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Nel Silenzio	By : Cepheus Category: +G to L > Katekyo Hitman Reborn Views: 1658 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Nel Silenzio
- 1
First KHR ficlet

Cepheus: first KHR ficlet ever.
Short but to the point. Gokudera�centric.

The title means �in the silence� in Italian.

��

Rating: K+

Summary: (1859ish) When
Gokudera starts playing the piano again, it�s to reconcile, recover and finally
move on.

Warnings: shounen�ai, vague spoilers, post TYL arc.

Disclaimer: I do not own
Katekyoushi Hitman Reborn, it belongs to Akira�sensei, nor do I Make any profit
in writing this. Of course.

��

Nel Silenzio

The room
is dark and silent, no one is around �he still asks himself why he came here,
in the middle of the night, but he has no answer.

He acts on
impulses, rationalising only later, when it�s too late. It�s the same this
time, too.

He simply is here.

Midnight,
summer vacations. A cool night, after so many hot days. In the school�s music
room. Staring at the school piano with determined eyes.

Gokudera
can�t explain what made him move, what made him decide, so randomly, that it
was the moment to face old ghosts.

He should
question the presence of Hibari in the school grounds as well, but he thinks
it�s no time to venture somewhere he doesn�t want to go. After all, no one ever
said Hibari was a normal person �the position of Cloud Guardian fits him rather
too well, but Gokudera does not want to indulge in this train of thoughts
either, because Hibari is also stronger than him.

Thinking
that only makes him want to growl, but there is nothing he can do about it.

He knows
he should have given up as he saw the figure of the School Disciplinary
Committee patrolling around, but a look at the school was enough to steel his
resolve; he moves swiftly through the grounds, enters the empty, echoing
corridors, and feels the barest kind of itch that tastes of freedom, and broken
limits.

Maybe it�s
also because he manages to shift past Hibari�s unwavering attention. Gokudera
has to smirk at this thought. It�s a poor consolation, but it�s still
something.

He enjoys
the feeling, but it is not because he wants to get off by doing bravery
escapades that he�s there �he doesn�t need to remind himself of that.

His
footsteps do not echo in the corridors, he�s silent when he wants to �when he
needs to� Juudaime will find out on his own pretty soon, at the first mission
he sends Gokudera to. But it�s still too soon, and the right�hand man of
Vongola Decimo is simply there on a whim.

He barely
breathes, his own body controlled and rigid as he walks past the familiar rooms
that in the mornings are his territory, his expression far from the normal
frown Tsuna came to know so well, or the open smile he reserves for his
Juudaime. Part of him is not here �lost in memories that still haunt him.

A school
year has passed since his arrival in Japan, reaching out for his new position
in the Vongola family, and yet so much has happened. His boss, the baseball
idiot, Reborn� fighting against a future he can�t accept.

And
Gokudera allows a fleeting smile to bright up his lips �he likes it. Feels like
family, but the kind of family he can die for. Family that forced him to
understand that he�s needed. Wanted. But there are still things he cannot share,
and this is one of them.

That is
why he�s standing in the music room, hoping Hibari will never patrol the third
floor, and stares for so long at the piano in front of him.

It feels
strange when his fingers brush against the white and black keys, almost in
reverie, because now the piano looks so smaller than it did years ago, and
because he feels like another person.

Was it
really him playing, at his mother�s side, smiling because he had yet to know
what being a Mafia family was about?

Gokudera
sits down.

So much is
inside that simple gesture, and it speaks of months spent running from that
room, ignoring the piano, denial cursing through his veins, and it speaks of
sleepless nights passed staring at the ceiling, because in his dreams he�d only
hear music and her voice.

The
silence around him speaks of refusal, denying friendship and denying
responsibility. And yet it also speaks of acceptance and closure. It�s almost
electrical, and his fingers twitch as they still brush on the keys.

He�s not
going to play just now, he merely wants to feel, relish in the touch, his
senses projected on the piano, on his memories, on his wishes for a future that
has yet to come.

The keys
feel cool under his fingers, smooth, dustless, ageless. It is not his old
piano, this is less expensive and less beautiful, but regal all the same, for
his eyes see in the past. The black wood is not ebony, with the carved symbol
of his family, engraved by Italian manufacturers with the language of his
father, there is no soft, silky cushion underneath him, but it is still the
most stunning thing he has seen in his life.

He is a
Mafioso. Damned to a life he chose himself, the only life he can live, and he
wonders if he can still shed this side of himself without remorse �but the
answer is easy� he cannot own this, it�s the piano that owns him.

For this
he left his house in the middle of the night, because after having ignored its
call for months, he finally is ready.

His breath
itches in his lungs�

And his
fingers press down.

��

The notes
come out like silk tissue unfolding in a sweet breeze, as smooth and entrancing
as when he was but a child �familiar, striking him deeply, unforgiving.

Each note
wraps around his heart, flashes of his past, his pain, his present and the
future he wants to change all mixing up together, the music flowing out of his
heart rather than through his fingers, beautiful in their elegance.

He still
remembers how to play, and it is amazing what he finds about himself as he
rediscovers a long since lost passion.

Eyes
close, he lets himself go, falling harder than ever, opening up where words are
not needed, showing himself like he never could, not even with Juudaime, never
with any other, and falls, music drowning him down.

When the
last notes play, it is hard to open his eyes.

Taking a
shuddering breath, Gokudera finds out his eyes are slightly wet, and curses
inwardly, unable to voice his discomfort because he�s still partly not�there, and sighs.

His hands
tremble, and fall from the keyboard, shaking under his inner tension.

Waiting.

The
silence is oppressing. For a moment stretched out towards infinity, Gokudera
Hayato does not exist, and the world darkens around him as he accepts what he
has become, and he vows �to be better, to
grow up, to be stronger, to save him before he dies�

Then,
Hibari steps into the room.

Gokudera
renounces without even turning around �he�s not in the mood to fight, emptied
of everything, he just wants to sleep� and prepares himself to be �bitten to
death�, but the attack does not come.

The Storm
Guardian does not dare turning around, not because he�s afraid, but because the
silence now is somewhat different, and he does not want to break it.

He could
ask himself many things �why didn�t Hibari attack, what was the older guy
thinking, why�

But he
does not.

There is a
shifting noise behind him and Gokudera has the distinct impression Hibari just
made himself comfortable on the floor, back against the wall, and is staring at
him. He can feel the eyes on his back.

Why?

He does
not ask.

Hibari does
not speak, either. But the silence feels warmer now, somehow, and Gokudera
feels calmer than he�s ever been.

His hands
are firm as he starts playing again.

��

When the
next night he returns, Hibari is already in the room.

The taller
teen�s face is unreadable, eyes still emotionless, cruel and cold, but Gokudera
ignores him, puffing out smoke from his lips, and sits on the piano�s seat with
unmatched lack of grace.

He
distinctly hears Hibari snort �or hiss, or whatever, it�s not like he�s really paying
attention� but his hands are already on the keyboard and his thoughts are
washed away again, to his salvation, his cure�

What the
music means to him, is hope.

Pouring
himself into it, he plays, forgetting of the figure behind him, and his
problems, he reconciles with everything. And forgets, and learns to forgive.

Mostly
himself.

Hibari did
not confront him on that, and Gokudera feels he�s privileged, because it means
he�s tolerated �which per se is not
that good, but he can ignore this, because after all, he�s in Hibari�s
territory. He can�t be picky.

But at
least he�s not engaged in life�threatening fights either.

So he
comes back, if not every night then still enough to turn it into a sweet,
immoral addiction, relieving a stress he didn�t know he had.

When
training does not turn his mind into a brainless goo, when he does not stop
outside Tsuna�s house to patrol (because
he�s his boss, and he�s so clueless at times it�s almost funny), when
Yamamoto leaves him alone, he comes back.

And plays.

And the
world does not matter.

As weeks
pass by, the Storm Guardian realises that it�s not just the music he�s growing
addicted to, but the combined feeling of its freedom, and the eyes fixed on
him, that make his lungs burn with need to show his best.

If it has been
hatred before, Gokudera does not know what it�s turned into.

The thing
is, he does not really care. Not anymore.

As long as
he can play, and Hibari comes to listen.

��

Hibari
simply stares.

The music wraps
around him, and in a hidden, deep part of his soul �because he has one� he is
careful to admit he likes it.

A music
that is far too beautiful to ignore, a music that bares the soul of the player,
and Hibari has always been a good observer, even when he didn�t care for what
he saw.

He has the
power to make it stop, to control it and punish the impudent herbivore for
having thought he was allowed to continue. He has the power over the teen�s
very life, and enjoys the feeling very much.

Because
the piano is in his school, because the Storm Guardian, whom he thought
worthless, is also in his school.

Playing
songs that curl around him like blankets.

He didn�t
chase Gokudera, Hayato, away because the music stopped him.

He allowed
him to return, night after night, because the music trapped him there.

It�s
discomforting, and confusing, and Hibari does not like that feeling, but it�s
too late to protest now, because something shifted between him and the player,
without his consent. Because that something means everything.

It repeats night after night.

Alluring.
Pleasant.

He can�t
stay away from that damned room. When the music finishes, the first time,
Hibari simply enters and sits down. Demanding more with just his presence.

Gokudera
appears to agree and starts again, a new, beautiful tune.

The
following night Hibari finds himself standing against the wall. Waiting for
Gokudera to come and perform his magic. Gokudera does come, and Hibari knows
that it�s all over.

He�s the
carnivore who was tamed by a weaker animal.

The
younger teen would never know it, but the times he does not come, Hibari still
does, and sits in silence, alone, and the tune plays softly in his mind.

The
realisation hit him after the fifth night, when he finds himself halfway
standing up to move towards the white haired teen.

Somehow,
Hibari thinks, together with the song, together with the music, Gokudera also
became part of his school. Part of his,
period.

The
silence around them erased whatever distance existed, whatever lack of
intimacy. Whatever hatred. Comprehension, whatever �it�s not like Hibari really
wants to ponder over such concepts.

But that
weaker, lower�ranked teen suddenly doesn�t seem that worthless anymore.

And one
night he will move from his position next to the door and shorten the physical
distance that separates them.

Hibari
does not know what he will do then. What Gokudera will do.

But for
now, as far as Gokudera knows, he won�t move. Won�t speak. Won�t be there at all.

As long as
the music keeps playing, though, the vibrating notes still tie them together.

��

Cepheus: I hope you liked, so
please review!
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Nel Silenzio