Three days.

He seems to be surrounded by a constant cloud of smoke. In the last seventy-two hours, Yamamoto hasn't seen Gokudera without a cigarette between his fingers. Distantly he thinks that he had promised to quit, but then he remembers that the only reason he would is gone.


"What are you fucking looking at?"

He just gives Gokudera a small smile and a pat on the shoulder that he throws off.

"Let's get a drink."

He doesn't give him time to refuse or leave. His arm goes around his neck and he gently pulls him along as he makes his way to the canteen. He pulls away once they enter the sliding doors, giving him a light shove to the table before going to the cabinet to pull out the alchohol and cups. He sits down across from him, pouring Gokudera a bourbon on the rocks and a shot of sake for himself (he knows Gokudera can't stand the taste).

"What's your problem?" Gokudera bites out after he swallows his drink in one go, banging the glass on the table.

"What do you mean?" Yamamoto replies as he swirls the sake around in his cup, not quite ready to drink it yet.

"Stop being so…you!" Gokudera spits out accusingly, shoving the glass across the table, and Yamamoto catches it. "Stop being so fucking calm all the damn time!"

"What do you want me to do?" he asks sincerely, but the question only seems to make Gokudera more furious as he takes the bottle of bourbon and throws it at his head.

He ducks and it smashes against the far wall. Gokudera gets to his feet, hands clenched and face tense with emotion. Yamamoto follows suit, pushing his chair back and reaching over to touch Gokudera's hand.

"Fuck off!" he swats his hand away, "You don't get it do you? The Tenth is dead you moron!"

"I know that," Yamamoto replies evenly, "But I don't understand what you want from me. I can't bring him back."

Gokudera's eyes narrow and Yamamoto can almost see the waves of hate billowing off him.

"You didn't care about the Tenth like I did!" he grabbed the cup of sake and threw it as well, shattering it against the same wall as the bourbon.

Yamamoto's chest tightened. "You're wrong Gokudera."

"You don't even care that he's dead! At least you can go play baseball now!" Gokudera turned to leave, but Yamamoto moved around the table and grabbed his arm before he could.

"That's wrong!" he said softly, his grip tightening, "I cared about Tsuna just as much as you did."

"Get off!" Gokudera spat, twisting away and throwing a punch. The edge of his ring caught Yamamoto's chin, cutting at the skin.

Yamamoto stepped back, putting his hand to his face.

"Leave me alone!" Gokudera ordered over his shoulder as he stormed out.

Yamamoto sighed and pulled his hand back, inspecting the blood on his fingers.

Three days.