Current mood:	sleepy
Entry tags:	fanfiction, reborn!, three strikes, tsuna, yamamoto

It could be one out too many.
My OTP! Besides a half a dozen others. >P It took awhile and the characterization may be off, but I'm pretty damn proud of this thing. Plus this was hell to write. Comments and criticisms are appreciated, since I have no beta. XD;


Now only 5 more chapter to go and possible omake!

Title: Three Strikes
Type: Multi-chapter (1/6)
Rating: PG-13? Nothing risque here folks, just a somewhat normal mental breakdown?
Warning(s): Spans from the end of the Kokuyou arc through the Varia arc then right to chapter 140 (ranges from barely-there to major spoilers); shounen-ai, angsting, general stupidity when it comes to boys and their emotions.
Pairing(s): Yamamoto/Tsuna. YES, YOU READ THAT RIGHT.
Summary: Tsuna only wanted to ask ‘how’ and Yamamoto only wanted to ask ‘when,’ and both want to know why it happened in the first place. (Tsuna blames the mochi.)
Notes: This was supposed to be a one-shot and it evolved into something bigger. Arrrgh.
Strike One and Strike Two happens in that one month (July) between the Kokuyou and Varia arc. On another note: Yamamoto is a very physical person, social and sports wise. If you don’t believe me, read the whole series again and take notes.
Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn! and other related material belongs to Amano Akira.




Strike One – Fastball


“—fling your arm forward then twist your wrist when you release the ball, ok?”

Tsuna wasn’t use to this at all. Here he is, clutching a heavy ball in his hand and a cramped pitcher’s glove on his left while standing awkwardly on a dirt mound (he assumes it used to be a kid’s sandcastle but there were no kids here), Yamamoto standing and smiling his smile a few meters away from him at home plate, bat in hand. It felt weird and uncomfortable, now that Tsuna thinks about it, since it’s only him and Yamamoto on the school grounds with everyone gone and usually Gokudera was there with them, mouthing-off about something (about Tsuna’s day, his day, about Yamamoto being Yamamoto) and that was weird itself because he wasn’t here—

“—na? Tsuna? Are you alright?”

“Ack! Sorry, sorry!” Tsuna tries to laugh and smiles weakly back at Yamamoto. (His hands won’t stop itching (burning) and he could feel the ache of his muscles resounding throughout his body (it’s been three weeks already, why is it still there) and all he wants is for it to stop hurting.) “I’m fine, just couldn’t stop thinking for a second there.”

Yamamoto raises an eyebrow at him from his spot at the field, and Tsuna could see he was grinning. “We’re practicing here, not in school or back home! Just relax and try not to think of anything right now, alright?”

“O-ok,” Tsuna nods obediently as he shifts back into his previous stance as pitcher (shortstop, catcher, left fielder, right fielder, all the positions he had to be since it really is only him and Yamamoto today and he can’t do all of them alone), Yamamoto raising his bat to his side, ready for the ball and staring directly at him, concentration evident on his face. Tsuna couldn’t help but think that this was what people felt when they were against Yamamoto. (A slight tingling on his skin, an unexpected anticipation of something.) “Ready?”

“You’re not supposed to ask!” Yamamoto laughs out loud and he still had his bat up, ready for the pitch when it came. So far away from Tsuna, yet could easily be as close as his fist. “Stop thinking so much, Tsuna. It’s not healthy for you if you keep this up.”

“It’s not like I could stop it.” Tsuna says, failing to stop thinking in general (about Mukuro, about Reborn, about the Vongola family) and prevent the spill of words coming out of his mouth. Yamamoto blinks in confusion, still smiling and Tsuna could see his bat going down and ignores Yamamoto asking if he wanted a break.

He squeezes his eyes shut and clutches the baseball as if it was a lifeline and continues, “It’s hard. Once it gets going, it just goes and goes and it feels wrong.”

“Tsuna? What’s wrong?”

“Everything doesn’t feel right, even the things that stayed the same–”

“Tsuna?”

“—Kyoko-chan’s the same, but something doesn’t feel right. Like she did something, or—“

“Tsuna.”

“—she found someone. Everything doesn’t feel right at all–”

“Tsuna. Stop.” Something pressed down on his shoulders, something warm and damp and heavy and (and it felt calming, solid) he stopped breathing for a second when it started to squeeze his shoulders before realizing it’s only (when did he drop his bat, when did he start walking here) Yamamoto, “Tsuna. Breathe. Breathe and look at me.”

I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want, Tsuna chants like a mantra in his mind as if it will save him from anything.

But he does breathe; he does look up; only to find Yamamoto several inches away from him, eyes fixed right at him (showing worry, doubt, something else) and smile gone. Tsuna could feel Yamamoto’s hands on his shoulders: still there, still gripping, still warm. (There were still scratches and bruises scattered far and in between those arms and hands and Tsuna hated them.)

“I-,” He chokes on his words and he could feel his neck and ears starting to burn, wishing he could just hide in some hole to never come out again as his hold of the ball loosened. His eyes start to sting and he doesn’t want to start crying in front of Yamamoto (don’t want to look weak, don’t want to think, don’t want Yamamoto to worry more) but he can’t stop it any more than he could prevent the Vindice, “Y-you’re…you’re...we-“

“It’s alright if you can’t say it,” Yamamoto says in a low voice, standing there in front of him, never wavering and hands still on his shoulders (solid, steady) with a half-formed smile plastered on his face. “We have all day and the rest of our lives, you know?”

How can you be so patient and nice, Tsuna wanted to ask so desperately, but all he did was cry and let the ball go.

--

They were still on the field, sitting on the mound of dirt next to each other with knees brought to their chest, chin on their arms and said nothing until Tsuna peeked to his side and found Yamamoto staring at him with a small smile.

He felt his face heating up again and his chest becoming compressed and loose at the same time; he made a muffled noise from the back of his throat as he tried to duck his head under the safety of his arms. He could feel Yamamoto shift towards him like the sudden pull of gravity; the rustle of his clothes and the warmth of his body signals he was right next to Tsuna and not going anywhere.

“Ah…” He heard Yamamoto start, and felt his blush deepen as he heard the start of the familiar rumble of Yamamoto’s laugh. It became worse when Yamamoto slung his arm around his hunched shoulders, his face suddenly right next to his and Tsuna began to wonder why his body temperature won’t go down for once.

“Tsuna.” It was more of a statement than anything else he could think of, so Tsuna nods feebly in acknowledgment as he looks to Yamamoto again.

Yamamoto was smiling and laughing at him, face illuminated by setting sun with warmth and wonderment; Tsuna could not help wonder if he looked like that too when he almost missed what Yamamoto said next.

“Don’t ever change, Tsuna.”

He ducks his head to hide that smile, too.

--

“It’s already ten o’clock.”

Tsuna blinks at the sudden statement and realizes it’s true, since the lamp posts were lit and the sky so dark that some stars managed to peek out of hiding from the artificial glow of the city. They were still there, on the same dirt mound and on the same field, darkness enveloping the school grounds like a blanket.

“We’ve been here the whole day?” He turned to face Yamamoto, who was flicking at his watch as if it was to make sure it wasn’t broken and confirm they really did spend their whole Sunday on school grounds, and sighs in disappointment. “I still haven’t finished any of my homework yet.”

Yamamoto scratched the back of his head and smiles sheepishly back to Tsuna, limply holding his watch in hand as if to offer an apology. “I didn’t either, so we’re in the same boat,” He says, his watch still sitting on the palm of his hand. “But it’s kind of ironic that we spent the whole day here at school. Sorry about that.”

“I-it’s not your fault!” Came the rush reply from Tsuna, eyes wide and face so sincere that Yamamoto could not help but stare. “Really, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.” He admits softly, looking anywhere but Yamamoto and his watch.

“You’re doing it again.” Tsuna hears him sigh, finding the sudden shift of warmth and weight next to him disappearing. His heart skips a beat and something feels like it’s dragging him down underwater, all hard, choking, cold. He whips his head towards Yamamoto, trying to see where he went, where he was, only to find him-

“Oh,” Tsuna says after a minute, mouth agape and feels foolish for something so simple. Yamamoto was only standing up, looking right down at him with a quirky expression, shadowing whatever light was there and his hand outstretched for his. “Yama-“

“I was going to offer you a deal when we were practicing,“ Yamamoto cuts him off, but Tsuna ends up thinking of what happened earlier, the memory still engrained in his mind. “That if you managed to get me a strike by the end of practice, we’ll go for ice cream or something sweet. But since we ended up staying here the whole day, I don’t think we’ll be able to play anytime soon.”

Oh no, Tsuna thinks, all too aware of the sensation of dread dragging through his body like claws ripping through his flesh and bone, I already ruined the day and now this.

“—there’s this great place that’s still open. But unless you get you butt off the ground, it’s going to be my treat. Are you up for it, Tsuna?”

“…huh?” And it all disappeared in an instant.

Tsuna knows he looks dumbfounded, since Yamamoto looked torn between smiling and laughing, hand still offering for his. “Do you want ice cream?”

“W-what? At this hour?” Tsuna manages to croaks out but still reaches out for the outstretched hand and grasps it within his own.

“Yeah, you’ll be surprised what stores are open right now.” Yamamoto chuckles with a grin, tightening his hold on Tsuna and pulls him up from the ground with ease.

Tsuna inhales a shaky breath when he stands up; his legs are a little wobbly and stiff as he tries to walk, all the while gripping onto Yamamoto’s hand and his sleeve for support, and smiles uncertainly back to his friend. “Is it far?”

“It’s only a few blocks from school,” Yamamoto replies, tugging Tsuna’s hand as they begin to walk towards the front entrance and squeezes him lightly, smiling brightly when Tsuna does the same after a moment, “Think of going to my place, and that’s about the same time difference.”

“About thirty minutes then?”

“Hahaha, give or take a few. You actually time how long it takes?”

“That doesn’t mean I have nothing to do!”

“Ahahaha, then do you know how long it takes to go to Gokudera’s place too?”

“As if I would know; I never went to his house before!” And Yamamoto just laughed and laughed.

--

They were out of the school and on the bridge by the time Tsuna wondered why he was still holding Yamamoto’s hand, his sleeve, and still clinging to him as if Yamamoto would disappear if he let go.

It only took him a few more seconds to realize that he didn’t care, not right now, not before, and dismissed the notion from his head as they walked through the neighborhood.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes they forgot about their equipment in the field.

--

And wished he had them to hit Yamamoto on the head when they arrived in front of their destination.

“When you said, ‘think of going to my place,’” Tsuna says dryly as he stares at the front door, fingers twitching on Yamamoto’s coat, “I wasn’t expecting ‘think of going to my place’ to literally be your restaurant.”

“My place is right behind our restaurant,” Yamamoto laughingly replies, his free hand rubbing the back of his head and the other still holding Tsuna. “Besides, I’m technically treating you to ice cream, aren’t I?”

“You’re…just…” Tsuna could only stare at him, trying to find a perfect word that could even describe Yamamoto right now. He sighs after he fails to conjure one up and shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“Alright!” Yamamoto chirps enthusiastically while unlocking the door and Tsuna wonders if he ever slept at all, then came to the conclusion, no, he doesn’t, because he’s Yamamoto, as they entered the building quietly, like mice trying to hunt down food in a kitchen, “How long do you think you can stay over?”

“What time is it?” Tsuna ask, simple and blunt, and wonders how the elder Yamamoto will approve.

“Er,” Yamamoto took out his watch from his pocket, briefly glancing over it before pocketing the watch again. “It’s almost eleven.”

“Reborn is going to kill me when I come home, so it’s impossible that I could stay,” Tsuna grumbles, ignoring Yamamoto when he chuckled. “Its bad enough that it’s this late, and now I won’t get any ice cream?”

“You can still have some,” Yamamoto replies, leading them through the kitchen door and releases Tsuna’s hand when he spots a box on a counter and picks it up. “You just have to carry it.”

“Eh?” Tsuna could not help but feel cold when Yamamoto left him, holding back the urge to grab his hand again and feels empty when he doesn’t, and could only stare at Yamamoto’s back when he opens the freezer door and began to rummage through. “Why a box?”

“It’s mochi ice cream, like the ones boxed ones Lotte sells in the grocery. Do you remember them?” Tsuna nods and remembers; he remembers his mother, his father, and himself eating them on a hot day when he was younger, that they were flavored vanilla and his parents said no when he wanted more.

“Dad wanted something new to the menu, so he started making these about a week ago.” Yamamoto was already on the table with the box, finishing the last loop of the knot of the string when he held out his hand to Tsuna, revealing a half-eaten white ball on his palm. “They’re better than the first batch, I can tell you that much, but they still need some work on them since the texture doesn’t feel right with anko ice cream. Want some?”

A blank stare at the mochi revealed as much interest to eat a piece of wood. “…I’ll just try it tomorrow.”

“Tell me how you like it tomorrow then so I could tell my dad about it!” Yamamato laughs as he cast his mochi on a plate, handing the box to Tsuna, who suddenly stood quiet. “You’re going to be fine when going home, right?”

“Yamamoto.” Tsuna says after a minute of looking at the box at in his hand, and turns around to the doorway.

“Tsuna?” Yamamoto blinks at him, tilting his head to the side in question. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, not that,” Tsuna frowns as he holds the box, and he could feel the cool surface spreading all over his hand. “What I wanted to say earlier.”

“You don’t have to–” Yamamoto took a step forward, only to stop when he found Tsuna’s hand suddenly splayed on his chest, and Tsuna not facing the doorway but now looking at him, eyes locking on his. “We have–”

“I could feel your heartbeat.” Was the quiet reply, and the room suddenly felt too cramped and too cold to hold both of them. Another pause and Tsuna looks up; still holding the box, still looking tired, and somehow had a small smile forming on his face.

Yamamoto wanted to say something, open his mouth to ask what’s happening, but says nothing and lets the silence fill in.

“…you’re here. You’re real.”

Yamamoto could only stare when Tsuna fled from the kitchen, and wonders what just happened.