Primal Instincts

Primal Thoughts

Tsuna's Age: 21 years old.

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"I can't sleep," Tsuna whispered with dread.

For as long as he could remember, Tsuna hates silent nights such as this one when everyone had gone to sleep.

Only a few who are patrolling the mansion for security are left awake, yet he knows he should be quiet or everyone would awaken and knock down his door in panic.

He doesn't want that to happen. He can't let that happen. This is something he has to confront with himself.

Alone.

Still, he can't help feeling scared. Nobody said he shouldn't, for he knows that fear is natural and is a friend.

He just doesn't know how much of a friend he's treating his own fears.

"I can't sleep. It's too quiet," Tsuna's lips quivered at he looked around his empty room, desperately trying to find something to occupy his time but fails to do so.

He's afraid of time like this when he isn't tired and is left to ponder with his darkest thoughts.

At such times, it's when Tsuna becomes afraid of himself.

Because there are nights when Tsuna wonders how it feels to hold a knife to someone's throat even if he detested unwarranted murders.

There are nights when he wonders how it feels to aim a gun under someone's chin even if he still flinches from every crank of Reborn's loaded gun.

There are nights when he wonders how it would end after feeding poison to someone you know just like how Bianchi seemed to have that scary glint in her eyes as she watch him froth to the mouth with the poisoned cake he just ate.

"No. Stop it! Snap out of it, Tsuna!" Tsuna berated himself as he clawed his scalp in irritation, drawing out a bit of blood under his fingernails. His labored breaths drowning him.

The silence rang like an endless chime of church bells, and he knows it doesn't end there. It never ends there.

Tsuna's mind drifted to wondering of what fear looks like from different eyes.

What actions would a prey do as it struggled for its life?

He had seen Reborn kill slowly with the familiar smirk on his face, yellow flames creating dancing shadows and the smell of gunpowder filled his mind with what should be a swift death.

He had seen Hayato burn traitors bit by bit, the burnt flesh wafting to his nose and he pushed down the food he ate to stay in his stomach.

He had seen Takeshi slice off human parts without remorse on his face, his katana dripping down with red, red, red blood.

He had seen Ryohei's cruelty as he sped up the metabolism of a captured spy, making the traitor's own body eat itself as it shriveled and died.

He had seen Kyoya's preys in every mangled and broken states, his tonfas dented on some areas as he discarded the downed weapon with a sneer on his face.

He had seen how his Mists, Mukuro and Chrome, had made prisoners scream in fright of something that the others cannot see, the most feared memories of the spies lay wreckage in their minds.