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Contents: TYL!80TYL!59, TYL!8059, 8059
I leave Dad's bar, my body buzzing pleasantly from the alcohol. I decide to walk to my apartment, within the same district. The walk is uneventful. It's almost midnight.
I fish my apartment keys out of my briefcase. I fumble with the door and key and laugh to myself because I know I'm not that drunk. Once I enter my apartment, I immediately hang up my blazer and take off my shoes.
My small apartment consists of a small hallway which opens into an open kitchen, small dining area, and living room. A single bed and bath is off through the kitchen. My decorations are sparse; a katana hangs up in the dining area, a crest of the Vongola Famiglia in the living room, and baseball paraphernalia is scattered around the apartment.
When I arrived into the past, all I brought was the things on my person. I had a wallet, katana, Vongola ring, cell phone and a few weapons from my time. It took a lot of convincing at my part even with these artifacts to prove to the Vongola who I really was. They had a hard time accepting that the 11-year-old kid in Japan was going to be a Guardian for the family in the future. They ran background checks on the 11-year-old me in Japan and did tests on myself.
I open the fridge in search of a milk carton. I feel successful as I find a carton behind a pack of beer. I shut the fridge and sit down at the dining table.
I spent a year working with members of the Vongola. They didn't send me to Japan until I was well past my 22nd birthday. In this time I helped innovators recreate technology from my era. With the direction of my cell phone and weapons, those individuals were able to recreate a few different items. I received training in information technology, computer programming and various related areas.
And so, to make up for lack of decor in my apartment, I have lots of technology filling empty spaces. Perhaps I shouldn't call it a dining table since a supercomputer spans across the width of the table. For the last year, I have been tracking three people: Sawada Tsunayoshi, Hayato Gokudera, and Takeshi Yamamoto, now all aged 14-years-old.
Using facial recognition, I have been able to tap into cameras on stop-light intersections, building security, cameras, and etc. to track those three. Despite how creepy I feel using these tactics, I wouldn't be able to figure out their exact locations. Tsuna was easy; he lives at home and his life follows a habitual pattern. My younger-self, is a little more complex. With sports team, tutoring, and outside activities, I am not sure where I end up sometimes. Hayato Gokudera, on the other hand, has no set home and has no set schedule. He goes where he wants, when he wants. He is in search of the Tenth. Hayato Gokudera has been in Japan for about three months now.
The computer notifies me that I have five new notifications. Two of Tsuna, two of Yamamoto, and one of Gokudera. I click fast through the others but pause when I get to Gokudera. I sip from my milk slowly and open the notification. It's a picture of Gokudera in a convenience store. He's buying cigarettes. My stomach knots like it always does and I feel uneasy as I view the picture.
I feel this way because Hayato Gokudera from the future is dead.
I recline in the small wooden chair and put my feet on the other chair. I lounge in the chair and stare at the photo. I compare Gokudera's face to the face I knew in the future. His face is less angular, he's shorter, and less well dressed.
A lot of time has passed since the last time I have seen Hayato and it scares me that I cannot remember Hayato in the ways I really want to. After a shower I ask myself, what did his hair look like after he got out of the shower? I pass someone out on the street smoking and I wonder also, what did Hayato's cigarettes smell like? I'm losing memories of Hayato slowly.
During my first year with the Vongola in the past, there would be days when I was immobilized by panic attacks, not able to move, not able to breath, just because I would forget about some dumb thing about Hayato and when I could not remember, I would be rendered useless. I would wake up in the middle of the night, frightened and sweaty, looking around for Hayato only to cry out in rage when reality set in once more. I counted each empty, void day without Hayato.
I'll have good days now, but I will also have bad days. Three years doesn't dull the pain, although it dulls my memory. But I feel that I'm reaching some sort of apex in my journey. Or at least, I'm going to initiate it. I have been living my life in anticipation. I've been more adventurous lately. Hence my first encounter with Dad. For one reason or another, I've been hesitant to reach out to my Dad, Gokudera, and myself. Even though I know I won't start some weird time paradox, I've been kind of hesitant about it.
After three years of preparation, I, Takeshi Yamamoto at the age of 24, am prepared to change the past and fix the future for myself, Hayato Gokudera, and the rest of the Vongola Famiglia.
My milk carton is empty, it proves to be fruitless as I slurp from the empty carton.