The Mastermind is a Middle School Student (KHR FF)

Breaking News

[6: Idiot have a relapse]

[-1-]

For all Yukimura is portrayed to be, Tsuna finds the senior unbearably warm.

Yukimura feels like a flitting breeze, laughing freely as it slides from one's arms to another in a mischievous manner. He feels like what a tinkling bell would be if it were human— sharp, clean, and never overstaying its welcome, words spoken with full confidence it will be heard, and subsequently obeyed.

Tsuna finds himself wondering about Yukimura, about Reborn, and about seductre—

"Why are you here?"

Yukimura raises a surprised eyebrow at the question.

Tsuna blinks owlishly, then hastily corrected himself, "Why is senpai here?"

Perhaps because he had accidentally let slip his attitude towards the other, Yukimura laughs lightly at the slight and shrugs his shoulder, "Teaching assistant. Why are you guys piling around like it's pole-knocking season?"

And the senior pauses for a while, as if he's truly contemplating whether or not it's pole-knocking season— but that's preposterous thoughts, Yukimura is not Dame-Tsuna. The senior is not some klutz that stumbles and forgets the date a few minutes after he had been told what the date is, even less mistaking the season.

"The girls are going to give the guys what they baked in Home Ec." Tsuna answered with fleeting yearning, remembering soft smiles and brown eyes, before remembering his audience is not so lax as to afford dazing off, "Ah— but why is senior a teaching assistant?"

Aren't you too young? Don't you have class?

Tsuna wisely zips his thoughts away into a safe container, backing a step when Yukimura's pitch black eyes linger thoughtfully on him for a few seconds longer than he would like. (Run, something screams in him, dangerous, predator — monster—)

And Gokudera seems to take that as an insult, stepping into his previous spot as naturally as he would breath, and Tsuna would've been surprised at the practiced sense of protectiveness if not for the heightened obsession Gokudera had with becoming his right-hand-man (and goddamn it, it's frustrating trying to get these dangerous people to understand him, he doesn't want to—)

"Tch, I respect Reborn-san but I'll be damned if I don't teach a sissy his place in this world," the silver haired delinquent twitches his hand dangerously towards his jacket, no doubt reaching for his dangerous, deadly, weapon of mass direction; but before Tsuna can even pale in horror, twinkling laughter carelessly joins in their little conversation.

"Hahaha! Senpai is very talented, a baseball player like me wouldn't even get close to senpai's level," Yamamoto skills from the backstage position he had taken. Tsuna frowns at the easy way Yamamoto waves over the danger the situation truly holds— he opens his mouth in reprimand, before shrinking back. He's Dame-Tsuna, his input is not appreciated. He retreats like a turtle that had shrunk his neck, and did not miss the sudden glint of silver peeking in from the trees, so he wisely stops a few steps back.

The glint did not abide, but it did not fire, so Tsuna persevered on the edge of life and death with the desperation of a dying man. Not one with a dying will, because for all bravado Tsuna puts up, the one where he would do what he wants to do before he dies is the biggest lie he had ever told.

Dame-Tsuna is a pathetic bastard that will die a lonely and miserable death-- and isn't that quite the sobering thought?

"—eally?" And Tsuna blinks himself back to reality, seeing all eyes lands on him, realizing with dread slowly pooling in his stomach, that he misses a context so damningly important during his daydreaming.