Katekyo Hitman Reborn! Fan Fiction ❯ Devotion. ❯ One-Shot

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

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Universe Title : Scars.
Story Title : Love Is…
Chapter Title : Devotion (1/1).
Chapter Rating : PG12.
Main Character(s) : Gokudera Hayato.
Genre(s) : Angst, Deathfic.
Summary : Thirty different ways to love.
Warning(s) : M/M, Character death, Swearing.
Word Count : +/- 910.
Author's Note(s) : A series of drabbles and oneshots depicting thirty kinds of love.
Love Is

It goes like this.

The door quietly clicks shut behind you, you rest your weight against it and close your eyes. The smooth oaken surface feels cool even through the fabric of your red shirt; it offers you a strange, magnetic comfort which makes you wanna stay right where you are just for a little while.

You take a deep breath, gradually - deliberately - exhale, and think of Kyouko.

You think about her paper-thin, watery smile, the set of her slender shoulders and waiflike frame perpetually strained beneath the heft of a burden you can't see, but know too damn well like an old drinking buddy.

You think that someone so young should never understand how it feels to be a widow. Think about the child she'll never have, and the bleak future she'll have to face alone.

You open your eyes and valiantly fight the urge to throw up.


It goes like this.

You remove your rings one by one, set them neatly in a row atop the finely burnished Georgian desk. Your fingers feel alien without the familiar touch of cool metal against your skin - the strange sensation is yet another oddity added to your growing list of your life gone wrong.

You feel your world spinning rapidly out of control and you think of Haru, Ryouhei, and Lambo.

You think of Haru's dark brown eyes, completely devoid of their usual life and laughter, and so very, very sad. Think about the way she does everything on autopilot now, and the fiery, stubborn spark which no longer attaches itself to her the way bubblegum sticks to the sole of a shoe.

You think about Ryouhei tearing himself apart between duty and family. The heartbreak that inscribes itself across his face every time he looks at his beloved sister and sees - like you see - the pain she so spectacularly fails to conceal.

You think about Lambo and his incessant wailing, the sense of profound loss that enshrouds his being. Think about a teen who's barely found his place in this fucked up world before he's had it mercilessly snatched from his flimsy grasp.

You think about how much they used to drive you crazy enough, it made you wanna rip out their jugulars on a near daily basis.

You run your fingertips along the edge of the antique desk, fervently wishing you had those days back.


It goes like this.

You unbutton the left sleeve of your incarnadine shirt, roll the cotton fabric up to your elbow, and think of your sister.

You think about the murderous fire behind her intelligent, emerald eyes and the determined set of her mouth when she swears revenge upon those who robbed her of the ones she held dearest.

Think about her indefatigable courage and her unbending spirit, the fierce way she protects everyone left in this Family - the same way she's always protected you.

You think about the muffled sobs coming from her bedroom in the dead of night and the tears you've never seen her cry.

You reach into your pocket, retrieve the higonokami you diligently sharpened this morning, and try hard not to think about the disappointment you won't have to face when all of this is over.


It goes like this.

You place the gleaming blade against your wrist, press the pointed tip into your pale flesh, and think of Yamamoto.

You think about his forced laughter and the smile which no longer extends past the corners of his mouth.

Think about the words he said to you the night before - "you're not the only one who's lost something here" - and the deep, churning rage you never even knew existed.

You think about desperate kisses and hungry touches, the fear coloring his amber irises when he fucks you like the world is ending.

You etch a long, angry line into your forearm, steadfastly refusing to think about how much you'll miss him when you're gone.


It goes like this.

You feel the blood sighing out of your body and soaking into the soft fibers of the carpet, the way poison insidiously seeps into veins. It doesn't hurt as much as you always thought it should, though maybe that's only cos you've been desensitized to the pain. Your heart broke the very instant your world did, and you haven't recovered since.

Your surroundings swirl before you in a messy kaleidoscope of chaos and unadulterated hurt. Life fades from your body - slow as sand in an hourglass - and you think of the Tenth.

You think about his unwearying patience, of benevolence which knows no bounds - even to those who once sought to harm him.

You think about the bullets which ripped apart his flesh, the crushing guilt you've borne since that horrific day. Think about how you've failed - you've failed - the one person you swore never to let down for as long as your heart still beats.

Think about how you've sworn your life to him, how you would swear your death with the same fervor even now.

You think about warmth and generosity, of much desired - but undeserved - forgiveness, and the sound of your name upon his lips.

Think about all you've lived for and all that you're leaving behind.

Darkness creeps into your vision, and for the first time since the Tenth died, you smile. It's worth it.

It's worth everything.
~ The End. ~