As for Writing Wednesday, I'm fond of this old piece :) Also, I like surly characters.
"You're a fucking mess."
It was the honest truth and like hell Gokudera was going to pander to the idiot by pretending otherwise. Across the room, Yamamoto lay wrapped so thoroughly in bandages that, if not for the grin visible through the gauze, he'd have been unrecognizable.
"Sorry you have to see me like this."
Gokudera shifted against his crutch and scoffed. "Don't talk, moron. They should have taped your mouth shut while they were at it."
His feet were silent against the tiles, Yamamoto's steady and infuriating smile filling the space between them. He propped the crutch against the bed and lowered himself to the pressed sheets, eyes averted.
"Tsuna told me everyone else is okay. I'm glad—"
"Why are you still talking?" Gokudera passed a hand over his face, his stomach churning. He hated moments like this, moments charged with so much expectation, the air sweltered with it. He was shit at being profound and, at any other time, he would have said to hell with it. But Tsuna's bowed head, the crease between his brows carved deep enough to leave an ache in Gokudera's chest, kept him rooted, his hands fisting around the bed sheets. "Christ, just shut up and let me think."
"Geez. Look. I—" His lips stumbled, tongue tripping over the words as cold fingers brushed the back of his hand. He jerked away from the touch, surprised that Yamamoto could even move that much.
"Gokudera, it's okay," he whispered.
Gokudera shook his head and pressed his palms to his eyes in frustration. It wasn't okay—Gokudera and the others getting captured wasn't okay, Tsuna believing he'd failed them wasn't okay, surviving the battle on a technicality was not okay.
Except, really, that wasn't right. Gokudera would be the first to admit he was a cynical bastard and, for the most part, he had a right to it. But now they had a chance, a good chance, of winning this war, of fixing things. It was the most hope Gokudera had seen on everyone's faces in months, and Gokudera would suffer every adversity to keep from failing Tsuna again, his boss and friend; his faith in everything that was good in the world embodied in one, timid little boy.
Somehow, Yamamoto's hand found his again, and Gokudera swallowed down the urge to rip his hand away. He didn't need any consolation, much less from a moron with more broken bones than he'd ever seen on a person still breathing.
But the slide of dry fingers against his clammy skin seemed a sufficient substitute for the things he didn't know how to say. The acknowledgment that yes, they failed, but no, they weren't giving up. The promise that there was a better future out there, someday, if they made things right.
Gokudera turned his hand, Yamamoto's fingers curling against his palm, and stayed that way until the nurse returned to check her patient.
Gokudera (surly jerk with a heart of gold) ♥
Have a great rest of the week, everyone! ♥