” Dame-Tsuna. “
Suddenly he there, standing at the mafioso’s desk, dark gaze
hidden by even darker shadows as he looms over his former
student. A pointed shoe taps impatiently and a scowl is twisted
onto handsome features, as if the decimo’s presence had done
something already to displease him. The hitman only pauses in
his glaring to glance at his wristwatch, expression darkening
further upon checking the time. There is no hesitation as he
rudely waves for Tsuna to stand, motioning to the door.” Grab your coat. We’re going. ”
tsuna had been trying to get some work
done like reborn had asked
(a week ago)
because the wrath of reborn was not
something tsuna wanted to incur,
even ten years after meeting the man
(baby? whatever).
reborn’s voice startles him out of his
paperwork-induced daze, and he loses
his grip on his pen – mind racing as to
what the heck he’d done wrong to make
reborn so mad
(was it the paperwork? he can’t be mad about
that, can he? tsuna had be doing it as reborn was walking in!)
as the writing utensil clatters to the ground.
he stalls for a moment, reaching
down to grab the pen, still thinking
about just what he’d done.
in his absentminded stupor, he hits
his head on the edge of the desk,
wincing as he rises from his seat –
throwing the pen onto his desk.
❛ … i’m sorry … for whatever
i did to make you mad.
and if it wasn’t me –
i’m sorry for whatever
mukuro did.
or … lambo. ❜
