05:28 Today

Tsuna lies still next to the unfamiliar, warm body pressed close against his. He stays put for a few minutes, his head is tilted to the side as he watches the unfamiliar drapes sway in the calm breeze wafting through the hotel window. The sheets twisted underneath him are damp and they cling to his back and legs. He turns his head on the sterile, white pillow to gaze blankly up at the cracked and peeling ceiling paint.

Tsuna waits for another heartbeat before extracting his arm from underneath the woman beside him. His feet hit the chilled floor and he allows himself to pause on the side of the bed as the aftermath of multiple drinks comes spiking through his mind. He raises a hand to his temple and winces at the feel of vertigo lancing through him. Tsuna rises carefully from his position, grabbing a stray sock that had been tossed unceremoniously across the headboard. His eyes are glazed over with unclaimed sleep and he stumbles a few times before finally reaching the slacks pooled beside the rickety desk.

As Tsuna bends to grab hold of them, the sudden movement sends his mind reeling and the world spinning around him. He latches a hand onto the wooden surface and steadies himself before snatching up the discarded pair of trousers and throwing them over his arm. He moves on, following the trail of dirtied clothing until he comes across the rumpled dress shirt. With a sigh, he notes the cherry red lipstick stains on the collar. Tsuna finally catches sight of his boxers lying in a heap by the foot of the bed.

He stumbles towards them and begins to dress wearily, not bothering with a shower. He will clean himself upon returning home. Right now, he needs to make a quick exit before his bed partner wakes and complicates things. When he finally manages to slip two of his buttons into place, he gives up on the shirt and moves on to the pants. He hikes them up and watches with dismay as they slide off his hips and crumple onto the floor once again. He snarls and snatches them up as he casts an annoyed glance around the room for his belt. When he finally spots it draped over the small dresser, he holds the top of his pants as he shuffles towards it.

With his pants firmly belted in place and his shirt covering the majority of his body, Tsuna finally turns to leave. As he crosses the room, he swoops upon the shoes he barely remembers kicking off in haste the night before. With loafers in hand and one sock missing, Tsuna drags himself downstairs and into the brisk dawn.

23:14 Yesterday

Bruising lips crashed against his as they pushed back against the hotel room door. He angled his head and pressed deeper against her begging mouth. She leaned up against him and subtly brushed a hand across the front of his pants, eliciting an appreciative noise from his throat. He broke contact long enough to smoothly run the key card through the lock.

Only moments passed as he waited to hear the click, then he yanked the handle down and pulled her into the room after him…

09:32 Today

Gokudera sighs when he stands above his boss’ bed. The Tenth is sprawled across the large mattress, face down and spread eagled. His face is hidden from the bomber and his back rises and falls with each breath. In his hand, Gokudera clutches a large stack of letters and forms that require the Tenth’s signature. They are urgent – all of them are of the utmost importance and so Gokudera bends and reaches a hand towards his boss’ shoulder. Only centimetres away, he pauses.

The Tenth’s shoulder is shaking.

Gokudera stills and does not move his hand. He knows that he should technically give in to the hitman side of him and wake his boss anyway, but the part of him that he still calls human is whispering doubts in his ear. Finally, with a heavy sigh, Gokudera pulls his hand back and sets the pile on the Tenth’s bedside table. They could wait.

12:46 Tomorrow

“I don’t like this,” Gokudera will say. He’ll smooth down his boss’ collar and nervously straighten the Tenth’s silver tie. He will snatch a quick glance at the clock on the wall and double check by pulling back his sleeve to peer at his expensive watch.

“I know you don’t,” The Tenth will reply as he slides the button on his cuff into place with a smooth movement. He will turn and check his appearance in the long, floor length mirror as Gokudera fusses over every tiny ruffle or crease in his boss’ suit. He won’t mention the dark, kiss-bruised patch of skin that is revealed when he pulls the Tenth’s shirt collar aside to check the Kevlar vest underneath. He will ignore the way his boss picks up his Beretta with too-practised ease and gives the deadly weapon a thorough, once over, then clicks the safety off. The Tenth will bend down to check that his butterfly knife is securely in place in his thigh-holster, and then he will sigh, turn back to Gokudera and give a weary smile.

“Don’t worry, Gokudera,” the Tenth will say, “It’s just a three hour flight. I’ll be there by five o’clock and then back on Italian soil by this time tomorrow.”

“It’s three hours too long,” Gokudera will object with a stubborn tilt to his jaw. His boss will shrug and then consent to the formal bow instead of the friendly hug he’d prefer.

“I will return soon enough, Gokudera. Can I expect to see you at the airport tomorrow?” He’ll ask without a trace of the internal frown he hides.

“Of course, Tenth!” Gokudera will reply immediately, “If I had my way, I would have a seat beside you on the airplane! Although…we would also be flying in the opposite direction from those-”

“I know, Hayato. I know,” the Tenth will interrupt. He’ll place a hand on the bomber’s shoulder reassuringly and smile despite the anxiousness he’ll feel, “but I have to do this.”

19:58 Yesterday

Dinner was a quiet event. Gokudera was sitting at his normal position, directly to the right of the large, decorative dining chair that stood at the head of the table. He was absently pushing his food around the china plate and subconsciously tapping out the chords to Moonlight Sonata with his left hand. Yamamoto was watching him with concern. Gokudera knew it without looking up. He could feel the swordsman’s eyes on him – analysing everything he did. Ryohei was devouring his meal, oblivious to the heavy mood sparked by the empty space. Lambo was watching the food disappearing into the boxer’s mouth with awe and fascination – the child had never imagined that so much food could fit inside one person’s stomach. Chrome had collected her meal directly from the kitchen and was, as always, not present. The chairs that were normally occupied by Haru and Kyoko were also empty due to their return to Japan, only hours before.

“He’s still not home?”

The words carried over the noise of Ryohei’s utensils grating along his empty plate and spurred Gokudera to glance up from his lasagne. Yamamoto was the one who had spoken and he was watching Gokudera’s expressions change rapidly before the silver haired man finally settled on nonchalance…unconvincing nonchalance.

“No. The workload is getting to him. He needed to…relax.”

The slight blush that rose on Yamamoto’s cheeks seemed out of place at the solemn table, but it seemed the swordsman picked up on Gokudera’s insinuations.

“Oh.”

21:35 Today

Tsuna sits in front of the taunting cursor flashing methodically at him from the bright screen. The laptop resting under the palms of his hands whirrs and casts a sickly blue light across his blank features. He gazes at the machine with a growing sense of hopelessness. Involuntarily, his hands move across the keyboard to tap out the word ‘Vongola…’

He stares at it for a while, not knowing why. He does not backspace, though. Instead, he adds the word ‘Tenth’ and then presses enter. Underneath he types out his full name, Tsunayoshi Sawada.

The two words swim in front of his eyes and somewhere between one blank thought and another, he beings to wonder if they will ever match up.

01:32 Today

Yamamoto pulls his coat tighter around himself as a particularly cold gust of wind sweeps down the alley he stands in. The man in front of him casts a wary gaze around their surrounds then hesitantly hands the swordsman a manila folder bound by

a rubber band. He waits while Yamamoto opens the information and scans it – his facial expression darkening with every word.

The man watches him with growing apprehension until Yamamoto slaps the folder closed and shoves it unceremoniously into his coat. He pauses for a moment and then, without an inkling warning, unsheathes Shigure Kintoki and slams the hilt against the unfortunate man’s temple. The man shudders and slumps unconsciously to the group in a heap. Yamamoto bends to check his vitals, and once he’s registered a steady pulse, rises and disappears from the streets in a sleek car.

14:02 Tomorrow

Tsuna will relax back into the plush armchair aboard his jet, when the plane begins to finally level into a comfortable flying speed. He will let his eyes close and then call for some white wine. He’ll glance across the low table at the Don occupying the other seat before a slight smirk ignites his suspicion.

10:15 Today

“You’re going to want to wake Tsuna up for this,” comes Yamamoto’s quiet murmur as Gokudera passes him in the hallway. The bomber stops, mid step and sees Yamamoto holding out a thick folder stuffed with papers.

“If that’s just more paperwork, I’ve already told you – the Tenth needs his rest. Just leave them on-”

“Gokudera,” Yamamoto interrupts with a seriousness that’s very unlike him, “Wake him up.”

14:03 Tomorrow

Tsuna will lean forward and prop his elbows on his knees to intensify his scrutiny of the man in front of him.

“You seem amused, Don Vitolia,” he’ll comment without inflection.

The boss across from him will simply tilt his head to the side and reply, “I have great reason to be…Don Vongola.”

21:18 Yesterday

Gokudera’s fist tightened around the phone he held to his ear as the informant continued talking on the other line. The news was bad – seven consecutive attempts made against allied boss’s, four successful, three not. The other two of their allies had not been heard from and Gokudera did not like the connotations of this. If there was even the slightest chance that Vongola was at risk, he would find out the source and destroy it – no matter the cost.

14:03 Tomorrow

“By all means,” Tsuna will say pleasantly, “please, share the joke.”

Don Vitolia’s smile will widen and his eyes will it up with a sick sense of amusement, “oh, don’t worry Vongola. You will see why I laugh soon enough.”

Tsuna’s air of patience will be wiped as quickly as his strained smile and a frown will replace the terse expression. He will stand and stride towards the door of their airborne meeting room, signalling for the guards to remain stationed on the door. Don Vitolia will not be allowed to leave the room until the plan touches down on an American runway.

10:42 Today

“How many, again?” the Tenth asks as he tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. Gokudera and Yamamoto exchange glances before Ryohei confirms the number again.

“All of them.”

“They’re all…”

“Dead, Tenth.” Gokudera tells him sadly. He watches in agony as Tsuna’s expression crumples and he slumps back onto his pillows in shock.

“Oh god,” He gasps, “D-Dino…” The Tenth swivels his head between the three guardians in front of him, silently begging them to inform him that his self-proclaimed older brother was not among the fallen.

Their silence tells him enough.

14:06 Tomorrow

Tsuna will lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling of the private jet. His eyes will roam around the small room, taking in every detail and trying not to show how much Don Vitolia’s attitude will rattle him. His surveillance will come to a sudden stop when he notices a feint hum emitted from the headboard. He will angle his head against the pillows so that he can search the wood for anything capable of making such a noise. He will raise a hand to the surface and slowly run his palm along the mahogany, searching for anything out of place and ignoring the sudden ring of the phone resting on his bedside table.

14:04 Tomorrow

Gokudera will freeze in place with the phone clenched tightly in his vice-like grip. The man on the end of the phone will continue babbling but Gokudera will have stopped listening. His vision will narrow and he’ll gasp suddenly in understanding when the pieces come together. He’ll drop the small gadget and spin in place to meet Yamamoto’s already frantic expression. It will take him a millisecond more to snatch his phone back up and his hands will shake so much that he will mess up the correct speed dial number three times.

14:07 Tomorrow

When his fingers slip over, between the wall and the headboard, Tsuna will freeze when they brush against a small, buzzing box taped to the wood. He will have enough time to realise what the object is and that he needs to find cover, before the buzzing will stop and Tsuna will turn his head to the door sliding open. He will open his mouth to shout an order – a request – a goodbye – a plea – the first thing that he can think of – when everything will suddenly disappear. It’ll be wiped black and Tsuna will see nothing and hear nothing and smell nothing. All there will be, is pain.

14:06

Gokudera will stare at the phone in his hand at the same moment he feels a sharp lance of helplessness stab through his chest. He’ll raise his eyes to the swordsman in front of him and they’ll know; they’ll both know before any lower subordinate comes crashing into the room with frantic eyes and laboured pants; they’ll know before any news story that runs before Vongola seizes control of the media; they’ll know and there will still be nothing that they could have done.