Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I hope that you know I am very close to snapping and permanently banning you from my office,” Tsuna says, very pleasantly, to the two headaches in front of him.

Byakuran has the nerve to laugh at him, leaning his chair back onto two legs and propping his feet up on Tsuna’s desk (which is absolutely overflowing with paper, binders, and folders because apparently electric signatures aren’t secure enough, even with Shouichi’s, Spanner’s, and Verde’s combined genius). Tsuna only just manages to save the single slip of paper that is Kyouya’s most recent mission report—thankfully undamaged because heavens know his Cloud would not deign to write another one, no matter how important Tsuna thought it was—before white boots dusted with dirt, grass, blood, and who knows what else come crashing down on the papers beneath. Tsuna sobs inside—there were several forms in that pile that took him almost an hour to complete, and he’ll probably have to redo them later.

“Don’t be like that, Tsunayoshi-kun,” Byakuran chides, pulling out a bag of marshmallows from who-knows-where inside his coat and popping a marshmallow in his mouth. Tsuna watches its disappearance enviously—he hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and that was at least twelve hours ago. “Really, this is for your own good. You’ve been so busy and stressed lately, what with all the responsibilities that come with being a don, that you haven’t even been able to play with me when I come visit. This is the perfect opportunity for you to take a break and destress, and it’s exactly what you need—so, really, you should be thanking me, not complaining.”

Tsuna deadpans, “Byakuran, you are the cause of at least 20% of my stress. My Guardians are the other 80%, and you know they’d all insist on coming with me, so I wouldn’t really be getting any reprieve at all. Also, you have no room whatsoever to talk about responsibilities. You run away from your Guardians all the time. To come bother me. When I actually need to do my work. I have no idea how you keep slipping past the security guards when we have a whole section dedicated to keeping you out.”

Headache No. 2 chooses that exact moment to speak up, “But Tsu-kun! If you ban Ran-kun from the mansion, we’ll have to hold our weekly tea times somewhere else, and you know we don’t feel comfortable chatting anywhere outside the mansion!”

Tsuna pinches his nose and, when that doesn’t work, carefully sets Kyouya’s report aside and switches to rubbing his temples.

“Kyouko,” he says, very, very slowly, “you have Cake Appreciation Days three times a month and Dessert Appreciation Days at least twice as often. You seemed to have no trouble discussing your and Haru’s sex life (which, might I add, none of us needed to know so many details about) the last time you were in that bakery with the amazing angel cakes, and both Chrome and Byakuran seemed perfectly comfortable with discussing said topic in public—Byakuran, if I recall correctly, was even asking for more details. You gossip about Mafia politics at teatime; I think you will be perfectly fine holding teatime outside when the majority of the establishments around here are manned by members or allies of the Vongola.”

Kyouko pouts, blinking wide, brown eyes at him, “Mou~”

Beside her, Byakuran joins in, abruptly swinging the legs of both himself and the chair down onto wooden floorboards (they got tired of switching the carpets around when they couldn’t get the bloodstains out) with a loud thud. He rockets forward to lean right over Tsuna’s desk and into Tsuna’s face with widened purple eyes and a disturbingly convincing pout on his lips.

“Byakuran,” Tsuna says, closing his eyes. I may or may not be traumatized for life, he thinks rather dispassionately, and when he doesn’t hear the rustle of cloth signaling movement, he slaps a hand onto Byakuran’s face and forcefully pushes it away. His other hand returns to pinch his nose in the vain hope that it will alleviate the steadily increasing pressure at his temples and the base of his skull as he patiently repeats, opening his eyes when he feels Byakuran peeling Tsuna’s hand off his face, “Byakuran. Please go do your job before Zakuro decides it would be a good idea to disintegrate my wall again. Kyouko, I know that you are fully capable of being reasonable, unlike Byakuran, so please stay and do so.”

Byakuran huffs, whirls around with a dramatic swish of his cape, and tosses over his shoulder, “Kyouko, I leave the convincing to you. And Tsunayoshi-kun, when you finally see sense, you will thank us for it!”

Yeah, not likely, Tsuna thinks rather uncharitably, but keeps his mouth shut until Byakuran throws open the door and flounces off.

“Care to explain, Kyouko?” he asks, voice tired but not unamused, and glances at Haru, who’s slid in as Byakuran left and is shutting the door with a soft click. “Or was this Haru’s idea?”

“Ah, Tsu-kun can be so smart~” Haru beams as she comes bouncing over, voice excited but low in volume, something Tsuna is grateful for. “I was worried about Tsu-kun’s stress levels; Lambo-chan has been complaining lately that he hasn’t been able to spend much time with you even after he finished all his assignments, and Fuuta-chan mentioned that your ranking in ‘most stressed’ is close to the top.” The smile on her face is now more worried than anything as she reaches out across the desk, tugging one hand away from his face and clasping it in both of her own. “Everyone’s been so worried for you lately, but you’ve been so busy you rarely ever have time to take a break. Please, would you just hear us out?”

It only takes a second for his will to crumble, and he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “I—fine. Just make it quick; I still have to write a letter to that minor Don and clear up that mess the two of you made giggling over his son.”

“Mou, but he was so cute!” Kyouko jumps in as Haru beams at him and clasps her hands together in front of her happily. The orange-haired girl places her hands on Haru’s shoulders, peeking up over them at Tsuna with sparkling eyes and a mischievous grin on her face. “He was all chubby cheeks and sulking pouts, and he obviously didn’t want to be there, but he was so polite to us when we talked to him!”

Tsuna facepalms, “I really don’t know why I made the two of you responsible for forming alliances with the minor Famiglia. Either the dons are in love with you, or their children are, and they really don’t give up even after I tell them that you’re married.”

Haru giggles, twirling around and hugging Kyouko tightly, “It’s because you love us, Tsu-kun! And we know it!”

“There are roughly a hundred people who love you in a much less platonic way,” he reminds them, “and I’m the one who has to deal with all of them,” but he’s smiling, soft and fond.

He’s happy for them—he really is. Even if they cause paperwork by the deskful simply by existing, even if he’s cut a lot of alliances simply because of the lewd insinuations that have been made because of them, he doesn’t regret a single thing. Their wedding was the worst he’s had to suffer—a pain to organize and coordinate—but the two of them loved it, they’re happy together now, and that makes everything worth it.

He can’t imagine them separate anymore. Haru and Kyouko…they were meant to be, in a sense. It’d been an awkward love triangle at some point, of Haru crushing on him, him crushing on Kyouko, and Kyouko crushing on Haru, though she was a fair deal better at hiding it than either of them. He’s glad it worked out—he’s too busy, as the head of the Vongola, to dedicate himself to pursuing a relationship outside of the ones he already has, so he would never have tried to date either of them.

Not that any of them would have wanted that to happen, after their third year in middle school. That was around the time he realized he had been attracted less to Kyouko herself and more to the kindness that defined her, and also when the friendships between the three of them developed to the point that they realized they were more Family than love interests.

Or, well, that they realized their relationships with him were more Familial than romantic. Kyouko and Haru's relationship wasn't quite so platonic after that.

And yet, it hadn’t been all that surprising when their bond became something different and shifted towards romance. Their relationship had never been the same as Tsuna's with his Family, but it had always been just as deep and intense, starting from the moment they first met. And while it might have not been a life-risking situation that caused that friendship (it was cake), they were (and are) still just as close as Tsuna is with his Guardians and the rest of his Family. The way they gravitate towards each other, in times of happiness and in all the stressful situations they faced, have made that clear.

And always (but first and foremost when they were trapped in the future that was, frustrated with how no one was telling them anything), when they came for something important, it was together, as a unit. In that future that was, they’d approached him together, hand in hand, to ask him politely but firmly to explain, and he—he hadn’t reacted well.

It’s something he’s rather ashamed of now, but it…it had really been a bad time for him. He’d been stressed, worried for his Guardians, and very well-aware that they were in way over their heads. He hadn’t been certain how to respond, too—not out of pride but out of fear of forcing them into something they didn’t have to endure. He’d already dragged his Guardians into the Mafia with him, and it wasn’t a decision he wanted to make them face. And yet it wasn’t fair to refuse them and force them to continue dealing with a danger they couldn’t even identify.

He’d given them a basic rundown of events, in the end, but that was only the first time they approached him to demand answers from him. Because he hadn’t told them in detail about the Sin he was inheriting. Hadn’t continued to update them on current matters, on what he and his Guardians had learned from Reborn about Mafia matters, because he hadn’t wanted to involve them too deeply. He’d given them the secrets of a Mafia in a future that no longer existed, secrets and an understanding that weren’t definitively valid, and he’d reasoned that if they didn’t know Mafia secrets, then it wasn’t too late for them to reduce their involvement with him and the rest of his Family. They could have continued to live the pseudo-civilian lives they’d lived in the future that was, but then they came to him again, and—

And he couldn’t be cruel and refuse them again.

(“Tsuna-kun,” Kyouko looks him straight in the eye, will unwavering as she speaks, “my brother is involved in the Mafia. I need to know more about what he’s doing so that I can keep him safe.”

He stares at her, wide-eyed and torn. Haru clasps Kyouko’s hand in hers tightly, both of them looking only a little bit frightened but completely determined.

“Take her to a more secure location,” a new voice murmurs, a gloved hand settling on his shoulder. His head jerks to the side—Primo is standing beside him. There is a sad and understanding smile on the spirit’s lips, “It’s better to describe everything to them now, when you can control the situation, rather than wait until something forces your hand.”

Tsuna has never been more grateful that his ancestor has, in the past few months, taken to coming out of the ring. Primo’s advice has been invaluable on several counts, but this time especially it is well-timed and much-needed. He follows Primo’s instructions exactly and brings them to his bedroom. With the spirit’s help, he clearly explains and outlines what it means for them to continue their involvement with him if he tells them everything about the Mafia (“you won’t be able to escape Mafia law, like this,” he locks eyes with both of them, trying to impress the gravity of this matter upon them. “Right now, you can pass as civilians who know some things about the Mafia, but if you insist on knowing more, you will fall under omertà and all the laws that the Vindice preside over”), and when he has finally finished, bows politely to them. They aren’t friends in that moment. They are people he has wronged by dragging into a mess of his own creation and then not bothering to fully educate on the details of what he’s trapped them in, and he adjusts his manner of speech and behavior towards them accordingly.

“Please carefully consider your options before deciding on anything. I will return shortly,” he says before he exits the room and promptly locks himself in the bathroom and has a breakdown.

“They’re going to hate me,” he whimpers, curling up into a ball on the ground and tugging at his hair. He’s crying, to his embarrassment—big, fat tears rolling down his throat and loud, hitching breaths. “Primo, they’re—they’re going to hate me for dragging them into such a risky situation and making them cut ties with us, and they’re p—probably going to leave me, and—and—and I—”

He bites down on his shirt sleeve as his chest heaves and another keen escapes him. His shirt is hitching up, and the tile is cold against his skin, something which for some reason makes his sobs increase in intensity.

Cloth rustles, feet move whisper-soft across the floor, and a hand wraps gently around his head, cradling the back of his skull in one gloved palm.

“Tsunayoshi,” Primo says, soft and kind. Tsuna curls into himself tighter, trying desperately to muffle his sobs. He’s had so much practice over the years—why aren’t any of his methods working now? But there is a gentle nudge, the slightest bit of pressure on his head trying to coax him out, “Tsunayoshi, look at me.”

He looks.

(How could he not?)

Primo is kneeling at his side, amber eyes sad and understanding, just like his smile. The ever-present flame on his forehead has shrunk but still burns bright with I am yours you are mine we will always be together, and Tsuna is abruptly ashamed of his appearance right now. He’s always been an ugly crier—his bullies took care to remind him of that every time they saw him—and now is certainly no different. But when he tries to hide his face again, when he tries to disappear, Primo stops him and gently, without judgment, wipes his face dry with a handkerchief.

“I suppose I’m a bit old-fashioned, still carrying spare handkerchiefs around with me,” the blond smiles a bit sheepishly. “G always tells me it’s ridiculous since I rarely ever use them, but they do come in handy on occasion.”

Tsuna says nothing in response, still sniffling and squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears.

They continue leaking out, but Primo simply wipes them away again patiently, the cloth soft and smooth against his skin, and continues to speak to him, calm and soothing, “They won’t blame you, you know. Even if they can’t see things clearly now, both of them are reasonable people. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine, for not choosing a better successor, and they’ll realize that eventually.”

“I—I don’t think they’ll come back to me though,” Tsuna admits, and hates how pathetic that sounds. “They—they don’t have any reason to, not when I—when I’ve—”

“I think they’ll find it in themselves to love you again,” Primo gazes down at him with a smile that is small but filled with warmth. Tsuna looks up at him through confused, teary eyes. “You did everything with the best intentions, and you are far from the one to blame. I don’t think they could stop loving you, anyways. You are a Sky, after all, and one of mine—but most importantly, you are also theirs.”

He doesn’t understand exactly what that means, at the time (it means that they are Family, who will never leave him, who are his, and whose he is), but eventually he calms down, washes his face again, and returns to the room where Kyouko and Haru are waiting. He enters with a red nose and bloodshot eyes both Kyouko and Haru pretend not to notice and spends the rest of the hour answering all the questions that they have, relying on Primo to make sure that his answers are accurate.

At the end of it all, Haru and Kyouko exchange glances with each other, silent, and as one, rise. They don’t do anything except touch his shoulder briefly and murmur, “Thank you for having us, Tsuna-kun” before they leave, but that’s enough to reassure him that his actions aren’t wholly unforgivable.

They show up the next day holding hands with two announcements: that they’re dating (have been, in fact, for the past month) and that they’ll be joining the Vongola as a diplomat-ambassador duo, and that’s the end of Tsuna’s peaceful life as he knows it. Onii-san especially is devastated that he can’t threaten Haru, but the two of them promise to take care of each other anyways)

“Tsu-kun? Are you okay?”

He refocuses to Kyouko peering into his face, eyes large and concerned, and smiles automatically, “Ah, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Haru’s right; you really do need some rest…” Kyouko frowns, pulling back a little.

“Haru is always right!” Haru winks at them, casually sweeping a pile of papers from Tsuna’s desk into a wastebasket and perching herself in the empty space.

(Tsuna tries not to scream)

She leans forward, cupping his cheek in one hand and looking at him earnestly, “You need a break from all these duties, Tsuna,” dropping the nickname to sound more serious. “How long has it been since you’ve full-out sparred against Kyouya, no restrictions on Flames or weapons? Or since you’ve listened to Hayato play piano? Or watched Takeshi perform? Or just spend time with your Guardians in general? You hardly even have the time to eat these days, and you’re always either working or sleeping. We miss you.”

“I—I know,” he covers her hand with his own, trying to convey his sincerity. “But Haru, this month has been absolutely hectic. I should be able to clear everything up in a few days, and then everything will go back to normal, but right now, I just can’t risk leaving. You want us to spend a week in Kyoto of all places, but I really, really can’t do that right now. Maybe in a few weeks, but I’ll have to make so many arrangements and preparations, and—”

“Tsunayoshi,” cuts through his rising panic, warm and calm. Tsuna shuts his mouth with an audible click, and Haru pulls back, both of them turning their heads to his right. Giotto is perched along the arm of his chair, left hand resting along its tall back, smiling at the two girls across the table. “They’re right, you know. Your stress levels have been sky high for quite a while now, you know.”

Tsuna's palm meets his face with an audible slap.

“That,” he says dryly, “was an absolutely terrible pun.”

Giotto pouts, “Mou, you’re always so cruel to me, Tsunayoshi!”

Kyouko pats the spirit’s arm sympathetically, voice shaking with suppressed laughter as she says, very solemnly, “It’s alright, Giotto-san; I thought it was pretty funny.”

She dissolves into a fit of giggles when Tsuna drags his hand down his face to give her a very disbelieving look, and Haru holds her up, grinning from ear to ear herself and waving at Giotto when she catches his eye, “Ciao, Primo.”

“Ciao, Haru-chan,” he returns, nodding his head and grinning. “How have you and your wife been?”

“Good!” the brunette answers cheerfully, shifting to hold a shaking Kyouko up with both hands. “We’ve been gathering experience in browbeating idiots; it seems to be going well so far.”

“I can see,” Giotto answers amusedly, dropping one hand on Tsuna’s head and twisting, leaning forward until he’s almost nose-to-nose with Tsuna. “And how browbeaten do you think you are, Tsunayoshi?”

Tsuna shoves his ancestor out of his face casually and ignores it when Giotto topples sideways out of the chair and onto the floor with a yelp, “Not nearly browbeaten enough to be convinced,” he answers dryly and picks up his pen again. “Haru, Kyouko, I’ll consider it later, but please let me work for now, alright?”

“’Kay!” Haru agrees cheerily (and, in hindsight, far too easily) and drags her still breathlessly laughing wife out with a “Ciao, Tsu-kun, Primo!”

He should’ve known not to trust that they’d drop the issue so easily.

They swan into his office a few hours later along with all the other Family members currently in the mansion—Hayato, Lambo, Mukuro, and Chrome—closely followed by a butler wheeling in a cart of filled with dishes.

“Dinnertime~!” Kyouko sings as he stares at them in bemusement, the pen under his hand pressed against the paper.

There’ll be an ink blotch there soon, which means he'll inevitably have to rewrite this letter at some point, but right now he can’t quite bring himself to care.

“Um,” he says, which summarizes his life fairly accurately.

Haru tugs at his arm, “Come on, Tsu-kun! The servants have prepared everything for us, and no one will interrupt unless someone we actually care about is dying. We haven’t had a meal together for weeks now! You’re always eating breakfast super early and then skipping lunch and taking dinner late, and we miss you!”

“Haru, that’s only because my working schedule is a mess right now and I can’t take so many breaks,” he protests, but knows better than to resist any longer.

She lets him go long enough for him to push his chair back and stand up, then immediately latches onto his wrist, dragging him over to the side of his office where the floor is carpeted with soft, fluffy red. Chrome is already seated on the settee, hands clasped with Kyouko’s and chatting animatedly with her. Haru releases his wrist and settles in on Chrome’s other side, immediately joining in on their excited babbling. Tsuna catches “Really?! You’re sure? I can’t wait!” before they start giggling, and he turns his attention away with a fond smile.

Lambo is sitting on the carpet a little further away, watching his older sisters with a long-suffering look on his face, and Tsuna drops down onto the floor next to him quietly.

“You haven’t eaten yet?” he asks, wrapping an arm around his younger brother’s shoulders and pulling him in a little. “It’s late.”

“I wanted to eat with you, Tsuna-nii,” Lambo leans back into Tsuna’s chest a little and tips his head sideways towards him, and Tsuna instinctively turns his own to smile into wavy, dark hair. “Besides, it’s only nine; it’s not that late.”

“Mm,” he hums. “And you, Hayato? Mukuro? What brings you to my office?”

Hayato gives an easy shrug, one side of his mouth tugging up wryly, and says, “Do we need a reason for wanting to see you more often?”

It’s a gentle reminder—you haven’t been around lately; we miss you—but it works. Tsuna meets clear green eyes, no blame or judgment within them, over Lambo’s head and does his best to convey an apology. His Storm tips his head slightly in understanding; as his second-in-command, Hayato more than anyone knows how much Tsuna has to deal with. His Storm has been a blessing this month especially, doing his best to take on part of Tsuna’s load, but there’s only so much Tsuna is willing to foist off on Hayato when the other has his own never-ending list of things to complete.

Mukuro’s amused voice turns Tsuna’s gaze towards where his Mist is leaning against the wall, “Kufufu, I’m starting to wonder if paperwork would be a more effective torture implement than what our division has managed to come up with.”

He actually seriously contemplates that for a moment, and then shakes his head, a rueful grin on his face, “I don’t think so. Your Mists can be fairly sadistic.”

Mukuro likes to have his Mists—especially the new ones, whose Flames are still out of control—help him in dealing out punishments for “mafia scum,” as he calls it. Traitors to the Vongola, human traffickers—in general, those who have been rebelling against Vongola’s decision to return to their roots as a Famiglia that protects rather than one that must be protected from. The punishments themselves are illusions and don’t tend to have many long-lasting effects; the more experienced Mists usually disguise the illusions as dreams or nightmares (Chrome likes to wipe them from their memories entirely), and any physical injuries are practice for the Suns.

Tsuna still doesn’t have any particular fondness towards anything resembling torture, but the Mists need training and practice (and they’re always careful with their victims, scum though said victims may be). Beyond that, these are his people, members of his Famiglia—he wouldn’t risk the Mists dying due to lack of field experience or harming civilians because they haven’t learned how to properly manipulate their Flames. Mukuro is always supervising anyways (for a given value of supervision—he’s usually giving them tips on how to make the experience worse), and Tsuna trusts him not to let the Mists get ahead of themselves.

There have been some fairly terrible illusions though—there was a Mist two years ago absolutely obsessed with fairy tales and Disney songs, Durante, who excelled in auditory illusions and was a fair hand at visual ones. He trapped Tsuna in one before, for approximately ten seconds, and it was terrible. Pink. Everywhere. Artfully ruffled and arranged in different shades, with frilly lace draped over the couches and the walls, and there was sweet romantic music playing in the background and cake in front of him and the scent of sugar in the air and—

No.

Just—no.

(To this day that was one of the shortest illusions Tsuna experienced. He’d stared at it in mute horror for a few moments before flaring his Flames so hard the illusions shattered from the sheer incredulity contained within them)

“Kufufu,” is all Mukuro says in response, and Tsuna just rolls his eyes.

“Don’t make the trauma too long-lasting. We had enough trouble trying to erase that one group’s sudden phobia of chickens, even if Chrome wiped their memories afterwards.” He glances up as a butler sets a low lap table on the ground beside him, upon it a bowl of steaming rice, a tall yunomi teacup filled with genmaicha, and a few side-dishes—Salisbury steak, eggs, and bok choy. “Ah, thank you, Niccolo,” he smiles, and nudges Lambo gently when a similar lap table with different dishes is set on his Lightning Guardian’s other side. “Fratellino,” his voice is soft. “Aren’t you hungry? Let’s eat together.”

“Mm,” Lambo doesn’t move.

“He’s been staying up late the past few days,” a new voice interjects lazily, and Tsuna looks across Lambo’s head. Lampo is lounging in the air, fingers interlocked against the back of his neck, and not looking at Tsuna as he speaks. “He got perfect scores on his tests today. I watched the teacher grade them.”

There’s no accusation in Lampo’s voice, but it still hurts to be reminded of his own inadequacy as an older brother. Lambo has always needed (or desperately, desperately wanted) others to acknowledge his existence, and Tsuna has, since realizing that, always done his best in turn to reassure his little brother that he hasn’t been forgotten. Usually, he manages to finish the majority of his work in time for dinner, but there have been so many reports lately, so many meetings or missions that called for his or his Guardians’ presence personally, so many traitors and hints of Famiglia allying against the Vongola that he hasn’t seen Lambo in at least a week.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against Lambo’s hair, squeezing him just a little bit tighter. “Everything will be back to normal in a few days, I promise.”

“It’s okay, Tsuna-nii,” his Lightning pulls himself upright, brushing hair out of his mouth (Tsuna makes a mental note to arrange an appointment with their barber). “I just wanted to get good scores so I could rub them in Reborn’s stupid face when he comes back again.”

Tsuna grins at the mental image that brings up—it’s been over ten years and yet their one-sided rivalry is still going strong—and says, not hiding the warmth in his voice, “I’m sure Reborn will be impressed. Your classes are much more challenging than even most adults could handle.”

Lambo smiles back, a little tint of pink to his cheeks, and Tsuna impulsively leans down and presses a chaste kiss on Lambo’s head. He glances around—the girls are chatting happily away on the settee, Mukuro is watching them fondly, and Hayato is playing with an unlit cigarette, a small smile at the edges of his lips.

Tsuna smiles at them (they look so happy, and it's all he's ever wanted and more) before deciding that it's late enough that they should probably start eating now. Partially out of habit and partially to start the meal without interrupting them too obviously, he claps his hands together in front of himself and bows over them as much as he can in this position with an "Itadakimasu." He stays bowed over his hands, pressing his lips together to hide his mirth as his Family members obviously notice, “Eh?”s and “Ah!”s sounding around the room.

“Itadakimasu,” Lambo choruses next to him almost immediately, and out of the corner of his eye, Tsuna can see a smug smirk on his lips as Lambo claps his hands together, bows, and immediately turns to pick up his bowl and chopsticks.

“Itadakimasu,” the others hurriedly echo, before Tsuna straightens with an amused smile on his lips.

“Oi, Lambo, you’re not supposed to start eating until everyone starts,” Hayato chides, cheeks lightly flushed and voice filled with annoyance and embarrassment in equal measure. “You’re still forgetting that?”

Lambo lets out a very put-upon sigh clearly meant to cause maximum irritation (he’s always been good at getting under Hayato’s skin. Already, a vein is beginning to throb in the Storm’s cheek), “Stupid Haya-nii. I was just tired of waiting for you slowpokes to notice that Tsuna-nii was hungry," before he returns to scarfing down his dinner.

Hayato immediately turns appalled eyes on Tsuna, “Tsuna-sama! You didn’t have to wait for us! I’m so sorry; I should have noticed earlier—”

Haru interrupts Hayato with an airy laugh and a wave of her hand, “No, Tsu-kun usually eats much later than this; I’m sure a few minutes didn’t hurt,” but her eyes are sharp and concerned.

He smiles reassuringly at both of them, “Haru is right, Hayato. It was nice to just stop and take a few minutes to breathe. If it’s alright, though, I wouldn’t mind starting to eat so that we can share dinner together.”

“And that’s why you need to take a vacation, Tsu-kun,” Kyouko comments as she fills her bowl up with vegetables, eyes focused on the raised table beside her. “You’re going to overwork your body until you collapse.”

“I’ll consider it later, Kyouko,” Tsuna repeats patiently, mimicking her and starting to fill his bowl up with his side-dishes. “Just not right now.”

“You always say that,” Haru points out unhappily, “but you never find the time for it. The only sort of vacations you take are your annual trips to see Maman—we want you to be able to experience the whole tourist package, to go sight-seeing and everything, you know? We can run the Famiglia for a week or two.”

“But will it survive is the question,” he mutters, and Mukuro laughs softly.

“Kufufu, I think that they could handle the Famiglia with my Nagi’s help. Ne, Nagi?”

Chrome nods, swallowing a mouthful of rice, “It’ll be okay, Bossu. The second-in-commands can take over for anyone who’s going with you.”

He turns to Hayato, his last hope for reason, but finds that his Storm actually seems to be contemplating the idea.

“Hayato,” he says, a plea in his voice, and green eyes turn towards him, faintly apologetic.

“I’m sorry, but…you could really use the break, Tsuna-sama,” he admits. “My second-in-command can take care of most of my duties, so I can help you finish what you need to. Takeshi will be back tomorrow, too, so we can probably finish everything in two days.”

“I took the liberty to book a traditional ryokan for the next three weeks,” Kyouko adds. Tsuna stares. “It’s not as luxurious as most hotels you’ve lived in, of course, but it comes highly recommended. I heard the service and view is excellent.”

“…” Tsuna shoves a piece of Salisbury steak in his mouth, chews thoroughly, and swallows before he comments, “It seems like all of you are teaming up against me…” He turns his head, “Lambo? What do you think?”

“Mm?” Lambo glances at him, eyes wide over bulging cheeks. Tsuna smiles amusedly at him as, with what looks like immense effort, Lambo swallows. “Me? Um, it could be nice, I guess. I’ve never been to Kyoto before. I wouldn’t mind if you just took me out for gelato though.”

“As congratulations for your test scores,” Tsuna nods. “We can go tomorrow, if you’d like.”

Lambo shakes his head, dark strands flying up around his face, “Nah, Haya-nii said you have a lot of work to get done. I’d rather do it when you’re not busy or stressed. Takoyaki would be good too if we go to Kyoto.”

“I’ll tell the servants,” Kyouko says immediately, but there’s a question in her voice. Tsuna sends her a faintly reproaching but completely resigned look, and she all but beams at him in response, setting aside her chopsticks and bowl to bounce over and press a kiss against the side of his cheek. “Thank you, Tsu-kun!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tsuna grumbles, shoving another piece of his favorite food into his mouth. “It’s not like I ever stood a chance against all of you together.”

Still, his voice is fond, and Kyouko knows it too. She smiles cheerfully at him, pats him on the cheek, and repeats, “Thank you,” soft with sincerity, before she disappears out the door.

Haru helps herself to Kyouko’s dishes in the meantime with a cheerful smile and comments with a faintly besotted look on her face, “She’s a force of her own, don’t you think? I almost feel bad for Tsu-kun...you really didn’t stand a chance against her…”

Tsuna harrumphs and doesn’t deign that with a response, and his Family laughs around him. He can’t help but smile with them, though—Kyouko is wonderfully and insanely talented at cheerfully rolling other people over, and he’s been on the other side of her sunny smiles enough to know that he was fighting a losing battle from the start.

*

True to Hayato’s estimations, Tsuna, Hayato, and Takeshi manage to finish their responsibilities within three days. As last-minute decisions are finalized and a few extra preparations (“just in case,” Hayato explains as he shoves another stack of dynamite into his bag. Tsuna eyes it dubiously and wonders how they all fit) are made, the servants are running around ferrying their bags and luggage onto their private jet.

“This really isn’t necessary, you know,” Tsuna says, a little helplessly, as a butler trots by with yet more bags in hand.

“Nonsense, Decimo! You never know when these can come in handy!” Antonio calls back before he disappears into the crowd of other servants.

“I think there was a bazooka in there,” Takeshi theorizes, laughing when Tsuna runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. “They really love you, you know?”

“And they should know that I am perfectly capable of defending myself,” he responds with a pointed look at his Rain. “Especially when three of my Guardians are coming with me.”

“Nah, I think Mukuro’s coming too, so that’d make it four.” Takeshi, Tsuna thinks rather ungratefully, is a little too cheerfully oblivious to Tsuna’s despair with his overprotective Family and Famiglia. “And we just want to make your vacation the best it can possibly be, and it wouldn’t be the best without us, ne?”

That is annoyingly true, Tsuna concedes with a roll of his eyes, and Takeshi grins at him.

“Lambo hasn’t been to many places in Japan other than Namimori, and it’s been a few months since I’ve spent some leisure time in Japan. Mukuro’s probably tagging along just for the fun of it, but I think both he and Hayato could use a break too.”

The protests on Tsuna’s lips die almost instantly, and he sighs, exasperated but fond and resigned to his Family’s craziness as always, “Yeah.” His eyes follow Takeshi’s gaze to where his Storm is barking out orders in the middle of all the servants’ chaos, directing them to and fro and looking more stressed by the second. “Yeah,” he repeats, “a vacation will be good for him, I think. Could you try and calm him down a bit?”

“Mm,” Takeshi makes an affirmative noise and ambles off in Hayato’s direction, hands in his pockets.

The servants part around him seamlessly as he goes, and Tsuna watches fondly as he drapes himself over Hayato’s shoulders and pulls out the cigarette in the Storm’s mouth. There is a one-sided shouting match as Takeshi laughs and subtly leaks calming Rain Flames into their surroundings, and then Hayato folding his arms and leaning against Takeshi with an irritated but much more relaxed look on his face.

“They’re good for each other, don’t you think?” comes from his side. Tsuna angles his head slightly to catch the eyes of his ancestor where the spirit is floating in mid-air to his left. Giotto smiles briefly down at him before returning his eyes to the two Guardians. “G is the same way with Ugetsu.” Takeshi laughs at something Hayato says and is instantly shoved away and punched lightly in the bicep. “Well, sort of,” Giotto amends with a soft chuckle.

“Were they as overprotective of you as Hayato and Takeshi are of me?” he wonders idly.

“Worse, if that’s possible.” Giotto grins at Tsuna’s disbelieving look. “I’ve told you before, haven’t I? When Vongola first started, it was basically me and G against the world. Cozart joined us sometimes too, but we really had no idea what we were doing for the first year or so. If it weren’t for G, I’d probably have died about five minutes into our first self-decided mission. G was the street-fighter, not me.”

“But—really? They don’t come out as often as you do.”

“That’s because I’m already dead,” Giotto answers cheerfully. “They told me they deserved an eternity of rest after saving my ‘ungrateful and undeserving idiotic arse’ for most of their lives, so they just let me do what I want now. Back then, though, they wouldn’t let me go anywhere without someone accompanying me…I couldn’t even wash up alone after the first time someone tried to assassinate me in the bath…”

Tsuna snorts, and then, at Giotto’s wounded expression, changes the subject, “Will you be staying out of the ring space for the entire trip? You said you haven’t been to Kyoto before.”

“Ah, yes. Travel was more trouble than it was worth in our time, so I never ended up leaving Namimori for anything big after we settled there,” Giotto’s smile is bright and excited. “I’ve heard many good things about that city though. Several famous people were assassinated there.”

Tsuna deadpans, “Are you implying something?” and catches Hayato’s eye. His Storm gestures him over in the dim light, and he starts walking over, Giotto drifting along beside him. “I don’t plan on joining you in the ring-space any time soon, you know.”

“Mm, so you’ve said,” Giotto smiles at him calmly. “It’s alright. You can stay on your guard, and I’ll enjoy everything the city has to offer in your place.”

Tsuna can feel his eye start twitching, but by that time, they’ve already reached Hayato, and his Storm is waiting patiently for a signal that their conversation is over. He nods, and Hayato instantly starts to speak, guiding him up to the entrance of the jet.

“Everything has been prepared, Tsuna-sama. Lambo is already sleeping in one of the beds on the plane, and twenty of our servants as well as three chefs are on the plane, ready to make meals at any time. Your desk and a secured laptop have been set up at your usual seat so that you can work on less-sensitive information if you wish, and several weapons, changes of clothes, and other supplies have been stored throughout the plane. Our luggage is already waiting at the ryokan along with a few disguised bodyguards, and the background checks on the ryokan owners and the locations in the city we plan on visiting have come back clean. Mukuro has flown ahead with another five servants to set up defenses, and Kyouya has somehow caught wind of everything and says he’ll meet us there, the inconsiderate bastard.”

Everything is professionally reported except for the last few words, and Tsuna laughs a little helplessly. Much like Kyouko, his Cloud has a tendency to do whatever he wishes too, enabled by the fact that he can easily bulldoze over any barriers in his way.

“Alright. Contact Tetsuya with the address of the ryokan we’re staying at and have him send over anything Kyouya might want with him. And remind our chefs of how Kyouya prefers his meals; it’s been almost a year since he’s last stayed for more than a few days.”

“Understood,” Hayato nods sharply. “I’ll get on that immediately.”

“See, he still hasn’t lost all respect for you like G has for me,” Giotto remarks lightly as Tsuna settles himself on a very wide and comfortable seat that is more an armchair than anything. There’s a steaming cup of hot chocolate to his right and several snacks to his left—pocky, daifuku, and sugary zeppole doughnuts. Giotto gazes at the sweets longingly, “He even made sure you had stuff to eat and drink if you wanted any…my Guardians never would have done something like that for me…”

Tsuna rolls his eyes, takes a sip of his hot chocolate, and casually slaps his ancestor’s fingers away from his food, “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t eat food anymore, remember?” he reminds the spirit over Giotto’s whine. “It’ll just drop through your body onto the floor, and it’d be a pain for the servants to clean up.”

“It looks delicious, though,” Giotto pouts, eyes fixed on the zeppole, and with deliberate slowness, Tsuna picks up one of the sugary dough balls in his hand and bites it in half, chewing slowly.

“It is,” he nods sagely after he swallows. “Delicious, I mean.” He watches Giotto’s expression crumple with vindictive glee, popping the other half into his mouth. “And in case you’re wondering, yes, this is payback for how you like to chatter my ears off when I’m in an important meeting with someone who can’t see you.”

“You should know by now that the idiot’s sweet tooth is insatiable,” G’s voice drawls, and they turn to watch the redhead amble down the aisle towards them. The Storm smirks at them when he notices their gaze on the cigarette dangling in his mouth. “I lit it with Storm Flames, so I can still smoke, even if it’s not really the same. Eating is an entirely different matter.”

“G, you traitor,” Giotto pouts, and Tsuna laughs as G pats his Sky mockingly on the head.

“Now, now, it’s really not my fault that you decided to be addicted to sweets instead of tobacco. You should’ve chosen a better thing to fall in love with, don’t you think?”

Tsuna just uses a few konpeito sugar candies as popcorn and watches in amusement as Giotto alternates between sulking and raging at his Storm.

*

The vacation actually goes fairly well for the first few days. They visit a lot of assassination sights and shrines, and Tsuna unashamedly sneaks out several times in the middle of the night to stroll along the Philosopher’s walk and just enjoy the lack of chaos from his Guardians. Giotto joins him sometimes and talks about all the things Tsuna never has time to listen to—his childhood, his hometown, how he met his friends and Guardians—and proposes several different experiments with their Flames that Tsuna never would have thought of himself, once again reminding Tsuna just how genius and inspiring a man Giotto must have been when alive to come up with the idea of the Vongola.

And then the 16th of the month comes, and Hayato somehow manages to get all of them signed up as volunteers for the Obon festival. They’re one of the teams responsible for setting one of the many bonfires on the mountains, which, with how powerful their Flames are, is little to no trouble at all.

Putting out the fires at the end of the festival, however…

Well.

That doesn’t go well.

Lambo was dozing off nearby as they let the bonfire burn, and Kyouya and Mukuro were performing their usual bicker-flirt-murder routine behind a few trees. Tsuna was just watching Takeshi roast marshmallows in the heat given off by the giant flames and Hayato smoke calmly until someone came by and asked them to please put out the fire that was starting to spread beyond its limits.

The problem with putting out these fires was that they were augmented by Flames. Vicious, stubborn Flames that disliked bowing to anyone other than their owners (Lambo and Hayato had been the main contributors to that) and Flames that had been running free and wild for the past hour with little to no supervision.

They…

Couldn’t put the Flames out in time.

The wildfires spread across much of the mountain, extremely reminiscent of the fire on Death Mountain Tsuna remembers facing so long ago. Mukuro and Kyouya have let go of all inhibitions and are focusing their attentions on murdering each other right now (although he’d like to think of it as sparring), and Lambo is brushing soot off his clothes and complaining about how he’ll need a new one. Hayato is panicking and desperately trying to recall the Flames, and Takeshi is chewing on a handful of marshmallows and glancing around, obviously seeking an aboveground source of water. And Tsuna might not have Reborn at hand to shoot him this time, nor Leon to use as a divining rod, but he hardly needs them anymore to find a vein of water in the mountains. He jumps off a tree to give himself some extra height and punches straight through the ground into a water vein close to the surface, aided by a mixture of Flames, gravity, and intuition, and as water sprays up around them, calls “Takeshi!” sharply.

He’s never been more grateful for how adaptable his Guardians are. Takeshi infuses the water with Rain Flames and directs water to douse the worst of the flames (and Flames) and the perimeter of the fires. Kyouya and Mukuro are (most likely unintentionally, to Tsuna’s despair) helping out by essentially demolishing all the trees in their vicinity, which cuts down the risk of the fire spreading as both Hayato and Lambo continue to coax their Flames back under control.

By the time the fire department arrives, the forest fire has already been extinguished. From the clangs of metal striking metal and the snarled death threats in the background, Mukuro and Kyouya are still trying to murder each other (they’ve already expanded the clearing several times over. Tsuna wonders if he should be impressed), and the rest of them have set up a very small campfire to dry their soaked shirts. Takeshi is roasting his way through the rest of his bag of marshmallows with Hayato occasionally setting the marshmallows on fire for the fun of it, and Tsuna is reassuring Lambo that he’ll commission a new set of shirts for Lambo from their tailor as soon as they return home. When the fire department shows up, their shirts are already dry from the combination of fire and August’s high temperature, even at night, and Tsuna is just sliding a simple vest over his long-sleeve button up.

“Ah, good evening,” Tsuna stands up, straightens his clothes, and smiles brightly at them. It’s a skill he’s learned from Kyouko, but no less effective for it. As they stare at him, caught off guard, he continues, “My apologies for forcing you to come all the way over here. The bonfire we were setting for the Obon festival got a little out of control, as you can see, but,” he sticks out his leg as Kyouya and Mukuro burst out of the trees in a whirlwind of snarls and metal, “we managed to put it out.” He gives the fire department officers, who are looking a little thrown, an angelic smile and hisses out of the side of his mouth, “Weapons away. If you cause any more paperwork, I’ll have you doing grunt missions for the next year.”

Kyouya picks himself up off the ground and dusts himself off with enviable dignity, looking supremely unimpressed with Tsuna’s threat. His tonfa are nowhere to be seen. Mukuro does likewise with an unhappy “Kufufu” that tells Tsuna he’ll be getting nightmares and traps sprung on him for the foreseeable future, but his trident has disappeared, and Tsuna will take whatever he can get from these two.

They thankfully don’t put up much of a fight when the fire officers ask them to go with them to the police station to take statements from them, and Tsuna catches his Guardians’ gazes meaningfully, mouthing, standard interrogation protocol with a warning in his eyes. Takeshi and Hayato both nod at him, as does Mukuro, though the Mist looks dissatisfied with the order/threat. Lambo yawns and doesn’t answer, and Kyouya makes a point of ignoring him, but he’s fairly certain all of them got his message.

Standard interrogation protocol is, typically speaking, “don’t give them any useful information and let me talk our way out of it.” He forgets that all of them have different interpretations of that, though, but—

Well.

Most of it turns out alright.

*

“Could you tell me when the fire started spreading out of control?” the herbivore asks for the fifth time.

Kyouya ignores him again and wonders if it’s worth the omnivore’s punishment to bite the annoying herbivore to death. The incessant questioning is getting on his nerves. The police carnivore is leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded, and nods approvingly at him when their eyes meet.

“You don’t need to say anything,” the blond tells him. “They’ll give up eventually. The government-employed officers always do, even in my time.”

“So you left,” he snorts.

“What?” the questioning herbivore says, but both the Clouds ignore him.

“Yes,” the police carnivore nods. “Furthermore because there wasn't anything else that they could teach me, and there has always been far more injustice to curb around Giotto anyways.”

Kyouya hums thoughtfully, and then decides he’s tired, “If you wake me up, herbivore, I’ll bite you to death.”

He thinks he’s being fairly merciful in giving a warning, especially when the herbivore is being so annoying.

*

“…And then this giant turtle came crashing out of the sky. Its body exploded when it landed and its blood shot everywhere but was mostly evaporated by the fire. However, we knew that turtles carry a lot of water in their bodies, so we carved up parts of it and tossed them into the fire, and the fire made water come gushing out of the turtle’s bodyparts while burning the muscle and bones up. It’s a shame, I heard turtle meat is a delicacy in some areas of the world,” Mukuro laments, leaking Mist Flames and drama into the air.

“They’re never going to believe that, you know,” Daemon smirks at him—an expression that falls right off his face when the interrogator nods solemnly, jots down a few last notes, and thanks him before leaving through the door.

“You said that the last five times, and they believed me each time,” Mukuro smirks right back. He flips his hair back from his face, “Even if my stories make no sense whatsoever, I’m the strongest Mist in the world. They’ll always believe me.”

The door slams open, followed closely by a furious-looking man. There are bruises on his face, and Mukuro notes the limp to his step as he enters the room and slams his hands down onto the table.

“What,” he hisses, “is wrong with that friend of yours?”

Mukuro starts leaking more Mist Flames into the area—he has more than enough to spare, after all—as he tilts his head calmly and asks, voice silky smooth, “May I ask whom you are referring to?”

It’s obviously Kyouya’s work at hand here, and he suppresses a gleeful smirk—Tsunayoshi will most definitely be hearing about this. He tunes back into the man’s words just in time to hear, “Broke a man’s nose and almost took off my head with his chair when we tried to put handcuffs on him!”

“Mm,” he nods sympathetically, infusing a command of calm down and trust me into his voice as he continues, “I’m so sorry for your struggles. We don’t like to let him out of the house a lot, but he was just so excited to help with the festival that we didn’t have the heart to refuse him. Unfortunately, he got so excited that he slipped while trying to clean up the fire and caused it to get bigger. He’s a little, you know…” Mukuro waves his hand in the air. “Off in the head. I sincerely apologize that you had to suffer one of his fits, but really, you’re very lucky he didn’t kill anyone. I heard that he’s a runaway and in one of his fits killed the family that took him in from the streets…and well, you know what they say. Some people just aren’t fit for society,” Mukuro shakes his head in faux dismay, the man opposite to him nodding in sympathy and understanding. “No one else was willing to deal with him, so we took him in and started to care for him. Really, though, he’s very normal; he just has his moments and hates strangers. I hope you will be alright.”

“No, no, I understand perfectly. Thank you so much for telling me; I’ll make sure our men leave him alone. Do we need to take care of him, or…?” the man looks at Mukuro questioningly, and Mukuro pretends to think about it.

“Some vegetables will probably be nice. He’s probably hungry and tired, but he needs some contemporary rock music to help him sleep. Otherwise you can just leave him be.”

“I see. Thank you; I’ll arrange things immediately,” the officer bows deeply to Mukuro, and Mukuro waves a gloved hand.

“Yes, yes. Just hurry,” he dismisses the man. As soon as the door closes, he throws back his head and laughs, “Kufufu. They’re so gullible. Kyouya will be furious with them.”

“You didn’t think you were laying it on a bit too thick?” Daemon smirks condescendingly back at him. “Most of that sounded like it came directly from your own history.”

Mukuro waves his hand again airily, “There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of misdirection,” and is about to say more when a knock sounds on the door. “Come in,” he calls easily, and watches a woman step inside, clutching a clipboard to her chest.

Her cheeks are a little red as she stammers out, “Ah—excuse me, sir. I just have a few questions to ask you about your story just now…”

“Hm? Which one?” Mukuro asks distractedly, examining one of the stray strands of hair in his ponytail. The end is starting to split, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance, plucking a real-illusion pair of scissors from the air and snipping it off a few inches above the end. “Actually, never mind about that. Go ahead; ask away. I’ll do my best to answer your questions, of course.”

He lets the pair of scissors dissolve into Flame particles and disperse into the air, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the desk, and then the woman blurts out, “Are those stripper boots?” before she snaps her mouth shut, looking mortified.

Mukuro goes completely still and stares.

“I—what? No,” he says emphatically. Daemon is cackling in the corner. “No,” Mukuro repeats, stressing the word and glaring sharply at her. “As if I’d ever stoop so low as to wear those types of shoes. These boots have been in fashion for the last three months and are currently all the rage in Italy, excuse you very much.”

“I—I’m sorry; the words just came out,” she bows to him. “Please accept my apology!” and promptly flees the room.

He glowers at Daemon where the spirit is cackling in the corner, “Not one word.”

*

“Look, the forest fire that you caused was out of control and could have ruined the festival for everyone. We need to register your names with the database, so please cooperate,” the police officer is sounding more and more annoyed by the second.

Lambo rolls his eyes with more than just a little irritation of his own, “Yare, yare, you’re overreacting so much,” he complains. “It’s not that big of a deal. We started the fire, yeah, but then we put it out. And we didn’t even damage that much stuff.”

“You and your friends burned down almost all of the trees on a single mountain; that is a pretty big deal,” the man hisses, and Lambo rolls his eyes again.

“Nah,” he drawls out, lazily brushing his hair out of his eyes, “I’m pretty sure you’re just overreacting.” As the man puffs up, looking ready to explode, Lambo leans forward onto the desk, propping his cheek up on the palm of his hand. “I mean, like, there was this one time they destroyed my bed mattress and bedsheets because they got confused from all the blood loss and stumbled into my room instead of their own. They didn’t even have the decency to wash up or even strip before they collapsed in my bed. I had to throw away that mattress after that, you know, and it was a really good one—top of the line, tailored memory foam, goose down feather bed, and all that. It pissed me off so much that they destroyed it—the smell didn’t go away for weeks and I didn’t even find out they were in my room until I sat down on top of them. And like ugh, I had to wash my hair and change my clothes every single day to get the smell and the stains out. What’s worse is that I had to sleep in a guest room for two days. I mean, ‘nii-san made up for it by buying me a new bed and bedframe entirely, and he also got me a new carpet and took me out for gelato and zeppole, but I had to move out of my own room. Do you know embarrassing that is?! It was such a pain; they’re so inconsiderate…”

The man across the table looks back at him, flummoxed, as Lambo starts to rant and gesture animatedly. He’s still holding a grudge against them.

“Did they really?” Lampo wonders, and Lambo turns his head. The First Generation Guardian is lying on his back in mid-air, his head upside down so he can look at Lambo. “You never told me about that.”

“I didn’t?” Lambo thinks about it for a moment. “Oh, yeah, you’re right. I never told you about that, did I? Actually, I didn’t tell you about a lot of the crazy stuff they pulled…wait, did I tell you about that time we were trying to make konpeito and they put in gunpowder instead of black pepper? They were so stupid; I tried to warn them that it was a bad idea, but no one ever listens to me, you know?”

“Yeah,” Lampo agrees sagely, nodding as best he can while upside-down. “That always sucks. Comes with being the youngest, though; I’m pretty much used to it by now.”

“It’s stupid,” he tosses black hair out of his eyes and scowls. “I mean, at least ‘nii-san and ‘nee-san usually listen to me, but they didn’t believe me until I set the konpeito on fire. There were lots of explosions.”

“Heh. Bet Decimo was happy about that,” and Lambo smiles a little sheepishly, anger dying down.

“He doubled my homework for the next month,” he confesses. “But he made proper konpeito and had the chef teach us to make cannoli the next day. Real Sicilian cannoli too, with fresh ricotta cream and candied fruit. It was really good.”

“Yeah, Decimo’s pretty good with things like that,” Lampo smiles back at him. “What other stories have you been forgetting to tell me?”

Lambo beams and, ignoring the man haltingly trying to demand answers, launches into a detailed list of the wrongs his annoying and stupid and wonderful siblings have committed against him (all of which are crystal clear in his memory).

*

“I’m sorry that you’re such an idiot,” Hayato says in Italian to the police officer in front of him. There is a polite smile fixed onto his face as he continues, “I’d recommend getting laid. I heard it can help.”

The man stares blankly back at him and then says, slowly, “Do you understand Japanese?”

“Well, what do you think?” Hayato answers pleasantly, in Italian yet again, and watches passively as a translator is hauled in front of him and tries to communicate with him in halting English. “Sorry, I can’t speak English either. Even though it’s supposed to be an international language. And I’m in a suit. Yeah, I can’t speak English at all, you idiots. Has anyone ever heard of Italian?”

“Apparently not,” G comments idly, exhaling a cloud of smoke tinted red into the air. Hayato sends him a sharp look, and the other Storm shrugs casually, “Storm Flame particles, Hayato. Chill. They’re not going to notice unless they’re Flame-active, or at least Flame-sensitive.”

As if to make a point, G languidly blows a smoke ring right into the translator’s face. The woman doesn’t even bat an eye, instead continuing to speak slow, patient English to Hayato (her accent is actually fairly good, all things considered, but Hayato’s not feeling particularly charitable right now, so he just stares at her with judgment in his eyes).

Hayato shrugs and informs her flatly, “Please shut up,” in a tone that miraculously transcends all language barriers before deciding that he’s way too low on nicotine to deal with reality right now. So he pulls out a cigarette, lights it before anyone can react, and follows G's example of blowing a cloud of smoke right in their faces.

They are, very much so, not amused.

(But really, it’s not like he cares)

*

“I didn’t realize I was on fire until he pointed it out to me. It took me a few months to grow my hair back properly, but it was definitely worth it for his face when he first saw me. He’s obsessed with the supernatural, you see—aliens, monsters, divination, all that stuff—so when he first saw me, he thought I was a kami of fire. I’ve never been compared to something so great!” Takeshi laughs and rubs the back of his head.

Ugetsu half-turns and smiles at him where he’s examining the security camera in the corner of the room, “I don’t think G has ever confused me with something as awe-inspiring as a spirit. It sounds wonderfully romantic, though…say, do you know how these function? Humans have advanced so far and so fast in the last few centuries…”

Takeshi shakes his head and is about to apologize when the man opposite him clasps Takeshi’s hands in his own, leaning forward across the desk and gushing, “That’s so romantic, though! That you saved him like that, and the way he woke up to see you carrying him, and how you were so focused on getting him to safety that you didn’t even notice the pain you were in…”

“Haha, yeah, one of my friends just said the same thing,” Takeshi grins. “I try not to tell that story too often, though; he gets testy about our love life and pretends to hate it when I go all sappy romantic on him. He’s really cute, though; I’m really excited to take him to the Love Bell on Enoshima Island, which we’re planning on going next. I think he’ll like the story about the eternal love between the five-headed dragon and his heavenly maiden…”

*

“I sincerely apologize for any offense or damage my companions may have caused,” Tsuna says smoothly, pulling out an already-written check from his shirt pocket and sliding it over. It has a sum of 1 million yen written on it, and the police officer stares at it, wide-eyed. “I inherited a very large company from my grandfather, so my two bodyguards are a little overprotective of me and may have seemed a little rude. And my elder cousin is a little bit provocative—he’s a bit of a fashionista and a starting model in Italy. My brothers just wanted to see Kyoto, since they’ve never been here before and got a little over-excited. I will, of course, pay for any and all repairs needed for anything our presence has caused, as well as make some generous donations to the establishments effected by our actions.”

“Very good,” Giotto comments. “You’ve improved a lot since you first started out.”

Probably because of all the practice I got, Tsuna snarks back mentally, but keeps a sincerely apologetic expression on his face as the woman across the desk pats his hand awkwardly, an empathizing look on her face, and assures him that she’ll talk with her boss and take care of the rest. They’re released only half an hour later, much to Tsuna’s relief, and Lambo is instantly clamoring for dango for all the trouble he’s been through, Hayato has dashed into the nearest convenient store for some cigarettes (his entire pack having been confiscated), and Takeshi is watching Hayato’s back with something soft and faraway in his eyes.

(He washes his hands of his Mist and Cloud. Hopefully, by the time they find their way back to him, the unresolved sexual tension between the two of them will be gone. He unfortunately doesn’t have high hopes of that ever coming true)

“Well?” Tsuna asks the First Generation Guardians gathered around him. “How did things go?” and feels his expression getting flatter and flatter as they cheerfully debrief him on what happened in the other rooms in the police station as he was talking their way out of any punishment whatsoever.

“What,” he says at the end, so flat it’s not even a question, and Giotto pats him on the head.

“And now you’ve learned to never leave things up to their interpretation. Well done, Tsunayoshi, you’re much closer to being a real boss than I would have guessed.”

Tsuna is weirdly used to the chaos in his life right now, but for just a moment, he really wonders what it would have been like to spend a week with neither paperwork nor his Guardians.

Probably a dream very far out of reach, since he’d have to actually be dead for that to even come close to happening.

His Family is very lucky that he loves them.