Warning: BL, a little swearing
Blue Sky, Blue
Crack!
The sound of a bat hitting straight home rang across the already-deserted school field. There was only a lone figure there, perspiring profusely in the summer heat. He didn't mind one bit though; practice was practice, however many people attended, and however many people stayed back.
It was almost three. Yamamoto stopped, scratched the back of his head and cast his gaze to the big school clock. While his gaze was yet there, he caught sight of a silvery figure darting back into the school's main building. He grinned. Gokudera sure was one hardworking one! Or maybe he'd been held back for causing some trouble. Yamamoto didn't know, but the thought of it made him smile anyway.
It was at times like these when the days of the year seemed to be at its best. Practice was wonderful; there was hardly a cloud in the sky to dampen the field with thoughts of sudden rain. Laughter filled the fields and streets - even the birds sang harder.
Good days were when idle thoughts drifted to the more... well, whimsical aspect of life. Now, this wasn't a thing uncommon to any boy his age; about nearly eighty percent of his school were going out with someone. It was, however, quite uncommon for him, who held baseball idols in esteem high enough to make them some kind of god, to think of some other mortal.
Some other Italian mortal.
Some other Italian mortal who was in every way simply not whimsical material. No, he smoked, he swore, he showed some of the most creative hand-signs since Naruto and threw dangerous firecrackers at anything and anyone who got in his and Tsuna's way, or rather what he thought got in Tsuna's way.
But it was far too good weather to dwell on all those negative aspects. Besides, Yamamoto decided they were charm points - it could very well be Gokudera's endearing way of playing with and humoring the little guy, trying to make his game more real by acting like a real Italian mobster. Kids loved things like that.
Moving on to the "nice aspects" of Gokudera, he could easily admit that the half-Italian boy was pretty, in a very nice foreign way. He had hair the color of sushi rice, eyes the color of wasabi, and lips that could put any salmon slice to shame. His skin, Yamamoto could only imagine, might feel a lot like inari, smooth and translucent white. Yes, he, Yamamoto, had certainly been hanging out too much at his father's restaurant.
"Ha ha, enough fantasizing for now - man, my father's gonna be mad." Brushing off some dust as he got up, Yamamoto swung his bag around his shoulder, propped his beloved baseball bat up against that, and started to walk home. He was nearing the entrance of the school when the same silvery figure he'd seen scrambling in and out of the building run right into him.
"Watch where you're going," Gokudera flushed red and snarled. Yamamoto blinked. At that instant the fair-haired boy seemed a lot like a flustered cat caught in the act of stealing some liver.
"Ha ha, sorry," a sheepish grin an an apology. That always worked. Gokudera wordlessly glared at him, turned around and started to walk away, Yamamoto noting the direction where he was heading. "Whoa, hey! We're going the same way." And without first asking if he could join in, he bounded up after Gokudera and began to fall in stride with the boy.
"I didn't say you could join me, you stupid baseball freak!"
"Come on, don't say that," Yamamoto laughed. "Anyway, since you're going my way, you wanna drop in for a bite at our restaurant? My dad's making some specials today; we're gonna get to try it too."
"Like hell I would!" Gokudera snapped back almost instantly.
"Okay, okay, sorry for asking," the tall baseballer backed off, still grinning. It was definitely far too good weather to be gloomy. Yamamoto loved days like these - an after-baseball-practice walk home, blue skies, upcoming summer holidays, and surly, pretty things by his side. He began chatting about "the little guy" and his future low grade in math, all of which were replied to with silence. At length he himself fell into a comfortable silence - Yamamoto wasn't one to let things get easily to him. He knew the other boy had always somehow been aloof, cold and difficult. If it weren't for Tsuna, he wouldn't have opened up at all. Idly, Yamamoto thought about how nice it must be being Tsuna, with Gokudera mooning around and being a great right-hand man...
Said mooning right-hand man suddenly stopped short, jerking the tenth-generation mafia boss wannabe back to reality. Yamamoto looked around, surprised to find themselves in front of his father's sushi restaurant.
"But I thought--"
"Shut up. I've got to eat too, after all," a baleful look, and it was back to business. They strode into the restaurant, Gokudera seating himself at one corner. Yamamoto's father hailed at them, grinning widely over the counter.
"Ho--ah, Takeshi, so you brought a friend with you? That's great, you're both here to study together? I've got specials today, boys - my treat this time; thanks for helping to look after this rascal here--" he nodded towards Yamamoto, "because we know how well his grades aren't in par with his baseball abilities." It was said all in one breath, while Yamamoto couldn't help instinctively reaching to the back of his head and scratching it, chuckling and grinning sheepishly as he did.
The plate was set down, the two boys wolfing it down wordlessly. In between mouthfuls Yamamoto managed a "Bat's greafsh, dad!", enthusiastic thumbs-up signs, and a number of fallen grains of rice on the plate, courtesy of upbeat conversations made with his mouth full. For a bit, Gokudera looked a little horrified when one grain fell into his own plate. The look disappeared almost as soon as it appeared, and then they were done eating.
He got up, lifted his schoolbag and promptly headed behind the counter and up the stairs in general direction of Yamamoto's room, which the baseballer's father had so kindly pointed out to him before in a narration of where they lived and how the rooms were placed.
"But I thought--"
"It's to pay back for the sushi anyway," Gokudera frowned deeply, seemingly angry at being questioned. "Unless of course, you want to flunk the test right before summer break? Stay back and cram instead of happy days in the field?"
"Oh, no no, I'd need all the help I can get... ah ha ha ha..."
Without another word, Gokudera dropped his bag on the floor, pulled a cushion over and sat himself by the low table, legs crossed. He lifted a brow. "Well?"
Sheepishly, Yamamoto joined him there. The first they had to tackle was English. Yamamoto wasn't especially horrible at that, but he was amazed at how fluently the other boy could read the tenses, explain particles, and create deep phrases from what Yamamoto himself saw as a jumbled pile of words.
"You put Sharksbear to shame," the baseball enthusiast managed to get a compliment to slip by.
"It's Shakespeare, dumbass." Despite it his harsh words, Gokudera smirked. "His is even deeper. But we don't tackle that till later this year, I should think."
"Ha ha, I'll look forward to more help."
"Don't count on it!"
"Come on, it's just once in a while," Yamamoto jokingly nudged him. "I'll treat you to more sushi! How's that sound?"
"I'm not bought that easily," Gokudera turned away.
"I'll get you... uhh, some candy too," the baseballer scratched his cheek nervously.
"Well..." Green eyes flickered wide open; Gokudera shocked at his own words. "What the hell! Of course not! That does it, I'm leaving!" He got up to go, before Yamamoto grabbed him around his leg.
"Wait! What about my math?"
"...Fine," Gokudera allowed himself to sit down again. Yamamoto grinned. It may seem on the surface like Gokudera was a thankless bastard, but in truth he kept his promises loyally. Whatever he felt he owed, he paid back the best he could. That, the baseball enthusiast decided, was charm point number two.
They studied for a few hours more, before they decided they were hungry and that it was time to eat again. Once more it was on Yamamoto's father, who became enthusiastic upon hearing his son say fluently, in English, "Yoa sushi isu da besuto!" As they ate and chatted - Yamamoto doing most of the talking - patrons came and went. The sun began to set. Getting up, Yamamoto suggested that they visited the park before he escorted Gokudera back.
"I don't need a fucking escort," Gokudera snapped.
"Come on, it's a once in a while thing... besides, I still need to thank you," Yamamoto gestured. Gokudera fell silent. He shoved his hands into his pockets.
"...Whatever." Picking up his bag, he stalked out of the restaurant, and most surprisingly, stayed to wait for Yamamoto. Almost beside himself in joy, the dark-haired boy scrambled out to join him. They made their way to the park, Yamamoto at times punctuating the silence with a cheerful joke or remark while Gokudera busied himself kicking at stray pebbles. At long last they reached it. The two boys settled themselves on the swings, silently listening to the bell crickets chirping.
It was a wonderful night. Warm as day, but not quite as hot; the moon waxed high and the stars, although mostly overshadowed by the city lights, twinkled merrily above. Around them the bell crickets sang on, having an orchestra of their own. Yamamoto had dreamt of nights like this one, out in the open, he alone with Gokudera - he grinned guiltily - without Tsuna around as well. The dark-haired boy took deep breaths of air.
"We didn't have cricket sounds like these ones in Italy."
Yamamoto nearly toppled over. Gokudera was initiating a conversation! With him! "Uh... n-no?"
"They sounded different." The Italian boy wasn't even looking his way, but up at the moon, as if he were remembering the distant past. Somehow the boy's frame, against the moonlight and quiet of the park, looked lonely. Yamamoto felt a pang - an urge to reach out and pat his back, telling him that all was alright. But he didn't. He found that he couldn't.
"Man, that'd sound cool," he managed instead.
"Hmm."
A comfortable silence, for the second time that day, fell over the two of them. Yamamoto, although not wanting to break the silence, felt compelled once again to hear Gokudera's voice. He usually heard it in mocking tones or anger. A conversational one was a nice break from all that.
"Hey, Gokudera?"
"What is it?"
"How do you say 'baseball's a cool sport' in Italian?"
The comfortable silence, having been shattered, turned into a pregnant, still one. The little breeze seemed to have hushed, and the sounds of the crickets to them had died away. Then Gokudera turned at him, looking him right in the eyes. He seemed to have been contemplating something during that particular silence.
It was like nothing on earth that Yamamoto had ever seen before, green eyes lighting up like stars, an intense gaze that reflected one hundred evenings alone in Milan.
"Ti amo con tutta l'anima."
"Whoa, complicated," Yamamoto grinned, attempting to mouth it, "Ti mo..."
"Ti amo con tutta l'anima."
"Ti...amo con tutta... l'anima," Yamamoto managed it at last. "Got it, thanks." Wanting to try it seriously again, he looked Gokudera straight in the face, doing his best to look solemn. "Ti amo con tutta l'anima." And at that, he grinned cheerfully. It died away to be replaced with a look of confusion, because Gokudera had turned beet-red, seemingly both surprised and embarrassed, as if he hadn't expected it; the fair-haired boy getting up and kicking dirt and grass at him.
"Wha--"
"Shut up, you baseball bastard!" Gokudera snarled, backing away. "And don't you dare use that phrase on anyone else! Moron! Idiot!"
In a flash, Gokudera darted off into the night. Yamamoto looked after the departing figure, surprised beyond measure. He contemplated running after Gokudera to have the matter clarified, but decided to drop it. Maybe it was some kind of Italian joke. Or profanity. Maybe he felt bad about it, and talking about it would make matters worse.
But well, that day sure had been worth its every minute. Yamamoto got up, stretched, and nonchalantly walked away from the swings in the general direction of his home, dipping his hands into his pockets and humming as he went. Tomorrow would be another day. He didn't know what it'd bring - good surprises, hopefully. And in years to come, unknown to him, Yamamoto would one day learn the true meaning of those words he had just uttered.
He got home, took his bath and got ready for bed. The lights clicked off, and soon the entire street was asleep.
END
(Tr - Ti amo con tutta l'anima : I love you with [my] whole soul.)
