"And your tattoo..." He's still murmuring dazedly, even when Hayato cups his face. Hardly any invitation needs to be spoken. The gesture seems to be enough to push him up to his feet so he can crawl into bed with him. He's still softly touching along his face, fingers following the curve of his cheek down to his jaw.
Dark red eyes. Brilliant red tattoos. And hair, too, pale red hair, not glimmering silver-
Tsuna blinks, slowly but surely pulling himself out of the mess of memories that cling to him like mud. "Hayato..." It's a soft repetition of the words he's just been told. His fingers go to that brilliant pale hair. "Hayato... Not..." Not G.
"I don't have one." He catches Tsuna's hand and pulls it gently to his ear and the piercings there instead so he can feel the difference. Hayato slides their legs together and scoots in close, sharing warmth.
"Not G. Hayato Gokudera. Tenth generation, Tsuna. You're not Giotto." He wonders if he's taking a risking actually using the Primo's name before Tsuna's pulled himself out of this, but he's done it and it's too late to take back.
Instead, he tucks his face against Tsuna's hair and nuzzles him for a moment.
Even when Hayato tucks his face into Tsuna's mess of hair, he's still feeling along the curve of his ear with such attentive care. Every finger lingers against each piercing, feeling the way it protrudes from his skin and is lukewarm to his skin.
"Hayato." Another soft repetition of his name. Hayato, the tenth generation Storm, piercings and fire, it's... That's right, not G, G is so different. His brow starts to furrow harder, an almost physical effort to something mental. "Gokudera Hayato."
The Japanese way of saying his name. Progress, in a way.
"That's me." He smiles and stretches out next to Tsuna a little, trying to think of something else that would help. His eyes fall on the small piano in his room, the same one he had bought himself before ever meeting Tsuna or traveling to Japan.
His mother's is there at the Japanese base, incentive to get him out of Italy sometimes, and there were a few others throughout the Vongola holdings all old and beautiful and he was honored to play on themwhen he could, but this one, the little piano he had bought himself sat in place of a desk in his bedroom.
By order of Tsuna himself and Takeshi, Hayato wasn't allowed to have a desk in his bedroom or he would never sleep.
There's just another muffled murmur of his name, like it's a charm to bring back his sense of stability, and Tsuna's touch starts to become less exploratory and just repetitive as he strokes the shell of Hayato's ear.
The memories are still tangled together, but at least they're all apparent instead of just one and very wrong dominating set. There are faces and names he knows Giotto isn't familiar with and, bit by bit, he thinks he's sorting it all out.
The request makes him blink back to awareness. "Play?" A mental image, this same person seated at a- "Piano?"
Hayato smiles when Tsuna puts the pieces together without further prompting or leading. He hums and his silver eyelashes flutter over his green eyes.
"That's right. I've got mine right over there. I can play for you, or I can stay right here for you. Whatever you want, Tsuna."
He let's himself use Tsuna's first name. This is personal, not business, it's intimate, and the more reminders he can give his best friend of his identity the better.
"Of course you can. You can have whatever I can give you." Hayato's not Takeshi, but he's no slouch, Tsuna's frame is entirely compacted hand-to-hand fighter's muscle, but he lifts him anyway, carrying softly to the piano bench. He settles down, and sits Tsuna in his lap, reaching around him for the keys as his feet tested the pedals.
For Hayato, Tsuna stays still and quiet. It feels kind of nice, to be carried, to listen to a heartbeat so near to him. Hayato is warm and comforting. Better, even, then the person the Vongola memories tried to think of.
Perhaps he's just biased.
"Not anything sad." A little dreamily, he reaches over to trace the back of Hayato's hand. "What are happier songs?"
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badliifechoiice22016-01-03 08:14 pm
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Dark red eyes. Brilliant red tattoos. And hair, too, pale red hair, not glimmering silver-
Tsuna blinks, slowly but surely pulling himself out of the mess of memories that cling to him like mud. "Hayato..." It's a soft repetition of the words he's just been told. His fingers go to that brilliant pale hair. "Hayato... Not..." Not G.
no subject
"Not G. Hayato Gokudera. Tenth generation, Tsuna. You're not Giotto." He wonders if he's taking a risking actually using the Primo's name before Tsuna's pulled himself out of this, but he's done it and it's too late to take back.
Instead, he tucks his face against Tsuna's hair and nuzzles him for a moment.
no subject
"Hayato." Another soft repetition of his name. Hayato, the tenth generation Storm, piercings and fire, it's... That's right, not G, G is so different. His brow starts to furrow harder, an almost physical effort to something mental. "Gokudera Hayato."
The Japanese way of saying his name. Progress, in a way.
no subject
His mother's is there at the Japanese base, incentive to get him out of Italy sometimes, and there were a few others throughout the Vongola holdings all old and beautiful and he was honored to play on themwhen he could, but this one, the little piano he had bought himself sat in place of a desk in his bedroom.
By order of Tsuna himself and Takeshi, Hayato wasn't allowed to have a desk in his bedroom or he would never sleep.
"Do you want me to play for you?"
no subject
The memories are still tangled together, but at least they're all apparent instead of just one and very wrong dominating set. There are faces and names he knows Giotto isn't familiar with and, bit by bit, he thinks he's sorting it all out.
The request makes him blink back to awareness. "Play?" A mental image, this same person seated at a- "Piano?"
no subject
"That's right. I've got mine right over there. I can play for you, or I can stay right here for you. Whatever you want, Tsuna."
He let's himself use Tsuna's first name. This is personal, not business, it's intimate, and the more reminders he can give his best friend of his identity the better.
no subject
Just sitting besides him as he plays, keeping both his warmth near while something- maybe familiar even- plays and soothes him.
Or maybe that's not possible. But he'd like it to be.
no subject
"What sort of thing would you like to hear?"
no subject
Perhaps he's just biased.
"Not anything sad." A little dreamily, he reaches over to trace the back of Hayato's hand. "What are happier songs?"