Making a wounded sound in the back of his throat, Giotto joined their foreheads, drawing out Tsuna’s will and sending him right into Hyper Dying Will Mode.

‘No matter how fragile you are?’ The ancient Source Flame wondered. ‘Or how cruel and unfair it becomes?’

‘No matter what,’ his own replied firmly.

Giotto looked, really looked, straight into Tsuna’s heart, searching for any wavering decisions or unconscious regrets.

He found none; true to form, Tsuna had accepted it all.

Overwhelmed with amazement at this tiny, beautiful hope, Giotto himself traded places and dropped to a single knee in adoration.

Gasps sounded throughout the hall as the other dons gawked at the incredulous sight of the petit Decimo, perched on the towering throne. Primo and Decimo were hypnotized by one another though, and clung, flame to flame for a long while. In the end, the reluctance was palatable when they separated.

Wordlessly, Tsuna accepted the gentle kiss to the back of his hand in response, flushing despite himself as he was allowed to stand. His white dress boots clicked rhythmically as he made his way down the aisle again, and the former Dons parted like the Red Sea, some in deference, others in envy-incited scorn, but all acknowledging Primo’s decision as they reformed their neat lines. It was at the doorway leading out of the HyperSpace, ever awash in a strange, white flame rife with, well, everything, that he paused at the sound of Primo’s voice and glanced back at the standing sentinel clothed in black, a sole, gloved hand absentmindedly playing with the friendly tendrils of the uniquely comforting flame. Standing there, enfolded in that flame made him feel invincible, and the wearing his cape, inspired by the one he would all too soon inherit, made him sure anything was possible. Thus, there was only one answer to it all. There could only ever have been that one answer.

“Take care, Decimo…?” An aching plea.

“I will, Primo.” A resolute vow.

.

There was something awe-inspiring about watching him in absolute stillness, his slender form bathed in moonlight. He’d tried to hurt him, to kill his friends, steal his life, and yet the other trusted him. Alas, even in reflection of that fact, Chrome and Mukuro, while the former sat at Tsuna’s bedside that night, and the latter hovered as an illusion across from her on the bed itself, were at the crossroads.

“Do you really believe that Sawada Tsunayoshi would permit such injustice?” the Master Mist scoffed. “And especially onto himself?”

“It’s because it’s unto himself that I’m positive that he’s doomed,” responded his partner softly. “If it were anyone else being chained, he would fight. But because it’s ‘only’ himself, and because it would guaranty my life and your freedom, I don’t think Bossu would risk the contract.”

Seeing her use air quotes had him blinking in remembrance of that Miura girl that Chrome now went to school with, but the quirky surprize did not deter him.

“And you expected me to believe that his hounds are just going to accept this, Nagi?” Mukuro hissed.

“Of course,” she replied simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that they allow his human rights to be violated because, “it’s what he wants.”

“…you’re serious?” he pondered sceptically with a raised brow.

She nodded with a contented hum, as if that were all to say about the matter. When his incredulous expression didn’t waver, she sighed and explained.

“Yamamoto-san wants to be by his Tsuna’s side. Everything else is just background for him; it’s unimportant. Life, death, morality…he’s already decided that they don’t matter; they’re elements of the game.

“And his prize is Tsunayoshi?” Mukuro sneered.

She shook her head firmly in negation, “The prize is time, he thinks he’s on borrowed, or rather bartered time – bought for him by Bossu.”

“Because he tried to commit suicide and Tsunayoshi persuaded him otherwise?” Mukuro drawled with a smirk.

How quaint.

But Chrome shook her head, eyes twinkling in a way he very rarely saw, and smiling with such gentleness that it made him ache with the familiarity of it.

The Sky’s nature was infectious it seemed.

“Not quite, it’s because the fence broke when he tried to stop Boss from leaving the choice in his hands. That honesty had intrigued him so much that he, for the first time, had wanted something other than baseball. He wanted to know if he could try again, could try with him again,” Chrome began. “But he tugged too hard and the only protection that might have spared Boss from the consequences of Yamamoto-san’s actions failed; he forced things when our awkward Sky tried to make a getaway and nearly ended up getting him killed. And Boss? His biggest regret when they’d fallen wasn’t having tried to apologize for generic advice to the reckless idiot that may have just almost killed him, or for having had anything to do with him and his drama, even though it was like the universe was punishing them both for Yamamoto-san doing something like that to start with…Bossu had just wanted to save his friend with his Dying Will. Not himself, but this boy he’d only really spoken to once before it all went wrong. Yamamoto-san had known about the bullying but never interceded. He’d been there the whole time, he’d seen it, passed it by, ignored it and focused on his popularity’s livelihood because nothing mattered except avoiding crushing loneliness.”

And she would know, the feeling that it was so unfair that fate hurt you when you were just trying to do what you thought was right. She hated how the people in her life treated her like she wasn’t even there because she was silent, soft, and small – just like that kitten. The idea that the world would be unchanged if that kitten been run over had her instinctively moving to save it, to save herself.

‘It matters,’ she’d been trying to say. ‘I matter.’

And Yamamoto-san, he’d thought that throwing himself away was the only thing he could do because the people, or rather the friends he’d thought he had, essentially did the same because he failed to live up to their unrealistic expectations. So, what was an idol to do when everyone lost faith? Without use, without motivation, without purpose, he’d just tried to dispose of the excess like any conscientious citizen. Because disappointing their hopes couldn’t be forgiven. Then Tsuna had liberated him of the idea that he had to serve anyone at all in life. Tsuna, in those days, certainly didn’t but his life was still important to him, still precious to his parents, still needed even if only by a small family of three that was really only two thanks to his father’s absenteeism.

‘Life,’ Tsuna had been trying to say, ‘is precious. All of it, without exception.’

Of course, this had wrecked his psyche in its vulnerable state, utterly ruining poor Yamamoto Takeshi for anyone else.

But since Mukuro, sharing her mental scape, understood all this, she hadn’t need to elaborate further.

“Then,” She continued smoothly. “There’s Gokudera-san, who would never defy his beloved Don; he respects his decisions too much. Even if they were wrong, even if they hurt either of them or both or all of us, his duty would be to honour that choice regardless of his own feelings. What’s more, he’d endeavour to do his best to get us to accept it too. He’d enjoy the pain, thrive on it, adore Bossu more for it. He’s the kind that would write sonnets and concertos as an ode to the agony of love, while obsessively dedicating his soul to it. Diving forwardly blindly, madly into the vague future, swayed by the whims of a sole person seems so illogical, but for Gokudera-san it would be-”

“His magnum opus,” Mukuro concluded softly.

And again, Nagi understood this. After all, wasn’t that exactly what she was doing for Mukuro? And what she wanted nothing more than to do for their reluctant Tsuna?

“Sasagawa-san is tragically transparent,” she commented, trying and failing not to blush. “He would never want to risk hurting Bossu, that’s why he’s trying so hard to hold back. But he wants, he wants, he wants. It’s in every line of his body, every look in his eyes aimed in Bossu’s direction, every aborted move he makes. His voice gets so quiet, he becomes so soft, he puts his back to the world and bares his heart to Sky and just…shines. Like he’s supposed to. I don’t think I really knew what ‘sunny disposition’ meant until I met him, but when he undoes his bandages and pulls Bossu close by the waist I…I learned why some smiles are called ‘beams.’ Kyoko was lucky to have that kind of radiant person in her life for so long; I’d have loved a big brother like that.”

Chrome’s voice was timidly adoring, and, scandalized and jealous, Mukuro harrumphed, and tossed his head like a high-handed horse, perfect brows meeting as he scowled (read: pouted).

“You would have loved a brash, loud, crude…” Mukuro fumbled momentarily, gesticulating irately. “Sweaty savage…? How poor is your taste my Chrome?”

His words had her giggling wholeheartedly, and his reaction to that made her laugh out loud.

Turning away from her, he’d crossed his arms like a bratty child and stuck his nose into the air like a spurned suitor.

“Well at least I have class,” he’d grumbled resentfully.

But seeing Nagi actually laugh, freely and without reserve, dragged a genuine smile from him.

Really! Sasagawa Ryohei? What a joke!

But if he made Chrome smile like this, Mukuro supposed he had his uses.

Then his frankly irreprehensible Chrome sent him the image of the boxer minus his boxers from two weeks prior and he twitched in shock…a rather substantial shock. Apparently, when Lambo accidentally opened the door of the Sawada’s bathroom while Sasagawa was changing she, having been tasked to chase him down that time, had been gifted a full-frontal.

Against his conscious volition, having based his illusionary form on his real body, he flushed very lightly and crossed his legs at the knee.

“As expected of such a caveman,” he murmured as scornfully as he was able.

That image was going haunt him…in rather interesting ways.

“You like cavemen,” Chrome accused with a dimpled smile, giving him a knowing look.

“I most certainly do not!” he objected, the bloom of colour on his cheekbones deepening.

“Sure,” she acquiesced cheerfully. “Whatever you say, Mukuro-sama.”

“Those girls you spend your time with are awful influences!” He retorted mournfully.

“They’re great influences, thank you very much,” she countered promptly, folding her hands in a demure action on her lap.

Mukuro paused, glancing back at Tsuna as the other sighed in his sleep.

Thinking back on his face this afternoon, at those resolved eyes, and reflecting on Tsuna’s sacrifice caused a strange ache in his chest; the remnant effects of his near overdose of tranquilizer no doubt.

“He’s planning something, Nagi,” He said, not so much as based on evidence, for there was none, but out of the urgent, desperate need to see Sawada Tsunayoshi free to make those kinds of decisions for himself. Naturally, that was because of his plans to possess him; it would be difficult to sway the others if they gave up on Tsunayoshi and actually dared to stray from his side by moving on. Whatever small yearning he wouldn’t put a name to within him was irrelevant, it would be a disaster if the gullible guardians he wanted to manipulate with Tsunayoshi’s body once it was his, could no longer be coaxed into doing his bidding if they no longer found the brunet attractive.

That atrocious human right violation couldn’t be permitted. He had to be able to use Tsunayoshi’s body to wrap the Tenth Generation Vongola round his finger.

“There you are!”

“I’m being worked like a slave by that ungrateful imp!”

“…who else is gonna clean your ears for you?”

No, this was unacceptable. Tsunayoshi had to be planning something.

“I’m heading out! See you later, Mukuro…!”

He had to.

“What makes you so sure, Mukuro-sama?” Nagi was doubtful.

“He’s planning something; I can sense it,” He reiterated. “So, don’t expect any tears or even a ‘thank you’ from me. He doesn’t mean to be trapped by this preposterous arrangement.”

He can’t.

He just can’t.

But before the hysterical screaming inside him could make its way forward through his clenched teeth, a high chime resonated. The attention of the pair of Mists was drawn immediately to the unlikely source of the peculiar sound: the Vongola Sky Ring. The almost…whistle, made gooseflesh break out along Chrome’s arms and both she and Mukuro shivered simultaneously. The sound grew in strength, deepened, and a melody started up and blended with the harmony pulsing from its core. A spark of Tsunayoshi’s distinctive flame lit the ring before a tendril of white entered it. Then, other ivory tendrils sprung up around it and, in a blink, it was engulfed by the ghostly pale flame and summarily consumed.

“Mukuro-sama,” Nagi’s voice was frail, quivering as she sensed his sheer fright at the odd sight. “What is that strange flame?”

“It’s The Warden’s flame,” Mukuro replied dumbfounded and startled; in his head, the gears began to turn and an alarming suspicion was born. Instinctively he shrunk back from it, reiterating how impossible it was.

That thing was without humanity.

“…The Warden?” The innocent Chrome wondered, befuddled; she’d never even heard her other mention such a person before.

Mukuro explained, “Yes, between death and reincarnation you arrive at an eternal plain of existence where The Warden lives. He is the one that allows you to be born again by anointing you with that flame on the forehead and then guiding you to one of the Gates to the Six Realms.”

Remembering the slight, dark-clothed, skeletal figure cloaked in white and hovering, still, sombre, and silent in the iridescent vapours of the void. Shrouded in incense and the eerie, secretive whispers of the lingering dead and dying… It was all so cliché, but in the moment, stripped bare and powerless, Mukuro had been genuinely terrified. And who could blame him, when the penetrating cold and moans of the suffering were the least menacing part of the experience. Those bony hands, cradling his face, forcing open his eyes, and tilting his head up to stare into the gaping holes of the human skull where eyes should have been. The bare jaw worked in a rhythm that implied words, but he had never actually heard any, had thankfully never been made to suffer the horror of what was sure to be a dreadful voice. Then, in a twisted move, it pressed its dusty teeth to your forehead in a macabre kiss. The Blanche flame burst to life, and you woke up in a body, gasping your first all over again.

He hated when he had to go back, but more than that he hated what the presence of that flame of the abyss implied.

Was Tsunayoshi essentially dying whenever he visited his ancestor in the Sky Ring?

It was obvious where he went whenever Mukuro could no longer sense his thoughts on the other side of the link they shared. Honestly, it piqued his curiosity, the legendary HyperSpace. Even with all he’d lived, he’d truly believed that it was mere myth, an outlandish exaggeration fabricated to further deify the Great Sky, Giotto Taru del Vongola. Then again, he’d also believed that the other’s reputation was a lie. After all, he’d told himself, no-one could be so pure. Never had he imagined that he would find proof to the contrary, that he would not only discover that proof, but know it intimately, bond with it, live with it, come to lov- um, grow fond of its foolishness.

Now, Tsuna’s conscience returned to the other side of the link tethering them together and Mukuro felt his very being relax.

And to Mukuro’s eternal relief, the ominous flame dispersed.

He turned his attention inwards, vanishing from the physical plain and appearing in the cosy living room that he and the Sky usually met in. He found Tsunayoshi, dressed to the nines, pacing erratically near their futon, heeled boots that sent a flash of heat through the Mist, making no noise on the worn tatami. He wanted to observe him just then, bathe in his presence, drink his form in as the other just…lived.

No doubt, the young Sawada was here to rant about his despicable ancestors (Mukuro was always ready and willing to diss Mafia Dons), so the taller slipped into the small space and closed the sliding door behind him.

Tsunayoshi spun to face him, and to Mukuro’s immense pleasure, his entire countenance lit up. But the customary greeting Mukuro awaited never came. Instead, his eyes went wide and desperate, his cheeks darkened and he unclasped the heavy cloak he wore. The discarded article of clothing was only the first, because an exceptionally well-tailored jacket followed, then a white, black pin-striped vest, and finally, an ivory, silk tie. Left in only his white boots, matching slacks and black silk shirt, he visibly braced himself and licked his lips.

“I need you!” The brunet declared boldly, crossing the distance in quick strides and grabbing hold of his upper arms.

Naturally, Mukuro, who was still processing to sudden strip tease, choked.

“Oya, oya!” He murmured in an attempt to bring some tranquillity to the situation. Taking hold of the smaller’s elbows, he guided him to sit. “Calm down, little lion,” He purred. “I have absolutely no objections, but let’s discuss things first. I can conjure anything we might need here, but you at least need a safe word before we start-”

“What are you talking about?” Tsunayoshi interjected incredulously, chocolate eyes huge.

Mukuro hesitated, lascivious expression contorting into one of confusion.

Quietly, he tentatively answered, “…you’re giving yourself over to me…right?”

“Uh, no,” came the immediate rejection.

Mukuro gawked, and, voice an octave higher than normal tried, “But you said-!”

“…yes?” Tsuna replied, sole brow raised, eyes narrowed a la Hyper Dying Will Mode.

That gave Mukuro pause. Deciding that discretion was the greater part of valour, he said, “Never mind.”

Tsunayoshi nodded curtly, and got down to business.

“I need you to tell Chrome to throw out the teacup of cholate milk in the bathroom, and then, after putting it on the nightstand, to create an illusion of her leaving the room,” Tsuna began, eyes serious, tone firm. “In reality, she is to hide, cloak herself under an illusion so as to appear invisible and record everything that happens. And please, I don’t want either of you stepping in to stop whatever might happen.”

The strange request at the end of the order piqued Mukuro’s interest.

“And what, pray tell, is going to happen, Sawada Tsunayoshi?” He drawled in askance with a raised brow.

But Tsuna didn’t really answer him, instead questioning, “Do you trust me?”

The gleam of resolve in Tsuna’s eyes did little to reassure him after the day’s events, but even as the other dodged his rather pertinent inquiry, Mukuro sensed that his answer would be tremendously important somehow.

Now, while all that may be all well and true, he was unwilling to give the walking temptation the satisfaction of him admitting that perhaps Tsuna’s persistence was paying off.

Thus, he gave the other a clear though curt nod.

“Good,” Tsunayoshi replied, eyes almost giddy with pleasure at his small acquiescence. “Because I’ll need your help so that I don’t react either and tip our hand prematurely. Think you can hold me down, Mukuro?”

The brat had the audacity to actually smirk at him in challenge, so, after passing on Tsunayoshi’s commands to dear Nagi so she could enact Tsunayoshi’s ambiguous will, he playfully pounced. Tsuna ended up under him with both his wrists in Mukuro’s far larger left hand, thighs pinned to the futon with Mukuro poised atop them. Astride his brand-new stallion (mare?), the illusionist magicked up some silk ties and soon had the future Decimo restrained, limbs spread eagle and tied to rings half-embedded into the very floor that Mukuro had summoned, with ridiculously flouncy bows at the wrapped joints. Utterly unable to help himself, Mukuro ran both hands teasingly up the boy’s sloping sides, from that fragile, tiny waist, up his ribs, and to cradle the concave hollow where arm and torso met. Tsuna squirmed, reddening at the not unfamiliar sensation of one of his guardians’ hands on him.

“Muku-” He began in mild protest. “We can’t-”

But Mukuro hushed him with an insolent finger to his plush lips.

“We must,” he insisted, eyes glittering with mischief.

Tsuna was hypnotized by the explicit promises in those irreprehensible eyes, and, drawn in by those talented hands and then lips.

Oh, so that’s what people mean when they say they ‘saw fireworks.’

If they were kissed half as…thoroughly as Tsuna was being kissed at that very moment, then they were definitely on to something. Mukuro’s lips were so tantalizing, his tongue was agile, and his mouth tasted of rich dark chocolate. Tsuna shuddered deeply in want, keening in his throat as he was devoured. The taller seemed to be everywhere at once, his wicked hands touching Tsuna’s everything wherever he pleased. One moment Mukuro was brushing a thumb over the place on Tsuna’s hip he’d nuzzled into earlier, next he was grabbing handfuls of his ass to pull him into his lap. Suddenly, he tweaked a nipple with a hand up Tsuna’s shirt, which had been untucked and rucked up while he was…suitably distracted.  Then, knee pressing into the evidence that Tsuna was one hundred percent virile young man, he got to work on the enclosure of Tsuna’s dress pants. A quivering breath escaped the Don-to-be as he forcibly wrenched his face away.

“Mukuro, enough,” he panted, eyes glassy, cheeks rosy.

Mukuro barely glanced at that haplessly aroused expression before he dived right back into his journey to Tsuna throat to investigate his tonsils, a hand now cradling the back of that sweet head of tussled brown locks.

But Tsuna wasn’t having it.

“No…!” He gasped, not at all convincing as he averted his face from the Mist.

“Yes,” returned the taller. “You want me too; I know you do.”

Tsuna’s eyes filled abruptly, expression becoming pained.

“I can’t…” He whispered hoarsely. “Please…I can’t-”

“Bossu…!”

The two stiffened, eyes snapping upwards as Chrome’s voice echoed through the mental space, scarcely a minute after she’d repositioned the teacup in its place and it had begun.

“There’s a strange man here,” she continued anxiously. “Is it time?” She wondered curiously.

“Yes, Chrome,” Tsuna confirmed, reminding her that, “You just need to record it all. Don’t react otherwise; just trust me when I say that this is necessary and that it’ll all work itself out.”

“Yes, Bossu.”

Mukuro summoned a screen to view the mysterious guest of honour through his connection with Chrome, and couldn’t help the criminal smirk that took over his face as he saw what was taking place.

The worm one screen was clothed in all black, all his clothes and tools reminiscent of a ninja, checking the teacup. If dealing with just a regular teen, he imagined that this most basic of precautions were fine. But he honestly wondered about their enemy if he thought that just this would be enough.

It wasn’t even decent; Tsuna had probably recognized the person immediately if his abrupt stiffening was any hint.

There was nothing decent happening in the real world though. Instead, Mukuro found himself watching an absolute stranger pull-down Tsuna’s bedclothes, devest him of his pyjama top, and…take his pulse?

What?

The male manoeuvred Tsuna’s sleeping effigy after doing what seemed to be a basic check-up, pushing him unto one side and preparing a syringe. An antiseptic swab later, and the man injected Tsuna with the transparent liquid in the neck. Mukuro jerked forwards instinctively in outrage, but a small hand stopped him and pulled him back.

“Shh…” Tsuna breathed. “It’s to make sure I don’t feel anything.”

Brows furrowed, the taller demanded, hands framing Tsuna’s face, “Making sure you don’t feel what exactly?”

The soft sound of a muted thud had him turning back before Tsuna could decide if he was going to answer or not, only to see the invader aim an obscenely large needle at his Sky’s back. Jolting, it was once again Tsuna who reeled him back, this time with arms around his waist and burying his face into Mukuro’s chest to give him a quick nuzzle.

“Don’t look at that,” he said, voice low and soothing. “I’m here, right here.”

Mukuro glanced down at Tsuna with a startled look, but found an almost serene expression of indifference. Even when the monstrous, three to four-inch medical steel slipped into his spine he scarcely blinked. In the face of that over-powering acceptance, his own protective instinct calmed. He peered deeply at Tsuna, through Tsuna, and found nothing revealing in his expression. Then he realized that the hands clutching at his back when trembling, and he softened further.

“I’m here too,” He whispered, curling around Tsuna’s slight form. “I’m here for you.”

“The next part is gonna be harder to watch,” Tsuna warned.

“There are few things that would faze me, Sawada Tsunayoshi,” the older replied with purposeful casualness injected into his tone.

“I know,” the Sky replied, pained smile heartbreakingly gentle.

On the screen the masked assailant had long since drawn the cerebrospinal fluid and tucked it away. Now, he pulled out a series of suspicious objects that sent Mukuro’s blood-pressure soaring.

First a small, metal pill of some sort, a gag, then padded restraints, a tube of non-descript lubricant, and several narrow vials.

And if those weren’t damning enough, the last object had him automatically summoning his trident.

An anal spanner.

He pushed Tsunayoshi off of him, the sound of Chrome’s whimpers flooding their mental link as he stood and made for the ‘door’ and the real world beyond it.

“If you care one iota about Nagi, then you can’t stop him,” Tsuna abruptly declared, tone strained.

Mukuro reeled around to stare incredulously at him at the strange, disjointed retort.

“What are you…?”

“This is absolutely necessary,” Tsuna stated, eyes glazed and visage blank. “If we avoid this, Chrome will die soon.”

“But-”

“Something is coming, Mukuro,” Tsunayoshi confessed, eyes distant. “To stop it for ended in disaster, I must tolerate this.”

He turned his head to meet the taller’s analytical gaze.

“I have to ask you to tolerate it,” Tsuna winced; it was odd with his face so placid… no it was resigned, almost defeated. “I need Chrome to tolerate too.”

“…And you’ve seen this…” Mukuro rotated his wrist several times, visibly confused by the vague description he was given. “Whatever it is,” he finally decided, “coming?”

“…Yes,” responded Tsuna lowly, tone broken and raw, eyes slipping closed as his feelings finally seeped through despite his best efforts.

“Nothing can stop it, I suppose,” He commented wryly, feigning indifference.

“No.”

A beat, as, out in the real world the masked operative tested the now bound and gagged Tsuna’s response to stimuli, or lack thereof, and grabbed the lubricant.

“Will you help me save her?” Tsuna whispered, hooded caramel orbs swirling with fright.

That growing terror decided things for Mukuro before Tsuna reached imploringly for him, begging, “Please…?”

Fighting back flashbacks and wrapping Tsunayoshi in all the warmth and…care he had for him, manifested, the Mist tried with his all to keep him calm. He swaddled him in the blanket of their futon, and kissed away his stray tears as things proceeded. Though, even as he spoke softly in a weak attempt to distract him, watching him all but writhing under Mukuro was its own form of unique torture.

It seemed to last an eternity.

.

Just fifteen minutes after that mysterious and horrendously disturbing incident, Mukuro was possessing a deeply distraught Chrome and watching Tsuna gather his things together for a late-night shower.

Not that he could blame him, when Mukuro himself had gone through something somewhat similar, he’d thought he’d never be clean again.

Overwrought at the memory of old overlapping with that of Tsuna thrashing in his embrace as he allowed his seed to be…harvested like that of a bull, Mukuro swallowed back his nausea. Tsuna had come too close tonight to losing something invaluable. Internally aghast, but, without words in the face of the smaller’s stunt, he couldn’t even verbalize how utterly confused he was that the boy thought his Mists worth the risk.

Then Tsuna turned and, gesturing for him to lower his head, pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“I could never thank you enough for what you two just did for me, Mukuro,” he murmured gently, eyes twinkling with optimism in the light of the cross he’d just had to bear. “But you won’t regret it. I’ll liberate you, save Chrome, and set things right; you’ll see.”

Then he slipped through the door to the bathroom calling a parting, “Sleep well,” over his shoulder before he closed the door and locked it.

Long after Tsuna’s footsteps had faded, lost under the sounds of his surely steaming shower, the devastated adoration in Mukuro’s otherwise hopeless gaze remained.

.

It was the next afternoon, as they left Headquarters, that things tipped in their favour. The others were already divided into the three limousines that would take them to the private Vongola airfield, and then home, when it happened. Softly, simply, with err a trumpet sounding or a salute, power fell into Sawada Tsunayoshi’s hands. If it had happened even a day earlier, then he mightn’t have suffered so. But it didn’t, fate shone a day late, and goodwill offered too little even as he offered everything. Sans jeer or guise, he’d simply lain himself upon the sacrificial altar and awaited execution.

“Grandpa?” Tsunayoshi paused, halfway down the stairs and looking back up at the elder. With those doe eyes turned on him, Timoteo allowed the smile tugging at his lips to soften his features.

“Yes, Tsunayoshi-kun?” He replied indulgently, eyes crinkled even further at their heavily wrinkled corners with fondness.

“When you retire-” He began, only to be interrupted by a growl from an incensed Coyote.

Timoteo chuckled, taking Coyote’s elbow and meeting his eyes for a brief moment; he calmed instantly.

Tsunayoshi tried again, hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and no longer looking directly at his predecessor.

“Once you’re no longer the Ninth Boss of the Vongola Famiglia, I’m planning to free you,” Tsuna revealed, eyes twinkling with approval and amusement. “I’ll banish you all so you’ll no longer be mafia. That way the Sky Scroll will no longer apply. And I’ll do it at the coronation so it seems like I’m being territorial, so your reputation should be fine.”

The wording was extraordinarily cruel for someone not in the know, but it was actually a remarkable kindness. Since there wasn’t really such a thing as ‘ex-mafia;’ once you were part of Costa Nostra, you were always counted amongst your Famiglia’s ranks. You had to be ‘banished’ by the Boss himself to actually leave the bloodied world behind, or, well, die. The former was usually done as one of the ultimate forms of punishment, because it denied you the family’s help in emergencies and left you wide open for revenge plots to eliminate you for your past actions. But with all of them together, who would dare risk an attack on Timoteo ‘the Titan’ Di Vongola, and his GAIA-tier Guardians…?

The collectively drawn, sharp intakes of breath informed the successor that, as he’d suspected, such a thing had never occurred to the previous generation.

“That…” Timoteo was speechless, eyes wide open and expression vulnerable.

Tsunayoshi would deliver him from this hell early?

He’d…free him?

Just when he thought that he understood the depths of Tsuna’s generosity, the younger bestowed upon him even more. This time relinquishing his final years of relative freedom to allow his old, tired predecessor this invaluable blessing in what most would call a humiliation, but couldn’t even be implied to be so what with Tsuna also taking on all the blame. Some might ask why, when he had so obviously used and manipulated him. But Timoteo knew the truth; it was solely because he could. He had the ability to help, to do something good, so, he would. It was as natural to him as breathing. Dear Tsuna knew what was happening, found it unjust, and was therefore going to do something about it. Even knowing that Timoteo’s tricks (intuition) had just ‘inadvertently’ led to him having to surrender his own heart’s real desire. Even though Timoteo had sinned.

Tsuna didn’t care though.

He could lend a hand, so he would.

For him, it was that simple.

As a Don, Timoteo had lied to many. He’d killed, stolen, and had cheated in almost every sense of the word. He’d obeyed no nation’s laws, stayed clear of no boundaries, respected no limits. He’d ruled over the underworld with an iron fist encased in a velvet glove only when he went uncontested. There could have been no wavering if he were to change things. He could have no pity, no remorse, mercy would have to live after his death. He’d fought and fought, and then fought some more. Until all obeyed, until all yielded, until his very name made even the mightiest the world over quake in fear. They’d come then, as they did every generation, after rebelling the new era of Vongola and failing, to bend the knee and pay their respects and still it wasn’t enough. All to implement his choices upon those who would revolt, all for his mother, all for the gentler world she’d dreamed of and he had wanted to gift to his own children.

It…it had been hard, so hard, at one point. He barely thought about it nowadays, but he’d spent so many nights, for years, trying to get used to the blood he was drowning in. Buried in the filth around him, he’d thought he’d suffocate, and truly, some parts of him had surely died.

But his…friends; they were his everything.

His precious guardians had stood by him through it all. Through the fits of rage, the ceaseless tears, the stunned indignation, the all-encompassing horror, the crippling fear…they’d been there. They’d cared for him. They’d trusted him. They’d encouraged him. When he was exhausted and had nothing else to give, they filled him, they inspired him. They made him push forward and become better, bolder, braver, stronger.

They’d made Timoteo the Titan.

Crafted him from the ground up, and built him to last.

There were no words that he could ever use to describe what he felt for them, and none they could for how they felt about him.

…but there was one that came close; only, none of them had ever been allowed to use it.

It was criminally unfair, but they’d all just accepted it as their lot in life, and prayed for the day when they could find one another again in hell. Being tormented together was a gift if it meant they might finally confess…

Mind made up, Timoteo di Vongola made his last true declaration as the reigning Capo di Tutti Capi.

“Thy will be done, Vongola Decimo,” he’d composed himself enough to answer as his indomitable guardians, ever in sync with him and utterly overwhelmed with gratitude in their own ways, bowed in reverence.

Tsuna may not quite understand by the confused look on his face, but both Reborn and Gokudera had frozen in shock.

The child would be informed soon.

The Vongola Famiglia had just unofficially changed hands.

.

It was the second to last Sunday of the month, so that meant that he was training with the likes of Sawada Tsunayoshi and his various pets. They were on the recreation of Death Mountain again, an intriguing if not rather tame farce that had gotten steadily more dangerous with time; it seemed that its many snares and hazards had been increased in difficulty yet again, and now was approaching the admittedly impressive level of treacherous that the one in Italy was so feared for. He idly wondered if Tsunayoshi knew it was approaching the same unfathomable death toll and possible infamy as the original’s first years. Looking at the boy meditating across from him, he realized that it’d be impossible for him not to, what with the way his tutor ordered him to…tidy and reset the traps after every lesson. He probably hadn’t taken it well, but he had little choice if he wanted to succeed the old coot in Italy and do as he had sworn. That he was actually, earnestly following the Alliance’s regulations for was mind-boggling. Thankfully, such things became easier with time.

He told himself that he was only grateful because desensitizing the boy meant his body was less likely to react in an embarrassing way to bloodshed when Mukuro possessed it. He didn’t care about the boy’s innocence, (and Tsuna himself had proven that he wasn’t above discarding it either), between his bloodline’s curse and his determination to join the filthy ranks of the mafia it was bound to happen at some point. And no, he wasn’t sad that Tsunayoshi was accustoming himself to such things, it would help lessen the anguish caused by his nightmares. Not that Mukuro was at all concerned by the subdued melancholy inflicted upon the child. He didn’t worry about the dark, swollen under his target’s eyes, or find himself angered at the Arcobaleno because of how the little Sky flinched when given the order to ‘clean up.’ The boy probably saw worse in his dreams every night anyway, so why should he mind?

Answer: he didn’t.

He’d barely even noticed.

He didn’t waste time on such things.

Regardless, this week Tsunayoshi was practicing something with great potential for the future. Just imagining the various, interesting applications made him chuckle evilly. Watching closely, he noted the strange stance, akin to first position in ballet, but with his feet in fourth position’s croisé. His right hand came up slowly, trailing his body’s central line as he tilted his head back to reveal the length of his neck. A ball of flame rose from his mouth by the time his hand arrived to pluck it out by the tip, as if were no trickier to grasp than the stem of an apple.

“Gemini Cielo: Cavallone Decimo,” he whispered, voice husky from the abuse his throat was tolerating for the drills required to master this most intriguing of tricks.

“Give it here,” the Arcobaleno ordered, little hand extended to receive it.

Tsuna straightened, casually condensed the sizable lick of fire, and passed the diminutive orb of Flame down to his tutor.

Reborn hummed thoughtfully as he inspected it, “A little small, this time…but it’s definitely Dame-Dino’s Flame. Good job, Tsuna; you can take a break.”

Tsunayoshi’s eyes lit up at the rare praise, before he wearily plopped down on the grass. Beneath and all around him, was the scorched evidence of his training, and with ease born of experience, Tsuna drew a little of the Dying Will Flame on his forehead, his Fiamma Source, and, for lack of a better term, bent it seamlessly into a little tuft of Sun Flames. He brought the ball down upon the tarnished turf and it gave off faint pulses of flame in gentle waves that soon had the grass and poisonous weeds that the Poison Scorpion had sown, fully restored.

Mukuro’s mouth watered as that delectable form stretched, and was almost bludgeoned by the group’s now recovered Sun Guardian, this week’s sparring partner, as a result.

Oh well, no more time for distractions, no matter how enticing they were.

.

Miles of the pseudo-Death Mountain’s forest had never looked more devastated that afternoon. Trees were upturned, uprooted, shattered, reduced to splinters and crushed to rumble. The grass had been burnt to ash where it hadn’t been trampled, and the soot had covered everything, including the two adolescents in the artificially crafted clearing of their own making between two extraordinary craters to their north-west and south. The animals, venomous, electric, or otherwise dangerous, had long since been spooked by both the noise and the terrifying demonstration of power, so the only sound was the ragged breaths of the two boys fighting. Weapons locked as they pushed with all the strength their exhausted forms could muster, their flames blasting out with all their remaining might as they struggled to overwhelm one another. As the Fiamma pressure built, the indigo and purple plumes began to hum in warning. And yet neither abated, neither pulled back or reconsidered. So, the inferno swelled, crackling off the trident and tonfas where they were pressed together and striking at the already charred earth in an effort to release the excess energy generated in the conflict.

To waver at all against such an opponent would by suicide anyway.

Eventually, of course, things reached their pinnacle, and the rings they wore groaned with the weight of the flame they were discharging. There was a rumble like that of thunder, then something like the chime of a bell and, with a searing flash, the world went white as the two clashing wills exploded for the third time this afternoon.

In the aftermath, they stumbled back to their feet on opposite ends of the new crater and glared while both tried to recuperate enough to launch another assault.

“That piece of paper means nothing. That omnivore will yield.”

“After all this time watching him, Hibari Kyoya…do you really think that Sawada Tsunayoshi will go back on his word?”

But the skylark was nothing if not stubborn, “It doesn’t matter-”

“What he wants? What he feels?” Mukuro interjected with a raised brow remembering Tsuna’s smile becoming hollow as he turned to go shower on that night now etched into his mind. Tone dark, he stared back in challenge at the glaring raven, “Oya! There’s where I’ll have to step in. I won’t allow anyone to harm my prey.”

“And I won’t allow any herbivore to stop my mate from accepting his place…” Kyoya hissed threateningly, voice low.

“How cute, birdie!” Mukuro retorted with a sneer. “Your barbarism extends to even these levels. ‘Mate,’ really? You’re that desperate to deny that you have feelings? Poor thing…”

“Feelings have nothing to do with it,” Hibari returned harshly. “We’re physically compatible. The bloodlines mixing would produce superior offspring. I’ll bring him into my family and my sister will bare his young. Simple.”

“Then why would he be your mate if he’ll be sleeping with her?” Mukuro retorted with a smirk.

Faced with the obvious fault in his conscious’ justification of the desire to possess, mate and mark the omnivore, the carnivore growled, abandoned thought, and attacked.

With a feral glint to his eyes, the kanji for four, representing the Path of the Demon that he’d been using for combat, changed to five, activating the tainted Path of Humans. The increase in ability served him well against the savage beast that was Hibari in this desperate state, and they duked it out for a good long while thereafter.

But when they landed themselves in deadlock yet again, and their rings began to shoot out sparks a silent observer decided that they’d given them more than sufficient time to resolve things. They obviously weren’t going to reach a consensus that day.

“I’d call it quits and leave it at this if I were either of you,” came a high-pitch voice that had them freezing mid-movement.

Impending battle unceremoniously halted, the pair turned simultaneously in the direction the squeaky advice had come from.

“Tsuna’s on his way you two,” Reborn informed, a doorway appearing in a mercifully flame retarded bolder and sliding open to reveal him seated comfortably in a miniature recliner. “That light show you put on earlier could be seen from home easily.”

A roar like that of a rocket’s engine during take-off sounded from overhead, before, with something akin to a sonic boom, a streak of orange landed forcibly between the squabbling pair. The ground cracked with the sheer force, and the Cloud and Mist had to dodge the sudden volley of stones.

“Too late,” Reborn chirped, sealing his hideaway.

“You two…!” He growled; molten eyes wide with mania. “What the fuck is it you think you’re doing?”

Silence.

How could they explain this?

Hibari scowled mutinously, tucked away his tonfas and averted his gaze by turning his head.

He wasn’t submitting…he just refused to answer.

Mukuro on the other hand, as he never did learn from his mistakes, leaned languidly on his trident and peeked flirtatiously up at his Sky. Smirking sensually, he opened his mouth to explain his side of things in sultry tones.

He received a flaming fist for his instinctive attempts to be suave.

Stunned, he stumbled back in shock before raising his wary eyes to the wrathful Sky.

Taking in the bloodshot eyes and notable lack of pupils, the tallest reached out and tugged on the other’s coat sleeve. Hibari pivoted towards him, casually unconcerned with his former opponent’s touch now that the fight was over and a greater threat presented itself. Whispering, Mukuro pointed out his observations. Attention snatched, Hibari apprehensively starred at the monstrous aura enfolding his Sky.

“Tsunayoshi…?” Mukuro tried gently as Hibari whistled for Hibird.

The smouldering spectre wearing their Sky’s silhouetted form didn’t answer for the longest time, just standing there. Towering. Terrifying. Only its glowing eyes, pulsing Sky Ring and the lustrous Dying Will Flame marked it as anything but a radiant monument of ire. It glowered, unmoving, long enough for the little yellow bird to land on his Master’s outstretched finger, then a twitch ran through the summit of their affections.

Tsuna began to tremble, took a shaky step backward, and brought a quivering, flaming hand to the burst of flame on his forehead. Visibly, he seemed to be fighting but he said nothing, and no sound escaped him. But his tremulous eyes told the whole story, flashing for every colour in the Fiamma Spectrum at random intervals before a familiar, classic orange flame lit his eyes.

That spine straightened to an almost unnatural degree, hands coming up elegantly to delicately clasp just before the mouth of Tsunayoshi’s stomach.

But this wasn’t Tsunayoshi.

This was another Sawada altogether.

“Sawada Ieyasu,” greeted Hibari tersely with an irate nod.

“Vongola Primo,” spat Mukuro, distain blatant at the naïve source of all his problems.

Giotto Taru del Vongola tilted the head of his successor in a graceful nod of acknowledgement, saying, “Hibari Kyoya, Rokudo Mukuro, having fun?”

“Hardly,” returned Mukuro, his glare caustic as the skylark merely tsked.

“Then can I request that you cease your abuse of the treasures you wear?” He inquired politely, gesturing to each of their rings in turn.

“Oya? This belongs to me now,” Mukuro grinned triumphantly. “I’ll do with it as I like.”

He was in a strangle hold before he could so much as blink.

“I’m not playing with you, son of Estraneo,” Giotto declared regally as he glared out of his borrowed eyes. “My best friends reside within those; you’d do well to respect and care for them as you will your own life. For if you do not, I will end you. And this time, you will not reincarnate.”

Mukuro scoffed as best he could, bravado trying to protect his pride.

But Giotto wasn’t finished.

“Furthermore,” he emphasized, eying Hibari who observed him carefully out of cautious eyes both intrigued and disturbed by the possession of the body he so craved to claim. “The Vongola Rings are a manifestation of things beyond your comprehension, children. Their essences could overturn the natural order or restore it without a wrinkle. But without Alaudi and Daemon, the balance of the Trinisette would be in grievous danger because clearly neither your flames are yet prepared or your mentality sufficiently mature to handle such a task.”

“Ho?” Mukuro hummed defiantly, eyes glittering with malice. “And what’s so great about the Runaway Guardian or the Judas Iscariot of the First Generation Vongola?”

Those golden orbs flashed, before they morphed into a rose gold inferno.

“What’s so great about them? About my beloved Alaudi and precious Daemon? You’re asking me, insolent child, what was so great about the man that sometimes single-handedly defended the peace of Italy while I slaved for it elsewhere?” He breathed softly, grip on Mukuro’s throat tightening. “That man united the difficult stragglers and gave them purpose, and founded the organization that protects and supervises the Vongola to this day. Fearless, gallant, reserved…no-one could compare! It would be you running away if you after were so tragically unfortunate to face my Cloud! And what’s so great about the companion that selflessly liberated me of the corrupted, accursed Donhood and then went on to continue to serve for long after I myself had retired? All alone? With cruel people that only wanted to dictate, to desecrate, to decimate…? If I release your conduit right here, go to Vendicare to I crush your windpipe, and then carve out your soul in your final, pathetic moments to torch it until the stain that was its existence is gone - it will still never be enough for you to pay for disparaging my Mist!”

The last came out as a roar; wild eyes and dangerous snarl contorting the contours of the young Sky’s face in unfamiliar ways.

The Greatest Sky seemed unhinged as he abruptly dropped Mukuro in the dirt and, in a single beat of a butterfly’s wings, instantaneously calmed. Countenance composed, expressive eyes suddenly serene, body language polite and placid, he smiled kindly.

“Remember children,” Primo said, hauling them both close with tendrils of raw flame and breathing the rest into their ears. “Dread the night without moon, the sea at storm, and the anger of a gentle sky.”

Then, the body before them collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, and hit the dusty earth with a thump. Hibari bent to the heaped effigy at their feet, rolling Tsuna unto his back with something akin the panic in his gleaming eyes and the jerky way he moved. The second Tsuna was flat, the raven was boxing him in with his arms, razor-sharp stare examining his every breath and twitch for signs that his ancestor was still over-shadowing him. When those trademark lashes lifted, and his small mouth parted in a quivering sigh, Hibari exhaled in relief.

-which fled when Tsuna lashed out with a flaming fist, and the carnivore instinctively evaded what would have been a bone-shattering blow.

Silvery-grey orbs clashed against gold-gilded amber.

“Sorry,” he whispered, bangs shielding his eyes and casting his face into shadow.

“Hn.”

“Don’t trigger Primo again like that guys,” he warned as he pushed Hibari away and stood. Oddly, he ignored Mukuro proffered hand. “It’s…it’s just not a good idea; it’s like he becomes a different person. It’s scary, right?”

“I fear no-one, omnivore,” Hibari clarified firmly.

Mukuro followed, scoffing at the very thought, “I must agree with the skylark, Sawada Tsunayoshi. I am beyond such things.”

“But you should be afraid,” came the ominous reply as Tsuna turned his back to them. “You should be terrified.”

.

A/N: I should just rename this ‘A Sky and Its Elements Being Cute.’ First Nono, now Primo…I can’t seem to help myself. X’D

Notes:

GAIA-tier - Guardiano Abbagliante, Incredibile, e Ammirevole that is, Dazzling Guardian Incredible and Admirable

digestivi – Italian digestive drinks

Chapter Text

People were always talking about Sasagawa Kyoko.

Saying that she was kind, pretty and so gentle.

It was funny, because they wouldn’t have known true gentleness if it hit them in their faces (or vice versa, rather), if it crashed into them every day, if it had lived with them for more than a decade.

People were blind.                             

Right under their nose there was someone better, someone stunning. But the absolutely astonishing jewel in the rough was too refined in taste for the average joe. Which, really was quite a shame.

Sawada Tsunayoshi was radiant.

There was no other way to put it.

When he was gentle, it felt as if a mere touch would break him.

He was adorable as he tried to give more than he even had. (In her darker moments, she’d thought that, if it would save him, she would sacrifice anything to relieve him of such burdens.

Knowing that would only aggrieve him, she vowed to control herself. Besides, that would be awful.

Right?)

Sweet, considerate, loving – it was all she could do not to coo at him sometimes. He was so vulnerable like this; walking around with his heart on his sleeve for all the world to see and harm it in his generous attempts to accept sinners and saints alike. Her heart squeezed at that beautiful mercy. Of course, his best feature was that enrapturing selflessness that threatened to cast its soul away for the happiness of those around him. He was always trying so hard nowadays, always busy, always smiling, always captivating her with his kindness. He had amassed devout followers in record time, and the ever-expanding group of obsessive worshippers oft worried her.

One day, she feared, Tsuna would be swept away, clear off his feet by some crazed nutjob or another who he’d felt pity for.

But she hoped he’d never change.

When Tsuna was firm, it felt as if he would stab himself with all the strict rules he was trying to obey.

It was heart-breaking seeing him suffer as he teetered on the precipice of encouraging from afar and engulfing the others whole. (In her darker moments, she’d thought that, if it would make him happy, she would commit atrocities to see him consume all the flies drawn to his honey trap.

Knowing that would only destroy him, she vowed to contain herself. Because, that would be wrong.

Right…?)

Resolved, immovable, powerful – it was all she could do to restrain her thirst. He was a force to be reckoned with like this; stalking his prey down and peering deep into their very beings to weigh it. Her heart throbbed at that striking primal instinct. Of course, his best feature was that seductive edge that screamed danger in all his efforts to protect those around him. He was ever in pursuit of greater strength these days, ever-attentive, ever-focused, ever-facing down the abyss with his hands fisted as if in prayer. The enormous list of enemies he’d earned in so short a time dumbfounded her, and the always-present risk of being this close to him oft ignited a scandalous heat within her.

With that in mind, she wished she could plaster herself to his side so that he would have to defend her. If she could hide behind his slender but proud back, small hand caressing his ridged spine as he all but immolated her attackers… The blade sharp eyes, the whipcord arms, agile legs and regal bearing of his more intense, fight-time persona; it was all enough to make her shudder with want. How many times had she had to excuse herself from his side as of late to do immoral acts in the girls’ bathroom in recent months? She had become such a shameless thing that it had become necessary to carry around Feminine Wipes and an extra pair of panties in a zipped compartment of her skirt pocket. So she’d been crimson when she added it, but she would die if ever she reached in to pull out her wallet and those things fell out instead.

Kyoko knew it was wrong. Tsuna wasn’t hers. Further, Tsuna wasn’t an object. And, honestly, she’d lost count of how many times she’d tried to stop herself. In the early days, when she didn’t understand why she was reacting to him in this way, she’d been so mortified that every single time it had happened, she spent the next week avoiding him and swearing to herself that it had been the last time. And yet, her desperate promises were always rendered futile. She could neither forfeit this hunger for him than she could stop loving her brother. She’d been engulfed by her cravings, stumbling around helplessly behind him in a heightened haze of raw arousal and self-discovery. It had gotten so bad that days ago, on Monday, he’d mistaken the results of her disgusting habit for sickness, and wouldn’t heed her platitudes about being ‘fine.’

He’d swept her effortlessly up into his arms in the middle of the auditorium, right before general assembly.

“Move,” he commanded the room at large, after pivoting on his heel.

The neat lines of students collapsed, and, around them, girls squealed at the display as some boys frowned. Case in point, Moriyama, a new classmate of theirs that had taken up stalking her where Mochida-Senpai had long since left off, stepped directly, purposefully into Tsuna’s path.

“Where do you think you’re going with Kyoko-san, Sawada?” He hissed with a glare.

Tsuna didn’t even blink. In this, what everyone so jokingly called his ‘Boss Mode,’ she imagined that not even the Apocalypse would affect him.

“To the Infirmary,” He replied succinctly, eying her latest pest with a scornful flare of his nostrils. The aristocratic twist of his upper lip, a clear declaration of his distain, caused a burst of heat in her core and she shook, trying to contain herself before she humiliated them both right there in front of the entire school population. Ever collected as he was in this state, he simply tightened his grip, attempting to comfort her and only succeeding in making it worse as her eyes flooded over from the strain of holding back.

By some miracle she just managed.

“If you think I’ll just let you wander off with our school’s idol, you’ve got another thing coming,” Moriyama sneered, as his friends stepped up behind him.

And there it was, the declaration of her status as a glorified object. A thing. An ‘idol…’

On cue, she saw Gokudera-san and Yamamoto-kun do the same, and the echoing stomping that marked the impending arrival of her older brother calmed her. Tsuna wouldn’t be alone. Of course, even if he had been, she wouldn’t have feared for either of them. He was far too capable now to allow someone like their pathetic pervert of a classmate to get within a hairsbreadth of either of them.

“Out of my way, Moriyama Sousuke,” Tsuna advised patiently.

“I’m not going anywhere,” The other challenged.

Tsuna’s amber eyes flashed gold.

“Okay,” He said pleasantly, a dimpled smile and his eyes crinkled closed softening his face for an instant. Then he opened his now molten golden eyes and peered out at the trio opposite him from through his long, caramel lashes and a chill ran right through her.

“Hayato, Takeshi,” he called their attention firmly in his husky voice; the implicit order was crystal clear.

Nothing else needed to be said.

He strolled victoriously out of the vast hall fifteen seconds later, before breaking into a swift jog.

She could only clutch to his shirt, flushed to the roots of her hair as she mentally both cursed and praised his attractiveness.

At that moment she’d realized something key. That curt utterance of his friends’ name had cemented the humiliating truth in her heart. One day, Tsuna would bring her to orgasm with just his voice, the throaty, resonating tenor raw and fatally alluring to the filthy excuse for a young lady that she’d become.

But she prayed he’d never stop.

He didn’t mean to so helplessly stimulate and enamour her she knew. Those hypnotic amber eyes, wiry, slender musculature, and penchant for looking as if he’d just been ravished, all wild and disarrayed-

But no-

Even if he was all her dreams incarnate, this Prince Charming was beyond her reach.

True, Tsuna-kun was in love, Kyoko knew that.

…it simply was no longer with her.

Watching him that Thursday as he frantically buzzed from one corner of his living room to another preparing the space for his and Reborn’s conjoint birthday party, she came to this saddening conclusion. Unable to bear the open affection he dealt out so naturally to everyone, she turned and started to subtly make for the hallway, dodging the mess everywhere. It was hard, but she tried to filter out the typical interpersonal chaos.

It didn’t work.

“Onii-san,” Tsuna began in exasperation as he passed right next to her, but his eyes were affixed to Ryohei’s hulking mass. “Don’t drink the punch! Who spiked it anyways?”

“It was my sister, Tenth!” Gokudera-san reported immediately from the other side of the room, automatically drawing closer, pulled by the gravity of Tsuna’s charisma. “I saw that traitor do it with my own two eyes.”

Yamamoto-kun was another unfortunate casualty of this haunting fate, and had already swept an arm around Tsuna’s shoulders to pull him to his chest. “And you didn’t stop her, ‘Dera? Lol.”

As Gokudera-san crossed in front of her, the rabid twitching of that swollen vein on his forehead made her wonder distantly if today was the day it would rupture. He was all but hissing by now, like a prissy cat. “Don’t you ‘lol’ me you-”

But Tsuna was still stuck a beat before in befuddlement, “Bianchi…? Why?”

“It was on my orders, Tsuna,” a high voice confessed, startling her at just the right point to avoid colliding with him.

But she no longer cared and tried to hurry away.

“Reborn…!” Tsuna gasped as if shocked, but he really wasn’t. He was just accustomed to reacting that way to the wilful contradiction. “I knew it!” See? “You spawn of Satan; what’s your objective this time?”

“To get you drunk, of course,” He responded as if it were natural. “It’s been a while since you stripped in public.”

“Wha-why would you-I can’t believe-!”

Tsuna was dumbstruck.

“A mafia boss should be unflinching in the face of anything,” Reborn explained. “You still blush whenever Mukuro tries to take nudes of you.”

…

What?

When did that happen?          

“That was Mukuro!?!”

She went still at that. She couldn’t believe Chrome wouldn’t tell her! Or get her other to share!

Of course, Chrome probably didn’t know she would have loved to be included…

‘Oh, dang it!’ She scolded herself mentally. ‘Bad, Kyoko. Bad!’

“Well, it was actually Chrome,” Reborn clarified -making things worse for her. “But circumstances being what they are…”

Yes, there was that. How convenient…or at least it would be if she could confess.

“But why do you have Mukuro trying to take nudes of me?” Tsuna was straining to understand his inherent charm; how cute.

Still, it was a good question; Reborn would have had better luck himself.

“…because.”

The infant was using the petulant voice; this wasn’t going to end well.

“…because?” Tsuna inquired testily, arms crossed and tapping his foot.

“Because I say so.”

Ah, the grand finale. But now that she considered it, Tsuna’s acute sense for Reborn would probably scream if the infant attempted it.

“HAH…?”

If only she could bottle the radical expressions Tsuna made, but no. She was already obsessed, virtually anything would only make it worse. Suddenly realizing that she’d been standing in the middle of the room for no reason, she got going – this time filtering out as much as possible.

“Maa, maa, Tsuna, breathe with me, okay?”

“How dare you, you awful…man-child!”

“…Is that the best insult you can come up with after all this? Clearly, you’ve still got a lot to learn, Dame-Tsuna.”

“Speaking of children, Tsuna-”

“Gah! Aneki!”

“-Where’s Fuuta; Mama is looking for him?”

“Lambo-san heard that he was helping Muku-Nii with some ranking-”

“God no…Takeshi, kill the music!”

“Sure thing, Tsuna!”

“Mukuro-sama, getting a child drunk might be a bad idea…”

“Mukuro-san can do whatever he wants, byon!”

“Exactly right, Ken. Well, child? What are they?”

“Tsuna-Nii’s biggest turn-ons are-”

She was almost there, the finer points of the conversation flowing over her when that caught her attention, and she was frozen in the doorway, her back to the action.

“Hiie!” And when was the last time she’d heard that? “For god’s sake, someone stop him…!”

Click.

“Ryohei, why did you close the sliding door?”

“Pipe down, I’m trying to hear. Don’t make me use the Desolation Bullet in front of the Ninth later.”

“You still have those?”

“Chigusa, write this down!”

“Number Ninety-Nine: rum and raisin ice-cream.”

“I don’t need his entire masturbation playbook; just get to the good stuff!”

“Number Sixty: accents.

“Cliché. What next?”

“Number Fifty-Nine: sensual fabrics.”

“…and what are those? Give me something I can work with!”

“Number Forty-Two: being considered dependable.”

“That’s just pedestrian: next.”

“Number Forty-One: providing for his family.”

“How mediocre; try a higher number.”

“Number Eighteen: voyeurism.”

“How delightfully deviant~”

“Number Seventeen: exhibitionism.”

“Kufufu, now we’re getting somewhere…!”

“Number Sixteen: having the Namimori Middle’s School Anthem being played during-”

“HIIE!”

“Did you finally get out of your shock, Baka-Tsuna?”

“Disgusting, what else?”

“Number Fifteen: swords.”

“…Wanna train sometime with me and Squalo, Tsuna?”

Sobs.

“Stop crying, Dame-Tsuna. This will be good bonding for you and your Guardia-”

“Shut up; I hate you!”

“So, you’ve grown spine after all, Dame-Decimo?”

“Baby, what is all this racket?”

“Ah, welcome Hibari-”

“Number Fourteen: guns.”

“…I could always teach you, Tsuna. It’ll be like in the beginning: just you, me, and long, hard steel. I’ll take good care of you.”

“I don’t wanna hear a baby say these things to me…!”

“Che. Rude.”

“Number Thirteen: gloves.”

“Oh my…What a narcissist you are, Sawada Tsunayoshi.”

“It’s not like that, you pervert! You use gloves! Ryohei too! For his boxing!”

“Guh…”

“Are you okay, Onii-san?”

“Extremely fine…!”

Ryohei sounded as if he were being strangled. By lust no doubt.

‘Stupid Onii-chan…’ She thought bitterly.

“Oya, oya, I don’t want to be called a pervert by the man that likes exhibitionism.”

“This from the guy who has that weird thing for tentacles!?! Move out of the way, Ryohei; this madness needs to be stopped – at the source.”

“I, uh, can’t do that, Sawada.”

“…why not?”

“…it wouldn’t be extreme of me to sell Mukuro out like that.”

“He’s right, Tsuna. This is important stuff.”

“Et tu, Takeshi?”

“The idiot might actually have a point this time, Tenth.”

“You managed to compose yourself…for this!?! I hate you all.”

“No you don’t, kora.”

“You’re here too!?!”

“Ryohei invited me, Lal should be here tonight.”

“Thank god she isn’t here now.”

“Number Twelve: wearing oversized sport-themed sweatshirts.”

“…ha? What was that?”

“Yamamoto, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just thinking…!”

“Oh god…”

“…Kusakabe, report.”

“Oh, you woke up from your nap just in time, Kyo-san! Well, ah, it’s the ranking of Sawada-san’s, erm, turn-ons…”

“…oh?”

“Number Eleven, the smell of gunpowder.”

“Tenth…. I’m honoured.”

“It’s not an honour, Hayato! It’s dirty!”

“…that audacious terrorist herbivore!”

 “Number Ten: being bitten.”

“Wao. As expected of the omnivore.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste but-”

“WHY IS IT COMING THROUGH THE SPEAKERS NOW?”

“That’s what you get for sassing me.”

“I feel so violated…!”

“Then my work here is done.”

“Demon!”

“This is nothing, kora. Just wait ‘til you’re legal.”

“One of these days, I’ll have my vengeance.”

“I doubt it. You don’t trip over your own two feet anymore, but you’ve still got quite a ways to go.”

“Especially with Reborn as you tutor, kora.”

“…this house doesn’t admit classless losers with inelegant tastes in firearms: get out.”

“Bring it, kora.”

“With pleasure.”

There were the sounds of gunshots after that.

“Number Nine: crossdressing.”

Her head whipped around sharply at that.

To her displeasure, instead of being able to enjoy Tsuna, face ablaze and shy, she had to watch Gokudera choke and pinch his nose to staunch his abrupt nose-bleed as Yamamoto drew Tsuna into his arms to hide his face in the baseballer’s chest. Now, his unnecessarily broad back blocked her view.

Nonchalantly, the lecher commented, “You sure like some interesting things, Tsuna!”

“Number Eight: restraints.”

“Extremely, interesting!” Ryohei followed up, visibly torn between guarding the door and stealing Tsuna from Yamamoto.

“Someone please put me out of my misery,” the brunet groaned mournfully into his hands. “Please…!”

Then, as if to comfort him, her awful older sibling decided to box Tsuna in from behind, hands possessively on his hips and peering with single-minded intensity down at him.

Seething, she turned back around to glare at the floor as if this was all its fault.

“Number Seven: taking care of others in a loving home…”

“How cute…!”

“I beg you…shut up, Takeshi!”

“I’m sorry, Tenth, but I have to agree with our idiota! It’s adorable.”

“Sawada, is it because you wanna be like your extremely nice mom?”

“Ara! Well is it Tsu-kun?”

Enter, Sawada Nana passing Kyoko like she hadn’t even seen her.

“MOM!”

“Oops. Fuuta’s outside, Maman.”

“Busted, kora!”

“I don’t need Fuuta anymore; Lambo-chan is helping me. As for you Tsu-kun! …You could have told me you wanted to be like Mama. Mou, you’re so shy for a boy! Let’s start teaching you right away…!”

And she dragged him off. To prevent her from hearing anymore, he went willingly.

Kyoko didn’t leave though.

She stayed.

Persistent, like he’d been about her a mere two years ago.

Funny, how things changed…

When the entire ranking had run its course without a sole mention that gave her hope, Kyoko finally had to step outside. She should have known. She had known. So why did she do these things to herself? Why, oh why, had she just stood there, listening desperately for some sort of a sign?

It was obvious.

And could only have been for the best.

(In her darker moments, she’d thought that, if she could have one wish-

But what did it matter? It was all impossible.)

A loud buzz rent the air and she pulled out her vibrating cellphone.

It was a text message.

From her mother:

“Have you thought it over yet?

The opportunities available to you in Tokyo would be impossible to find in Namimori; this would change your life.”

Oh.

Change her life, huh?

“Kyoko-chan?”

And there he was, the chain tethering her to this little town and its inherent insanity.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as he timidly stepped out of the doorway and up to her side. Twisting his fingers awkwardly with a barely-there blush on his cheeks, Tsuna worried at his bottom lip for a moment before trying again.

“Are you okay?” Tsuna continued, open concern in his honest eyes as he slipped his hands in his pockets so as to halt the instinct to touch her that just naturally happened with everyone else.

He’d had training that morning, and, for lack of time, Haru had told her that he just burnt off the sweat with his flame and tossed on a new, sleeveless hoodie over the baggy, military-grade cargo pants tucked into knee-high, black combat boots. A new, black, cropped hoodie that ended right above his abs.

God save her.

She tried not to be distracted by the wide, scarlet satin ribbon at his throat with a large, golden cat bell hanging from it as Tsuna attempted to coax her back inside, and failed miserably.

Gokudera had excellent taste in gifts…and, she realized despairingly, in the words of her big brother, she was extremely doomed, as Tsuna finally, hesitatingly, placed a gentle hand on the small of her back as he guided her indoors.

“If you ever feel uncomfortable, Kyoko-chan,” Tsuna was murmuring softly. “Just tell me and I’ll get the others to stop – one way or another. You shouldn’t have to leave for them to behave.”

Poor thing, little did he know that it was she who needed to behave.

…looking up (he was taller than her now, and wonderfully so) at those compassionate features, with his warm, solid presence at her back and inhaling his smell of brimstone, peaches, and sakura, Kyoko knew that Tokyo would be utterly impossible for her.

.

Lunch time with the whole group was a riot; mainly because everyone attending was so…energetic.

…and likely fully armed.

And she included her brother in that bunch because his fists were basically weapons anyways.

But such was the mafia, what was one to do?

It was only Tuesday, and she was already reflecting internally in exasperation.

(Poor Tsuna-kun.)

“Hibari-san!” Tsuna was saying in reprimand. “You can’t just skip lunch.”

(She tried not to focus on how cute he looked with the fish-shaped hair clips in different shades of blue that Yamamoto had given him holding back his bangs. She imagined that the prefect was having similar problems.)

“Yeah, Hibari,” the aforementioned teen commented with a chuckle. “You’re still a growing boy. You at least need some milk!”

“Screw the milk!” Gokudera hissed, glaring at the Left-Hand to his prized position as Right-Hand Man. Swivelling to Tsuna, his personality did a full 180-degree flip. “Tenth, you shouldn’t stress yourself out worrying about this disobedient wretch. You already have more than enough on your plate. School, home, training, paperwork, the guardians actually worth your time…oh, and Lambo.”

“How come Lambo’s separate from the rest of us, ‘Dera?” The baseball star inquired casually in amusement.

“Because he’s such a pain in the ass that he requires special care,” the genius responded succinctly.

“Hayato,” Tsuna began wearily, sighing in exasperation. “Can you hold back a bit on poor Lambo? He’s-”

“Lambo-chan is trying his best!” Haru interjected testily in defense of the child.

That just set Hayato off.

“Guys…” attempted Tsuna in a whine; he was so obviously tired that it hurt Kyoko deeply and awoke a fierceness within.

She aimed a look at her older brother when he opened his mouth to put in his two cents, and he immediately clamped his jaw shut.

“Who asked you, you freak!”

“I am not a freak!”

“Nope! You’re more of a striker that’s been benched for being in the wrong uniform, haha!”

“What the hell does that even mean, you idiot?”

“Haru is not a striker!”

“It wasn’t an insult, you moron! He was trying to comfort you!”

“Haru doesn’t want to be comforted! I mean, at least not-”

“Silence…” and with Hibari shattering the plaster of the wall next to him with his tonfa, it was instantaneous.

“Thank you, Hibari-san,” the brunet breathed, relief crystal clear. “Will you at least take your obento?”

“I don’t have the time for this, Sawada Tsunayoshi,” the Head of the Disciplinary Committee negated with a scowl. “I only came here to notify you that I would be momentarily unavailable to respond to your hijinks while on patrol, not ask permission. Furthermore, I’m not like you weak herbivores; I can survive without-”

“Hibari Kyoya,” interrupted Tsuna golden eyes ablaze. “that wasn’t me asking you. That was me telling you. Either you take the goddamned obento, or you will come here and eat every bite I put in front of you. Now.”

There was a beat as, to the clear surprise of Haru-chan, (who was seeing it for the first time since Hibari-san had been taking his lunch in the Committee Office at his desk since the school year began), the raven leered and promptly yielded.

“Wao…” He purred, taking a seat behind Tsuna and pulling him into his lap.

All the heat that had settled in Kyoko’s stomach at Tsuna’s growled order to the skylark immediately vanished. Cold envy filled her as she distantly observed the cozy atmosphere that enfolded Tsuna and his Guardians while he fed them all from the monstrous, eight-tier, ebony lacquer lunch box with his own, jade chopsticks – the former with impressive designs embossed in gold and the latter bejewelled and inlayed with the same. From what she understood they were both gifts from the Hibari Family, even if they had matching counterparts and were being used in a mismatched fashion at this point. Ryohei had told her that Tsuna was using the obento because it was the largest, and the utensils in some faint hope for health and good luck. In the middle of the lovefest, Reborn, elegantly sprawled on Tsuna’s lap and now awake from his impromptu nap, had to remind him to eat. Watching him colour delicately and finally take a piece of fried chicken served to him by the baby hitman, Kyoko damned him for making her heart flutter yet again. He was just too giving for his own good, that silly prince. She was already fighting not to burn with jealousy when even Haru joined in, getting the young, future Don to feed her the other half of the rolled omelette he’d been eating, when something happened that had her on her feet in seconds.

Hibari Kyoya, sandwiched between Gokudera and Yamamoto curled around the brunet atop his lap, unabashedly nipping at the elegant column of Tsuna’s throat, casually manhandled the lanky form so that Tsuna was straddling him. Reborn hopped out of the embrace, tsking in annoyance. Tsuna didn’t even squeak (as he had the first time this happened – what, six months ago?), but gasped quietly, fisting a sole hand in Hibari’s shirt to yank that vicious mouth away from his Adam’s Apple with ease that spoke of his growing brute strength. Hibari growled lowly in challenge, delighted by the minor struggle, but his ferocious jerk forward, while his starched collar was still in Tsuna’s tight, capable grip, caused the first button he actually had closed to pop off.

There was a faint tinkle, and a long, thick titanium chain fell out.

On it, hung a dazzling, enormous Mandarin Garnet encrusted gold ring.

A gold engagement ring.

And from the colour of the stone there were no doubts as to who had given such a thing to the demon prefect. It could have been a present of friendship, like those the others had, but she didn’t think so. Tsuna could easily cripple Hibari Kyoya if he really didn’t want their upperclassman touching him, or get the others to put a stop to his…attacks, but he never did. Hell, he sometimes actively encouraged it. Rather than fleeing from that maniac, he was always making excuses to see him. He discussed all mafia-related topics with him first, adored walking around with his little yellow canary, brought him the obento to his office directly, took care of his burly force of gakuran-wearing delinquents, was always wearing that god-awful sakura perfume, giving in to his violent tendencies and brawling with him…

She remembered the day before, when they ended up wrestling in the pouring, freezing rain, on the hard, mud-slicked ground. The raven had cast his tonfa aside in favour of crawling between Tsuna’s long, coltish’s legs, and pinning the exhausted adolescent with all he had. With a growl akin to a beast, he sank his teeth into the slighter boy’s collarbone. Tsuna, gorgeous Tsuna, clothes practically in shreds, gloves alit and magnificently crowned with raw power howled. But instead of fighting back, he’d just…submitted.  Thrashing, crying out, spasming like an injured animal in a trap in the skylark’s filthy grip…

Mewling in pleasure.

“H-Hibari-san…!” A harsh gasp, voice hoarse, wet, and utterly wrecked. “Stop!”

“Never…” He snarled in answer.

It was everything she’d always feared would happen to her beloved Tsuna.

The memory was too much in face of the horrifying evidence dangling from Hibari Kyoya’s neck. Everything she wanted, squandered in the hands of a bastard who didn’t deserve it.

She was standing, smothering a wounded sound in the back of her throat before anyone could blink, and turned to make a beeline for the staircase.

“Kyoko!” Both Ryohei and Tsuna called after her, similarly startled by her abrupt move.

“Um,” She murmured softly, a pale pink rising on her cheeks as she smiled, eyes closed to hide any trace of inner turmoil. “I…I forgot to get a drink; I’ll be right back.”

“O-oh, but,” Tsuna stuttered awkwardly before shyly offering her his gargantuan bottle of homemade fruit smoothie. “But, if you want, then maybe…I have cups?”

“It’s fine,” She said, more forcefully than she’d intended judging from Tsuna’s cowed expression, and then amended, “I have to use the restroom as well so…”

“AH!” Her silly older brother tried to censor just as Tsuna nodded with a cutely squeaked, “Oh!”

“Sorry…” He apologized, scratching a cheek sheepishly as Hibird landed on his mane, distracting him from any reply she might have made.

Story of her life right now, really.

‘You had your chance, stupid,’ she reminded herself as she made for the stairs. ‘But you missed the train when it’d been waiting for you in the station for years.’

She felt a gaze burning into her back and forced herself to not tense as she closed the door to the rooftop behind her. It was familiar anyway, and its owner was far too intelligent to be ignorant of such a development for long. That her feelings had remained a secret this long was nothing short of a miracle. Her best friend was a highly gifted individual, even if she wasn’t an absolute genius like Gokudera-san. Actually, that might actually aid her when one took into consideration the eccentricity of all the best and brightest that they collectively knew.

They weren’t quite right and were often creepy.

Even Irie-san, and he was arguably the most harmless, had an entire gallery dedicated to the candid photos he took of Tsuna while stalking him.

Nevertheless, here they were in the autumn, the hypocrite that was Sasagawa Kyoko was being a disgraceful perv, and was filled to the bursting with the secret shame.

Worse, Hana-chan was becoming suspicious and no-one could ever find out. So, she’d have to figure out how to hide it better.

But she knew she couldn’t hold out much longer.

.

While Hana was catching on, Kyoko noted that Haru was already sure.

Of course, this was probably because she saw the unsightly faces Kyoko was likely making in the mirror every day.

They didn’t discuss it; Kyoko wasn’t sure she could get the words out to properly explain.

That, and apologize.

But for what? Tsuna had never been Haru’s. (That was kind of the problem.)

So why did she feel so guilty?

She was grateful for the reprieve ignoring the topic entirely granted her, but how long could they go on like this?

Sighing tiredly the next day at seven in the evening as she strode up the path to the Sawada’s front door for Game Night, Kyoko idly pondered her options. Her parents had offered her the chance to move in with them in Tokyo; that would rid her of all her problems in one fell swoop, but it would also break her heart. Her brother, her friends, Tsuna…they were too important. Originally, she hadn’t even entertained Tokyo as a possibility, but if she was only going to hurt pointlessly, indefinitely, wouldn’t it have been better to just cut her losses? She’d be nothing and no-one in Tokyo. The weight of being the school’s idol, the limits of having Ryohei scaring off any alternatives to her current situation, watching Tsuna’s Guardians and even her own friends enjoy what she could only dream about, and Tsuna himself…She ached thinking about it. Composing herself once she was at the front door, she knocked politely, slipped on a pleasant smile, and waited.

It was oddly quiet for Game Night.

Had Tsuna already gotten frustrated and sent his horde out shopping for more drinks or snacks?

The door opened just then and she quickly masked whatever confusion she felt.

“Ara, Kyoko-san!” Sawada Nana seemed surprised to see her. “I thought you’d gone with the everyone!”

The decorative gift bag with the gallon of ice-cream she’d bought nearly slipped out of her grasp.

Gone?

Gone where?

“…No,” she intoned slowly, one part dumbfounded, one part disappointed, two parts upset. “Where did they…?”

“Italy, of course!” the burnet responded brightly, but upon realizing that Kyoko really did not seem to know anything, sobered pensively she continued, “I’d thought for sure that Tsu-kun would have taken you, or at least called but-”

“It’s okay!” The blonde chimed, beaming with her burning eyes closed. “He’s busy, so he probably just forgot.”

Nana hummed, sympathetic expression causing Kyoko to blink in apparent innocence, anxiously widening her smile and tilting her head to the left in what she knew to be a disarming movement.

But Sawada Nana resisted her feigned platitudes.

Instead, the older hesitated in an achingly familiar fashion, chocolate eyes so hauntingly similar to ones Kyoko so adored wide with worry, “Well, if you say so, but could I invite you in for a cup of tea?”

She’d stepped back to offer the younger space to go in, but Kyoko waved it all off.

“It’s fine, Sawada-san!” She replied in a cheerful tone. “A couple of other friends invited me out for Karaoke, and I don’t hang out with them near as much as I should, so this works out perfectly!”

“You’re sure?” She probed instinctively, and didn’t Kyoko just hate when people peered into her?

Praying fervently to whichever deity that would listen, she nodded like she was over the moon. “Completely! Goodnight, Sawada-san.”

“Goodnight, sweetie.”

Kyoko got out of there as fast as she could after that embarrassing nightmare, went home, and tried her best not to cry as she buried her hurt under the entire tub of chocolate fudge ice-cream.

She failed bigtime.

.

Kyoko hadn’t expected this.

“A walk?” She inquired aloud, Saturday morning, watching him fidget in the doorway.

She hadn’t even known he was back in Japan, and about that: she was mad.

Okay, she should be mad.

So mad.

…but she couldn’t be, not with the stress etched like years on his face.

Unbidden, her eyes traced his lithe physique, unfairly on display in a bright orange tank top and a white, sleeveless, leather jacket intricately decorated with silver studs over a pair of painted on, low ride white jeans. Heavy, high-top, custom-ordered Timberland boots in a startlingly vibrant orange with silver toes upon which the Vongola Crest were engraved finished off the look.

She swallowed back the sudden flood of excess moisture in her mouth (and prayed there were no problems elsewhere) as he reached up to tug at the thick, white leather collar he was wearing for some mysterious reason, from which hung a platinum tag that read: ‘PET.’

…could she volunteer to adopt him? Maybe then she could keep an eye on him and put a stop to people abusing his kindness or just generally trying to send him into a suicidal spiral.

“And a picnic, maybe…?” He breathed in askance, cheekbones scarlet as he took a hand out of one of the pockets of his jacket and bent down to effortlessly scoop up a rather large, laden basket covered with a quilted, sunset orange blanket.

“Is there cake?” She questioned, as if she hadn’t already decided the moment she’d cracked open the door to see him standing there haloed in light.

“Un!” He hummed in confirmation, shyly fiddling with the Vongola Sky Ring. “Three kinds – mom showed me how.”

“All of a sudden?” She prodded unthinkingly; inner thoughts exposing themselves abruptly.

She regretted it immediately.

“I didn’t mean anything by it!” Tsuna hurried to assure her, but he only internally depressed her. “I’m not trying to come on to you or anything. It’s just- We’re friends, right? And anyway, if it’s too awkward you don’t have to.”

She hadn’t been trying to come off as questioning his motives, but here they were.

Curse her mouth!

“I’d love to go,” She said firmly, interrupting him and trying to recuperate the situation. “Now?”

“Yeah, I…I wanted to get away from it all and- well, Kyoko, I won’t lie to you; you’re like a port in a storm for me,” he explained in low murmurs, voice rough with emotion. “I just wanted to take a break after the week I’ve had. So, if you’re still up to hearing my sob stories, and you’re not busy. Or if, you know, you don’t think it’s self-serving, or-” He cut himself off with an embarrassed huff, blushing. “Please…?”

He bit his full bottom lip, chin lowered at an angle to the left and eyes at half-mast as he surveyed her with through those devastating lashes in a sideward glance.

Her stomach dropped; this was a mistake, wasn’t it?

She should back out, now. It was far too risky; she’d reveal what a pervert she was.

Instead, what came out of her mouth was:

“Definitely,” she breathed dreamily.

But was it any wonder when he looked at her like that?

When he was so…irresistible?

.

Tsuna was basically a Disney Princess, Kyoko concluded.

He sang out of nowhere (though it was rock he’d picked up from Gokudera under his breath), animals were drawn to him (apparently Reborn was trying to teach him how to communicate with them), and children liked (bullying) him. The girls were unrepentantly enchanted with him once he helped one of them up on their way in, and kissed the tiny hand he’d grasped to guide her to her feet. Now they were devotedly doting from a bush behind their unpacked feast. Their giggling had him pink in the face. And he cleared his throat constantly as he served them both some delectable meatball sub sandwiches. The boys were also especially interested in him, following him around after he’d tossed back their basketball and it managed to go effortlessly through the hoop. But since he was kissing girls and being a gentleman to Kyoko, he was gross.

So they decided to spray him down with their water guns.

“Don’t run!” He called, shedding his jacket and then whipping off his slopping wet shirt. “You’ll trip running on wet grass!”

The irreprehensible kids just laughed, taking off at full tilt.

“Honestly,” he sighed; the corner of his lips quirked up in amusement. “It’s like dealing with five-year-old Lambo again.”

He stood fluidly, shirtless and dripping, and proceeded to begin squeezing the water out of the rolled-up scrap of fabric, his toned biceps flexing, then taut abdomen rippling as he stretched to hang it over a branch. Kyoko got to enjoy the full show from her seat on the picnic blanket, the laughter of the rambunctious boys faint through the dense foliage Tsuna had led her to so they could have lunch in peace.

Without a belt, the pale-coloured jeans had slipped down just a smidge, but the girl’s covetous eyes tracked every appearing millimetre of creamy skin. She worshipped every inch of smooth flesh from his jutting hipbones to the generous arch of his posterior as he moved, the latter especially enticing and calling to her base desires in an (in her opinion) outlandishly strong fashion. Fingers twitching, she buried them in the Egyptian cotton beneath her to stop her ridiculous hormones from making her do something bizarre like grope him. (Or worse, spank him.)

The hedge near the tree he was under rustled, and the smallest kitten Kyoko had ever seen hesitatingly crept out. The curious little thing edged closer, meowing softly. The brunet blinked, glancing down the adorable ball of calico fluff, his entire countenance melting as it bat at his metal-tipped shoelaces. Dappled sunlight shimmering across him through the gaps in the leaves, he was glorious and gorgeous when he crouched down, cupped it gently in his hands and crooned softly at it. But when he touched his nose to the creatures and it gave the round tip a wet kiss that had his lashes fluttering in adorable surprise, she had to repress the oddest urge to giggle.

‘So cute…’

She reached out to pet the minuscule animal, but all she got for her fond attempt was a venomous hiss and the kitten reared up, fur on end and clearly incensed, and began swiping angrily at her.

“So tiny but so vicious,” She commented in amusement.

“Yeah,” replied Tsuna with a lopsided grin that stole her breath. “He reminds me of Gokudera-kun.”

It took Kyoko’s all not to snort at that.

“Be fair, Tsuna-kun,” Kyoko playfully reprimanded. “Gokudera-san is a way more refined tsundere.”

Tsuna chortled.

“Refined. That’s one way of putting-” He started, only to be rudely interrupted by a booming voice calling out at him from above.

“You did well to wear the collar, trash.”

Kyoko stifled the urge to gawk at the heavily scarred man she recognized from the ‘Sumo Tournament’ from two years ago, flying by means of a pair of black handguns.

“Xanxus…?” Tsuna groaned aloud, tsking in further irritation when the tiny cat spooked and leaped out of his hands and back into the underbrush. “What are you doing here? I sent you the picture you asked for; what more do you want?”

“Cookies, trash!” He declared with a glare, as if it was obvious.

“What? Now!?!” Tsuna yelled, incredulous. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“VOI!”

“Oh, God…” Tsuna moaned, as, from the brushes behind them the children screamed in horror and scattered as a tall foreigner with long silver hair charged right through, swinging a broadsword strapped to his hand.

What?

“No-one is getting busy, Baby Boss,” the taller hauled Tsuna up, and when the brunet misbalanced from the rough handling and fell unto the silveret’s chest, the swordsman buried his nose in his trademark mane. “Not unless it’s you, me, and Boss.”

Tsuna pushed off of the stranger’s pectorals with both palms, sputtering, “That is not the kind of busy I was talking about!”

And wasn’t that a shame?

The loud foreigner thought so too, and indignantly replied, “You should be grateful for the opportunity to serve the Boss, brat!”

“Don’t I already?” Tsuna hissed, eyes narrowed in mortification as his blush intensified. “Making him cookies, planning his meals with the Varia chef, consenting to wear those…interesting little outfits and trinkets he sends me and taking actual photos to commemorate the occasions in which I’m humiliated… Not to mention, travelling to wherever he calls me once a month just because, and, and-” He stuttered to a halt here, burying his burning face in his hands. “S-sky convergence.”

And that was…?

“That was your idea, trash,” the man, Xanxus apparently, returned, landing behind his subordinate.

“To help stabilize you, you over-grown brat!” Tsuna clarified, aghast and rosy-cheeked.

“And we’re certainly grateful, Vongola,” murmured a hovering baby with a frog floatation device, descending until it abruptly dropped into Tsuna’s arms to cuddle him. “Boss needs it and you never even ask for payment.”

Kyoko struggled to not react as Tsuna just, instinctively began to pet the frog and gently rock the baby as if he were Lambo and not- whatever he was.

“I’d never ask for money when a member of my family needs me,” Tsuna stated plainly. Taking a quick look around, he wondered. “Where’s Luss-Ne?”

“At your house with your Mother,” replied the infant. “For the right price I’ll tell you why.”

“I’d prefer not to know,” Tsuna rapidly returned, face pale. “I can probably take a pretty good guess anyway, and it’s nothing good.”

“Voi!” The first stranger shouted, irate. “You idiots are getting distracted from the point!” Turning to her friend, he said, “We heard that you were in Italy and got outmanoeuvred by the old farts in the Alliance; Boss came to hear it from your own mouth and rescue you!”

“I don’t need rescuing,” Tsuna denied staunchly. “It was about what I expected for what I wanted.”

“The Alliance deciding your life is what you expected, trash,” Xanxus questioned, eyes blazing.

Unaffected, Tsuna released the airborne child and met Xanxus’ blistering glare with his own.

“I’ll compromise where I can while I’m the heir,” he murmured gently, eyes flashing amber. “But when I’m Don Vongola…” He let his words trail off meaningfully as the Dying Will Flame burst to life on his forehead.

Xanxus let out a loud bark of laughter even while Tsuna allowed the flame to vanish.

“That’s more like it, Decimo!” He crowed darkly with a leer. “There’s my little spitfire…you’re welcome to hide out by us whenever you need, or if you finally decide to just incinerate that trash heap…”

“The prince agrees; he likes having the bunny over at HQ.”

A blond teenager with a…tiara…jumped down next to Tsuna’s exasperated form, and smoothly slid between the silveret and the brunet, twirling the captive Don-to-be out of the other’s embrace and into his own.

Tsuna blinked apathetically, face blank and disinterested as the young man with ridiculously long bangs drew him even closer, casually slipping one of the hands on Tsuna’s waist downwards to grab his ass and then beyond, until it lay on the back of his left thigh. Lowering Tsuna into a dip, he pressed his nose into the crook of the other’s arched neck.

“Does the bunny remember all those fun things we did?” He breathed into the space behind one of Tsuna’s ears, tongue tracing the shell.

“That’s just your opinion,” Tsuna returned, tone bone dry. “I personally wouldn’t call getting punched in the nuts, taking a roundhouse to the jaw, or an elbow to the face, or a knee to stomach so hard that you puke ‘fun,’ but since you’re such a glutton for punishment…whatever you prefer.”

“You wanted the Prince to visit you,” the blond accused, smirking sadistically.

“Ah, no,” Tsuna retorted, gaze indifferent. “I don’t recall soliciting any blonds in my bed to feel me up, or asking you sneak into my bathroom while I was showering, or my bath while I was relaxing, steal my used boxers or spike my meals and beverages. As a matter of fact, I specifically remember telling you that I’ll never be into you, that I don’t want you to drug me, and that I’m not into blood play.”

A beat.

“The prince could convince you otherwise if given the chance.”

“Sad then, that I won’t give it to you,” Tsuna deadpanned, emphasizing again, “Ever.”

“How cold, shishishishi,” the royal just laughed it off. “Boss must be a champion in bed to have you coming back for more.”

That managed to fluster the brunet.

“That’s not how the ritual works!” He protested, face crimson. “And I don’t enjoy it.”

“That’s not what you said last time, trash; the way I remember it, you moaned when I-” Xanxus had begun, but Tsuna all but threw himself into his arms, to slap both hands over his mouth.

“There’s no need to talk about that!” He called, balking; his expression clearly scandalized.  “Kyoko-chan doesn’t need to know about any of that!”

Xanxus grunted with a nod of reluctant acceptance, before helping the smaller male into his large, black leather jacket while the other three exchanged looks.

“Kyoko-chan!?!” Yelled the boisterous silveret.

“Like Sasagawa Kyoko?” The blond inquired, glancing back at her.

Internally wondering how they knew about her; she stood and smiled her best and sweetest smile.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she spoke clearly in English, bowing daintily before offering a hand.

Awkwardly, the silveret flipped his sword blade backward up the length of his arm and then accepted her proffered limb with both hands. He shook it firmly but with obvious care. Unsurprising considering that she could feel that the sword-hand was apparently a prosthetic.

“I’m Squalo, Superbia Squalo. It’s fucking nice to finally meet you,” He muttered dryly, aiming a look back at Tsuna.

The brunet coloured attractively, and buried his face in Xanxus’ chest. The titan of a young man for his part just cradled him close.

The blond beside the silveret giggled mischievously again, and took her hand from ‘Squalo.’ He raised it to his lips with a smirk.

“You have the honour of meeting His Highness, Crown Prince Belphegor, Madonna di Vongole.”

Kyoko had no idea what that meant, but from the way Tsuna’s head snapped back to survey the Prince out of hellfire lit eyes, she imagined that it wasn’t good.

“Don’t call her that, Bel,” He ordered, pulling out of the hulking Xanxus’ oddly gentle embrace.

Xanxus wasn’t having any of it though, and tossed the slighter over his shoulder despite his varied protests.

“My cookies aren’t going to make themselves, trash,” he drawled, a huge hand proud and proprietary on Tsuna’s ass.

Tsuna immediately began to object.

“I’m having a picnic with-”

“Who cares!” A husky voice huffed in clear displeasure as yet another tall man stalked out from the woods to their little clearing. This one was also very muscular, his dark complexion an excellent match for his black hair and deep, narrowed eyes framed by lightning tattoos.

“Levi, you were supposed to be patrolling the perimeter,” Xanxus commented slowly, tone dangerous.

“I completed all checks, Boss!” He replied briskly, standing at attention and saluting.

Xanxus hummed, a low, deep sound like that of a lion in repose.

Openly relieved, ‘Levi’ carelessly trampled their quilted blanket on his way to his superior’s side. Spotting the basket filled with goodies, and brazenly scooped it up. Sniffing it cautiously, he hummed in approval.

“I’ll be confiscating this, girlie!” He declared boldly. “How dare you have the same treats as him!”

“Of course!” She chirped pleasantly, mentally cursing him to the four winds.

How dare she? How dare he?

But Tsuna, thankfully, wasn’t about to tolerate such nonsense.

“Levi A Than, you put that down now, Mister. It doesn’t belong to you,” he commanded in a strong, scolding tone.

“But Mini-Boss!” He whined; his expression betrayed.

“No buts!” The brunet said in a non-negotiable tone. “There’s more at home; you all can just go there if you want some so badly.”

Pouting in a way totally ill-befitting of such a large man, Levi returned the basket to the blanket with a petulant “sorry.”

“Good,” Tsuna commended. “I’m proud of you. Now, as for you Xan…”

“What about me, Tsu?” he challenged, biting into the butt-cheek closest to his face.

Tsuna gasped erotically, legs going rigid. Then, clenching his thighs together, a hand reached up to tap the raven at the back of the head.

“Quit it, Xan!”

“It’s okay,” Kyoko said, falsely giggling at the sight of her now usually elegant friend slapping indignantly at the back of his…companion’s white dress shirt calling him everything from brute to pervert as the scarred man nonchalantly continued feeling him up. The outing, while chaotic and nothing like she’d expected, had left her feeling happy until these few showed up and made her recall the bitter truth.

Sawada Tsunayoshi wasn’t hers. She had no right to take his time from those he really loved.

She was too late.

“But,” he contested softly, remorse blatant. “I just-”

“We’ll catch up okay?” She reassured him, trying not to think, not to feel.

Because if he so much as suspected that she was upset-

No.

She didn’t want to imagine it.

Those plush, pouty lips pressing to her eyelids like he did to Lambo, I-Pin, and Chrome, or maybe to her forehead like he did to the others -including her own brother.

Lucky idiot.

Such things were far beyond her reach, and he was actually rejecting it.

“Don’t you at least wanna come with?” Tsuna inquired sweetly worried.

Swallowing back her crushing disappointment, she said, “No, go on ahead. I’m just going to enjoy the sunshine.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” he responded reluctantly, and for a moment her mind flashed back to Sawada Nana.

All she wanted now was for them all to go away so she could bask in what she had so briefly had…and then lick her wounds in private and mourn.

Some merciful deity must have felt bad for her though, because the rowdy group did depart soon after without much ado.

…leaving her to watch as Tsuna slowly slipped way waving worriedly from his perch.

But, she reminded herself, this was good practice. Sooner or later, that would become the reality, and a view much like this would be the last gift she’d ever have of him.

.

A/N: Nobody:

Not a single soul:

Me, giving you all unimportant information: Tsuna keeps his smoothie at the perfect temperature by locking it up in a thin coating of Zero Point Breakthrough, First Edition Ice. lol