A/N: Heh, been reading some songfics and was tempted to write one as well. XP This is based on the song 'Open Arms' (okay that was obvious XD) by 5566. I know Mariah Carey's the original singer of the song, if I'm not wrong, but the version I heard was the one by this Taiwanese group 5566 so if you guys are interested you can try listening to it. :)
Slivers of soft dim moonlight pour over the sleeping lovers, as if betraying the man with the celestial metallic hair. His head is buried in the taller man's chest, the subtly sweet scent of seafood and deodorant sneaking its way into his senses.
His eyelids are fallen, and his deep slow breaths match those of his partner. But he can still feel the faint pressure of shutting his eyes too tightly. His thoughts are a fusion of consciousness and surrealism; Gokudera's still awake.
Yamamoto's ethereal cuddle glows in the bed. It floods Gokudera with the gentle warmth Yamamoto reserves only for him. It is like an itch being relieved, the tender pressure on the small of his back. He likes the feeling of being wrapped by the one he loves like a bolster, like something important.
But something vexxing is nibbling at him. There is a sense of dreaded premonition pummeling at every part of his logic. He can not sweep away this uneasiness, that something is going to happen.
Perhaps he have been fidgetting too much. A low grunt merges into the cold air, as Yamamoto adjusts the position of his arms to hug Gokudera tighter, to claim him for his own.
Placing his lips over the soft earlobes of the Italian, a raspy and sleepy voice breathes, "Everything's okay. Relax and go to sleep, okay?"
A bare tingle runs down Gokudera's spine, as the moist air warms his skin. In a moment those aching thoughts of worry perish just like that. "Stalker," Gokudera mutters. He wraps his arms around the taller man's waist, and presses him tighter to his body.
Lying beside you here in the dark
Feeling your heart beat with mine
Softly you whisper
You're so sincere
How could our love be so blind
Subconsciously the long, elegant fingers begins to trail along the protrusion of scars beneath of the cloth. They are highly irregularly-shaped, akin to streaks of lightning cracking down on the tanned and broad back.
They are feather-light caresses, but it seems to pain Gokudera even so. Those scars are a collection of ten years of memories being crossed together.
So much have happened in ten years. Life is like a melody; a rhapsody with painfully low notes adorning the scores as often as they wished, but yet subsequently looping upwards to bring a set of harmonious symphony.
Every single inch of the scars have its story to tell, some are joyful ones, most of them bitter. But all of them eventually weave flawlessly together to piece a beautiful but crazy piece of puzzle they call love.
We sailed on together
We drifted apart
Accidentally the finger glides off-track. It feels no longer the rough and hard skin under the fabric. It is something smooth and soft now. It is an area of untouched and unhurt flesh; their present.
And here you are by my side
So now I come to you with open arms
Nothing to hide
Believe what I say
So here I am with open arms
Hoping you'll see what your love means to me
Snuggling in deeper into the fresh-smelling shirt, his lock around Yamamoto tightens. He never enjoys saying it, because he believes that actions speak louder than words. He isn't convinced that purely by calling each other by the first names will strengthen their bonds, like what the baseball idiot keeps insisting on. He is very certain that their love can be felt through every minute detail of their actions.
Yes, 'love'; a stage transcended from the previous level of 'like' in the adolescent days. As time flows the more their fondness for each other grows. Even at the boundary of 'love', they always feel like they can keep stretching the borders. These feelings will never stop.
Trembling hands grasp on tight onto the large, rough one. His hand feels so cold, so lifeless, it is exactly the opposite of his sparkle that sucks everyone into his gravity. The offending sights of the obscene tubes and needles pricking and intruding under his already-abused flesh is a heart-aching scene. Lying motionless on the hospital bed, the permanent tint of happiness is replaced by white lips painting a frown.
The emission signifying the weakening heart rate drift from the screen into the background. "Beep... Beep..." Along with the rhythmic successions of the disturbing sounds, that moment comes back in blots.
One week ago, Yamamoto went to take revenge on his father's killer.
He just vanished without a trace, nobody was prepared for this. He seemed to have taken the news quite steadily, handling his emotions with much stability and maturity. Even Gokudera couldn't sense any dust of melancholy on him that required him worrying. In fact Gokudera thought he was more horrified by the news than Yamamoto is. While the mood remained solemn through the day, and his laughters were crushed to mere meaningless expulsions of air, everyone simply assumed that the jovial man would bounce back to normality very soon. It was negligence on the leaders' part.
Gokudera should have heeded the instincts that night. He should have sensed that the "everything's okay" was a white lie Yamamoto dropped to console him. How could he purely assume that it really was, when no such reaction of humankind would fit into the logic of the world. Even Yamamoto, the fearsome assassin, was only human too.
Fingers slide into the gaps of Yamamoto's digits, Gokudera gently brings them to his jaws. He rests his lips against the icy bruises, merging with the knuckles in a long kiss, apologising. If he had listened to his rationality, he would have stopped him.
When they found him, life was dripping out of his body every second. They rushed him immediately to the hospital, providing him with the best and most effective treatment they possessed. Gokudera felt extremely sour inside his chest, because this wasn't the way he would handle affairs like such. Yamamoto is a peaceful jock, how would he bear to cause more harm to others? He understood that it was human nature to want to do that, but Yamamoto shouldn't have to be the one to bear the burden of such grim expectations. Gokudera wished so much to take Yamamoto Tsuyoshi's revenge in his place, Gokudera's the one who kills, not him.
It was heard later from Ryohei that Yamamoto's quest was apparently successful, leaving most of the hundred-odd people inside the mansion fatally wounded.
With minimal chances of survival.
"Gokudera-kun..." A soft voice mumbles as someone lands a heavy hand on his shoulder. Gokudera looks up, and is not surprised to see Tsuna. "You've been here for three days without food and sleep. Go home and get some rest, we'll inform you immediately of any updates," the Vongola Decimo orders his subordinate. "We shouldn't let Yamamoto worry about us should we?" A light flicker of smile flashes across the boyish man's face.
"It's okay Jyuudaime, I can-"
"Gokudera-kun," Tsuna states. "Take care of yourself first." ...Since when did Jyuudaime start to learn to exert his authority? Ten years ago, he was just the rookie mafia, and now...
Ten years ago, everything was simple and not complicated, and now...
The dull corridor have no lights on. It is well past midnight, and everyone is catching up on some well-deserved energy replenishment in their respective apartments, some sleeping soundly beside the one they love. Like how Gokudera would with Yamamoto.
Gokudera hobbles unsteadily towards his apartment, his head feels so dizzy he almost forgets what he is doing. Heavy eyelids threaten to close, but why aren't they closed yet? His fingers feel nothing as they wrap around the golden doorknob and twist it open.
Living without you
This empty house seems so cold
Wanting to hold you
Wanting you near
Once safely inside, everything shatters. He crumbles like a flimsy card tower. His hair is pressed flat and messed up as he slides his back down the wall, eventually burying his head in between his knees.
Wet and smudged lips speaks in a barely audible voice, "Yamamoto... You idiot."
How much I wanted you home
"Sasagawa-san, how's Yamamoto?" Gokudera voices into the cellphone. Today, on the third day of Yamamoto's return, he is chased out by Jyuudaime just after dinner. Tsuna doesn't want his storm guardian's health to deteriorate by spending every second by Yamamoto's side. Concerned, he still presses the Vongola's wife for updates, for he comprehended that Tsuna will be busy.
"Gokudera-kun! Um, Yamamoto-kun's... He's..." The worry-filled voice is unexpected and very much dreaded.
Gokudera gulps softly. "What happened, tell me," he half-instructs in an impatient tone. His grip on the cellphone tightens. "I... I can handle it."
He hears Kyoko pause for a brief while, before her articulation returns in a clearer register, "G-Gokudera-kun, Yamamoto-kun's... He's..." Kyoko searches for a suitable way to put it across. "Um... When we got to the hospital after dinner, h-he's no longer in bed."
Something crashes into him like a truck. "Wh-What do you mean...?" Screw metaphors, can't women phrase them more directly?
It was a relatively huge relief to Gokudera, who had a worse outcome in mind. However the consolation is short-lived. Yamamoto's missing, where can he go? What the heck was he thinking?!
Gokudera quickly blabbers into the speaker, "C-Can you pass the phone to Jyuudaime? I need to ask him something urgent!"
The phone is handed over as instructed. "Gokudera-kun-"
"Jyuudaime! Can you give me updates on the situation of the family Yamamoto attacked? How many are still alive?"
Tsuna pauses to ponder, before replying, "Most of them are dead. The only survivor happens to be the... boss." Realisation hit him.
"Does Yamamoto know?"
Tsuna glanced at the empty bed strewn with deserted needles and pricks, recollecting, "No, I don't think he has regained consciousness until today." He is relieved slightly.
Gokudera knows it is bad. Fuck, this idiot cannot fight in that pathetic state of his! All his wounds will just reopen and the blood will pour out like some fucking waterfall, and the doctor already prohibited him from moving even a muscle. How the fuck is he going to even walk properly without fainting every three steps? That boss is not from a clan he could handle, he is extremely lucky he was able to injure the capo and escape alive. But hell did he not use his brain to think that the boss was not a bloody retard like him to attack Vongola-related members without some preparations first?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck everything. He doesn't want to fucking lose that hell of a fucker. Not so soon. Not now.
"Jyuudaime, I must-"
"No, Gokudera-kun. I understand what you are thinking. I have already sent everyone to search for Yamamoto. You can't fight in that state. The clan we are talking about here is one who rivaled us for the past decades." It is a very strict demand.
Something catches in Gokudera's throat, as he is stuck between letting it out and leaving it remain unheard. He breathes for a few more moments, stabilising his incoherent thoughts and logic. The decision he settles upon is not exactly the best, but certainly what he must do at the moment. His head slings down, drenched in regret. "Sorry, Jyuudaime, but I must find that idiot on my own and pound some sense into him," he mumbles in a stern manner. No words eludes out of Tsuna's mouth as Gokudera tosses the phone midway through the sentence "I promise I'll be fine".
Storming over to the corner and slinging on his coat recklessly, he mutters fiercely under his breath, "That fucking baseball idiot, making me disobey Jyuudaime like this. I'll fucking make him pay."
His hand have just rested on the doorknob when he notice that someone outside is twisting it at the same time he did. He side-steps just in time to let the door swing open--and a figure collapses.
"Yamamoto!" A cry bursts from the Italian as he scrambles to help the limp body up. As he make contact with the familiar entity he yearns to touch so much, he realises the sensation is slick. Once Yamamoto is safely leaning against Gokudera's torso, Gokudera steals a peek at his hands. There are unsightly stains of blood smudged carelessly across the snow-white canvas. He peeps down at the man with shallow breaths, half of his shirt is soaked blood red, most likely from the split wounds. The fiery red puddles are as explosive as Gokudera's temper that surges.
"Bakka! What the fuck did you think you were doing?!" Gokudera screams uncontrollably, feeling moisture creep into his eyes. "Do you know how damn bloody much I was so fucking worried that you will go find that bastard to fight with again? You fucking killed me!"
Yamamoto, through half-closed eyes, feebly reaches out his hand. Smeared fingertips softly brush the area of skin under jade green eyes, wiping a weak line of blood stain across, breaking the trail of the tear. "You're alive, Gokudera... That's... great..." A dim shadow of smile cast on his pale lips.
"The fuck?! That's not the fucking problem now! You should be fucking worrying over whether you are alive, not me! Hell what's fucking gone into you?!" His voice withered nearing the tail of the sentence, as he took an exaggerated sniff and slapped away the rebellious lines of pearls streaking across his face. "Fuck what the hell am I still doing here fucking around with you? I need to go grab those fucking First-Aids."
As Yamamoto is being laid gently on the clean marble floor, a very velvet smile sprinkle on his lips. He watches Gokudera storms off hurriedly and disappear behind one of the rooms. His vision is still a messy and giddy pool of blots of random colours, but Gokudera shines in his dying sight.
Gokudera curses a thousand curses under his breath while his trembling hands fumbles about the cabinet, stubborn tears still leaking. Thank god he's alive. Thank god he's not met with anymore harm. Thank god, thank god, hell fucking thank god.
But now that you've come back
Turned night into day
I need you to stay
As the soaked bandage is being peeled away, the persistent dry flakes of maroon blood tears agonizingly away from the raw flesh. Yamamoto grimaces, his face scrunching up slightly as he lays slumped against the wall.
"Serves you right for not listening to the doctor," Gokudera chides, albeit gently, tossing away the dirtied bandages and proceeding to retrieve antiseptics for the deep cuts. The wounds are very deep and extremely prone to aggravation by the slightest touch. Even Gokudera feels a stinging pain smearing onto his own skin every time he comes into contact with the crimson red flesh, oozing with pus.
Yamamoto lets out a very faint chuckle. "It's okay. You... are more important than... the pain anyway..." he says, lightly tucking a strand of silver hair behind the ear.
Gokudera clucks his tongue in annoyance and continues scolding, "Don't move you idiot!" With every minor flex of the muscles on Yamamoto's body more blood leaks out, making him having to re-clean those those wounds again.
An ethereal half-smile, half-sigh hangs on Yamamoto's lips, the pale pink hue that returned very slowly now diffusing out again. His eyes seem transfixed in a distance, like his soul is somewhere else, as he talks, half-panting. "I didn't... kill anybody, Gokudera. Up till now, I still... didn't..."
A conceded "Hn" escapes Gokudera's throat. He dabs yellowish cotton buds dipped with antiseptic onto the cuts, very lightly and gently. He wonders about the report from Ryohei concerning the fate of the other clan silently.
"That man... He said he was going to kill you... He said... That he will kill all of us... One by one... Like how he did with my father... Torture him... Slowly tear his body apart..." The ends of the cracked lips begin to quiver. "He said... He will do this to you too..."
Gokudera thins his lips, not knowing what to say. Maybe his brain cannot multi-task--treat injuries and reply at the same time. That's why he simply gives a nod, obvious enough for Yamamoto to see that he is listening.
"So... I started to worry. The first thing I did when I wake up...was to go find you Gokudera. After everything blacked out... There were many images of you...in my head. There was... There was blood all over you... There's that...man, slowly cutting you up... You are there dying... But I couldn't move, because I was...too scared. I... I don't know...how long the nightmare lasted... But after a while... My father's face appeared...on your body. My father's...helpless face..."
Gokudera strains to push the returning longing for Yamamoto's father. The past is past, the future is uncertain, so mafias focus on the present. Gokudera then notices Yamamoto's breaths are getting shallower by the second, and discreetly places two fingers over his pulse. Shit, it's not an optimistic situation. Far from it. Shit. Flinging the cotton bud away, he swiftly stretches for the cellphone left dumped on the messy bedsheet. Come on, just a little bit further...
Yamamoto's hazy vision is blurring. All the previous soft splashes of colour are being drained away, like there is a suction somewhere in the middle. He doesn't think he can feel any part of his body any longer, but he goes on.
"The first thing I did... When I wake up, is to go find you... Gokudera. I don't know why it...took me so long to run here... But I did anyway... I am so glad... You are safe..."
"Yes I am," Gokudera states, assuring, running his hand past the black hair sticky with sweat. His agile thumb dances frantically across the keypad, and he presses the phone to his ear.
Yamamoto's gaze remains hooked onto the ceiling. "Those people... they were killed by their own boss. I... didn't kill anybody... Gokudera. I always...use the back of my sword... You know that... right?" Hey, he can't hear himself anymore.
Gokudera nods, having to slice hard on his lips to prevent the violent trembling. He forces out a cracked "yes I know", before mist coats his eyes again.
Why would he have mistrusted him in the first place? Yamamoto isn't someone who kills. He will not be Yamamoto if he kills. This hell of an idiot, always forgiving and so naive... How can he call himself a mafia? But hell, he's damn relieved to know he didn't kill people. Crap he's contradicting himself isn't he? The baseball idiot, always messing up his logic. Like the first time they talked, he with that wide childlike eyes... Fuck. Don't start crying like some whore.
Yamamoto knows he does not have much time left. Life is ebbing out of him very gradually, sneaking away. How funny is that, he has often prepared what he wants to tell people if he ever comes close to dying, haha, why is he forgetting all these now?
His numb arm reaches out, swaying with lethargy, until he feels something stop his course. He rubs with his thumb the smooth silky skin he cannot feel now, and turns his soulless eyes in that direction. "I want you to know... I love you a lot. I love you...very very much. I know...you will probably...scold me for this... But I just...want to call you this...so I won't regret it... Ha-Hayato." He smiles. He doesn't know how it sounds, but he likes the way that three syllables comes out. If he can feel right now, he will be relinquishing every bit of sweetness in his throat where the name caressed. "Hayato..."
Gokudera smacks the phone away fiercely and clutches him in to a tight embrace. "Fuck... Oi! You want me to call you like that too right?" His palm brings the icy head to rest on his shoulder, letting their cheeks touch. "You want me to call you by your first name too right? So don't fucking die before I do you idiot! Oi! Did you hear me? Don't...fucking die!"
The powerful lights of the stadium shut off, and the roaring crowds of audience rapidly dissolve. The capacious baseball field is now dark and empty.
So now I come to you with open arms
Nothing to hide
Believe what I say
So here I am with open arms
Hoping you'll see what your love means to me
Gunshots, then a dazzling flash of explosion accompanied by a thunderous rumble. The ground shakes while the man struggles to balance himself. His partner twirls the dynamite skillfully in his fingers, hissing, "Che, can't even keep your balance. You're a disgrace."
Gokudera's snarl is reflected in the corner of the man's shades. "You were unsteady just now too, I saw you," he replies good-naturedly.
"Che," Gokudera scowls one more time, sticking a cigarette in between his lips. He suddenly senses abrupt movement in his peripheral vision. "Oi, there's some more useless morons coming our way, Takeshi."
The taller man snatches off his sunglasses and flings it away, revealing a set of deep golden eyes. "Yosh, Hayato. Let's get this over quickly so we can pay our respects to Oyaji later. Have you prepared your clothes?" His grip around his sword tenses, as he gets ready into battle stance.
"Trust you to talk about such nonsense in the middle of a mission, damn it." Gokudera straightens his spine, standing with an air of enticing confidence, ready to toss the dynamite, and plastering his back against Yamamoto's. "Using the back of your sword again?"
The swordsman smirks, "Yup."
The lurking foreign shadows pounce at them, fangs baring, guns and daggers being brandished mercilessly.
The heels kicked off. "LET'S GO!!"
A/N: Heh, hope you like it! Reviews are appreciated! :)