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i.
He was young.
He couldn’t remember how old he was, not exactly, but if he had to guess, then he would say was around seven or eight. He could remember that life wasn’t good, but it also wasn’t terrible. He was happy. Things could always be worse.
Luca Rossi had a caring mother. He wasn’t in school, no, but that was fine. He was happy. He had his mother, and he had his sister. They might be cramped, living in the back of their already small millinery shop, but. They were happy. They loved each other.
The street merchants would look at him, eyes lingering on the scrawny seven-year-old to make sure that their wares were not taken, but Luca didn’t have to steal. His mother had given him money to go buy the fresh ingredients for their dinner that day.
On top of his head sat the fedora his mother made for his last birthday. Luca had been thrilled to receive the hat, especially since he knew that his mother made it for him. He had been needing something to keep the sun out of his eyes.
“Luca, my light, my bright sun,” she murmured, eyes twinkling. “Every fine young man needs a hat, doesn’t he?”
His eyes widened, face lighting up as she pulled the dark fedora from behind her, presenting it to him. “Mama!” He exclaimed, his joy visible. There was a bright yellow ribbon tied around the base. “Thank you, mama!”
“Happy birthday, Luca.”
It had been a few weeks, and now he never went anywhere without it. Luca exchanged his money for the produce he pointed to, allowing the merchant to handle the food. He thanked them softly, and turned away, heading back towards the shop; back towards his home.
There was something nagging at him in the back of his mind, but he pushed the thought away. He’s sure it was just the fact that he saw a bruise on one of the sweet red apples he had asked for. They were his mother’s favorite.
When Luca had returned to the shop, he knew something was wrong. There wasn’t any music playing, and there weren’t the voices of his mother and sister floating out of the shop. They were Italian, it was typical for his household to get loud. Never in arguments, though. He and his sister always listened to their mother.
Cautiously, Luca approached his home, swallowing down any trepidation. “Mama?” He called out, voice wobbling. “Big sister?” He paused, then tried to continue. “I have what you asked for, Mama...”
When silence greeted him in return, he couldn’t help but feel a shiver go down his back. Things were...strange. He was missing something, he knew, but he wasn’t sure what. The shop was empty - no customers, and his family wasn’t there. Had they gone out? Certainly they would have waited for him, right?
He moved further into the shop, slipping between the curtains that separated the shop from their living area.
The apple that he thought was bruised thumped to the ground.
He doesn’t remember moving, but at some point, Luca was crouching over his mother’s body, desperately trying to stop the blood seeping out of the wound. There was a knife thrown off to the side, covered in dark crimson. “Please, please, please...” the child whispered.
His face was covered with tears and snot, and there were streaks of dirt now on his cheeks from when he hastily wiped his eyes to see. “Mama, please, no.” He tried, desperately, to shake his mother awake, but there was nothing. He could feel the heat building in his veins, aching to break free, but...
It was no use.
His mother was dead. His sister was nowhere to be seen.
Luca didn’t realize that there was someone watching him.
“Get the kid, he’s got Flames close to going active.”
Luca’s world went dark.
(The Sun had dimmed.)
ii.
A few years later, Reborn was sent on a mission. He was still young, and he hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet.
He hated it. The missions.
He had to listen to their cries and their pleas, had to look them in the eye as he pulled the trigger (not a knife, never a knife) and then hear the thump of their body hitting the ground (the apple was bruised).
He hated the bright yellow fire that he had to use if he wanted to make sure he stayed alive. He hated the fact that he stayed alive. Why him? Why not someone else in his family? Surely they could have been happier.
Wait.
What is he talking about? He never had a family. He had always been a part of the mafia, hadn’t he? His head hurt. It always got like this when he thought too much. Everything was fuzzy usually, and his bosses told him that it was because he wasn’t drinking enough water.
Reborn thought that was odd since he’s always well hydrated.
He was in an area that he thought was oddly familiar, but perhaps it was just because a lot of Italy looked the same. He glanced around, dark eyes narrowed and searching. There was...something about this place. It was familiar, but at the same time it wasn’t and it irked Reborn in a way that made his hackles rise. He was extremely on edge, prowling through the streets. Well, as much as a prepubescent male could prowl.
The young hitman hadn’t been given his target yet - his boss had sent him there and told him to wait for further instructions.
Reborn looked down when he felt a buzz in his pocket. He flicked open the phone, staring at the vague but to-the-point text message on the small screen.
Assignment can be found in Piazza del Duomo. Notebook on left of South doors of Battistero di San Giovanni.
That was it. Reborn made an about face, immediately moving towards the place stated in the message. He ran a hand over his face, tugging at the long sideburns he never cut.
He made it there quickly, scooping up the inconspicuous tattered notebook he saw on the ground. It looked like something dropped. A tourists’ belonging that had been forgotten or discarded by accident. He walked away, head ducked as he wove through the crowds of people. He glanced up at the large cathedral, and the intimidating facade. He glanced at the baptistry next behind him and had to wonder if he had been baptized. He wasn’t sure. His bosses never mentioned it.
Reborn wanted to believe he wasn’t - that way he could be sent directly to Hell, if there is one. His soul wouldn’t have to be weighed at his death, and considering the lives he’s taken, he knew it would be heavy with sin.
He can’t remember ever going to church, but the thoughts of a prayer filtered through his mind, and without thinking about it, Reborn crossed himself before he forced himself to keep walking.
His head was throbbing.
The pain only got worse when he found a secluded area to open the notebook and read the notes on his target.
Elisa Rossi.
Female. Black hair. Height: 163cm. Eyes: dark brown. Occupation: milliner.
Something in Reborn’s head felt like a knife was slowly piercing it. He winced, but forced himself to keep reading.
Family: none.
Notes: works alone in shop. Business is infrequent. Area is dark and secluded. Weapons can be found on rooftop of building nextdoor.
Important: do not allow yourself to be seen by target.
Reborn thought that last part was rather odd, but an order was an order. He studied the picture that was provided. It was small. A grainy polaroid with another woman, whose face was blurred. There was a dark spot in the corner that was probably a finger from the photographer. The slow pierce in his head became more insistent.
He ignored it.
The boy was good at his job. He didn’t like it one bit, but he was efficient. There was nothing he could do about it, though. His hands were stained with blood already, and his bosses were thrilled with every successful hit he made. He had no way to break away, even if he wanted to. According to his bosses, he was a kid they found abandoned in an alley; they saved him, so he owed them.
One time, he fought back. He shouted about how he owed them nothing, but it didn’t do much. All it earned him was a good beating and a concussion as the party favor.
Reborn made his way to the address that was on the paper, frowning as he realized how far he had to travel. The streets were long, and there weren’t a lot of places to hide. He groaned under his breath. Looks like he was going to have to use other streets, then cut across. Not terribly difficult, just inconvenient.
He was going past the piazza that held the Hospital of the Innocents. He was moving away from the tourist attractions and the city center. It was odd that he was going in that direction, especially since most shops were set up to draw people in. He supposed the shop had loyal customers in the city’s locals.
The night was silent, and although he couldn’t see many stars, the moon was bright enough to keep the streets lit. There was the odd streetlamp here and there, but he steered clear of them, and tried to remain in the shadows.
Eventually, Reborn found the building that had his weapons on located on the roof, and he had to bite back a dry laugh. This hit was almost too easy. He had a direct shot into the shop. His thoughts circled back to the fact that his bosses did not want the target to see him. It was odd. It probably would have been easier to pretend to be a customer and then strike once she turned her back.
He frowned. There was something squirming in the back of his mind; something slimy dripping down his spine. Reborn tried to shake it off. It didn’t work the way that he wanted it to.
In his time trying to get rid of the feeling, he had lost the clear shot of his target. Shit, now he had to get closer. If this hit was supposed to be finished by that night, then he would have to enter the shop. He wondered if he would still be able to be hidden once he’s inside. He sighed, dropping the rifle and patting the inside of his suit jacket, making sure his pistol was still in his side holster. Once he took the gun out of the holster, he grabbed the silencer, attaching it to the end.
Well, no time like the present to end a life.
Quietly, Reborn crept towards the shop, gently nudging the front door to the shop. It was left open, which he found a little strange. He had been prepared to have to pick the lock. Small blessings, perhaps. The young hitman slipped inside, keeping his steps light and precise. His eyes scanned the shop, noticing the variety of hats sitting on mannequin heads, and even a few lying flat on a table. He tipped his head down, his eyes resting on the ground for a moment.
That slimy feeling was back, and his head throbbed.
He ignored it, just like always, and continued further into the shop, slipping through a thick curtain that separated the front and the back. He knew if he walked down the small hall, and then turned right, he’d find a small kitchen with an old, beige oven and a small silver sink. Right next to the sink was a drawer that was filled with utensils - forks, closest to the sink, then spoons, and then the knives and -
Wait. He’s not...he can’t know that. He shook his head. It seemed his imagination was running wild. He pursed his lips, and stalked through the hall. He heard a sound, and he followed it. It sounded like pots and plates. He swallowed, taking a deep breath before raising his gun and entering the room.
It was a kitchen.
He hesitated.
The woman turned around, and his finger twitched. The silence seemed to stretch forever, the woman staring at him, wide eyed, and ignoring the gun aimed between her eyes. Reborn stared back, something in the back of his mind twisting and burning .
“L-Luca?”
He doesn’t remember when he squeezed the trigger, but he remembers a scream.
(It was his.)
iii.
He doesn’t get it.
Why them? Why him?
He was - he is the World’s Greatest Hitman. How is he stuck in the body of an infant? The world tilted on its axis once more. He might be at a loss, but he knew he needed to adapt. If he didn’t, then he would die and some other poor, unlucky bastard would be saddled with the yellow pacifier around his neck.
He closed his eyes, and ignored the angry shouts and wails of despair around him. He couldn’t let himself get sucked into how they were feeling, or else he wouldn’t be able to dig himself out of that pit. He couldn’t allow his emotions to breach the surface of his mind.
The last time it happened...
He didn’t want to think about it.
Reborn took another deep breath, letting it out slowly. He picked up his hat (the one his mother made for his birthday, a smiling face flashed across his thoughts, smile kind and genuine. Reborn tried his best not to twitch) and placed it on his head. “Go home,” he managed to force out. His once low baritone was now a high pitched squeak. He remembered this as his voice before puberty, if just the slightest bit higher. It made his skin crawl. “We regroup in the morning.”
Reborn wondered if being stuck in the body of a child was the universe’s way of delivering some of his karma.
He wasn’t going to cry. He was a hitman. He didn’t feel.
(He did feel.)
iv.
Tsunayoshi Sawada wasn’t what he expected.
He was, in a way, but...in others, not so much.
He expected the weak backbone (of no Will, his mind supplied absently), the initial resistance to anything mafia related, the fear. He expected the lack of friends, the lack of a dream.
Reborn expected a husk, and that’s what he found.
It’s what he planned for; what he needed, after all.
What he didn’t expect was how much it bothered him. He didn’t expect the way it made his skin crawl, or the way it brought back the slimy feeling he felt when he was under a Mist’s control. Nor did Reborn account for the way it made his flames beat against his skin, desperately wanting to reach out and heal .
No, Tsunayoshi Sawada was not what he expected.
A job was a job, though, and Reborn refused to be a slave to his emotions. He refused to give in to his want to coddle his charge, of all things. Reborn was the World’s Greatest Hitman: there was no place in his world for feelings that would swallow him whole, sweeping him under the riptide of swirling emotions as rocks tied themselves around his ankles, and cement formed around his wrists, dragging him down, down, down.
“Are you okay, Reborn?” Tsuna’s voice, softer than usual, reached his ears.
“You shouldn’t run off like that, Luca,” Elisa scolded him lightly. “See what happens? You fall and scrape your knee. You should know better than to run around on the cobblestone,” she tutted softly. “Are you okay?”
He sucked in a sharp, silent breath, his eyes snapping open. “I’m fine.” He grit out in response. Tsuna didn’t respond, and when Reborn turned to look at him, those thoughts that he had been kept under lock and key rose to the surface without his permission.
Tsuna was looking at him, concern in his eyes and a soft, encouraging smile on his face. “Are you sure?”
Luca looked up at his mother. His mother, who had soft, warm brown eyes, with gentle, round features. “Are you sure, my sun in the sky?” She asked, marveling at the dainty bracelet her son had managed to buy her. It wasn’t much, and it was far from being silver or gold, but it was still jewelry. To know her son had been taking odd jobs and squirreling away money to save for her gift...it warmed her heart.
He smiled at his mother. The gaps in his teeth were not terribly large, but it was certainly noticeable. She smiled brightly, nodding when he responded. “I’m sure, mama!”
He swallowed thickly, unable to turn around. He cursed his memories. He cursed the day that he went to buy groceries. He cursed the day he was forced to become...Reborn.
He cursed it all.
“You know...” Tsuna started, but was cut off before he could continue.
“I’m fine,” Reborn snapped, walking out of the bedroom he shared with Tsuna.
(He wasn’t.)
iv.v.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Reborn once told Tsuna. His charge was crying silently, his face turned to the wall and away from Reborn. “You have people to support you, Tsuna.”
He didn’t know the exact reason Tsuna was crying, but it wasn’t hard to assume a general cause. The teen had become increasingly tense since that morning. Lately, the brunette’s friends had been acting less like friends and more like...Guardians. Reborn would have been proud of the development if not for the way it caused Tsuna distress.
There was a wet sounding laugh, then a mumble. “That’s rich coming from you, Reborn.” The silence that Reborn answered with made Tsuna’s breath hitch. “I’m sorry - I’m sorry, Reborn, please don’t - I’m sorry, please don’t leave me, too. ”
The hitman reached out, hesitantly, watching as Tsuna curled in on himself even further. He watched as Tsuna clung to the blankets, terrified that the one constant in his life was going to disappear into the wind as quickly as he had blown into his life. His hand landed on Tsuna’s back. He tried his best to comfort the boy, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he just left his hand resting on top of Tsuna’s shirt.
It was as much of a comfort for Tsuna as it was a grounding touch for Reborn.
When was the last time he had willingly touched someone without the intent to cause harm?
(He can’t remember.)
v.
When Reborn woke that morning, he didn’t speak. He didn’t tease Tsuna, and he didn’t bother with a training regimen. Today would be a day off. He didn’t want to be involved with any mafia related activities today.
Instead, he wandered down to the kitchen, nodding in recognition to Nana. He could never call her mama, but maman or mom seemed to work fine. She smiled back, the smile unguarded and ditzy. It was different than how he remembered his own mother. His mother...she had a knowing glint in her eye and a twinkle of mischief.
It made it easier to be around Nana.
He made his way over to the counter, picking up his espresso. Reborn had begun to grow once the Curse was broken. Small mercies, and yet he couldn’t find it in himself to be thankful. He felt as if he should remain Cursed; he should stay punished. He was in an awkward and lanky state. Not unlike the way Tsuna had been when they first met. Despite the new yet familiar body, Reborn was still top of his game. He had been trained since he was young, after all, so completing any missions he needed to as his body rapidly aged to his true form was a walk in the park. What was the difference between handling a gun at the age of three, the age of twelve, twenty, or twenty-eight? Sure, his limbs felt a little awkward, but it wasn’t hard to adjust to.
Reborn inhaled the steam that was still wafting up from the cup of espresso, closing his eyes. It’s fine, he decided. He was fine.
About an hour later, Tsuna woke up. He was silent, simply rubbing at his eyes. He seemed...unsure. Reborn quirked a brow in questioned, but didn’t say anything further. Tsuna looked at him, gaze heavy and somber. Reborn knew that Tsuna’s been leaning on others lately, and it’s made the hitman just the slightest bit relieved.
Reborn desperately didn’t want Tsuna to end up like him. Alone, miserable, and wracked with guilt. Tsuna didn’t look away from him.
The brunette’s voice was soft as he spoke. Any sleep that usually lingered in his words upon first waking up were missing. “It wasn’t your fault,” he spoke gently. Reborn’s spine straightened as he startled. He turned dark eyes to his charge.
“What are you talking about, Tsuna?” Reborn’s words were carefully even and perfectly measured.
Tsuna paused, biting his lip. “You know what I’m talking about” He paused, but Reborn looked at him expectantly. He was both curious and filled with absolute dread over what the brunette was going to say. “The death of your sister wasn’t your fault.”
It happened quickly; it felt like the rug was pulled out from right under Reborn’s feet and he was suddenly airborne, but quickly plummeting to the ground. “I don’t...” he started, going to deny Tsuna’s words. He found that he couldn’t. “How did you find out? ” He finally hissed. It wasn’t something Reborn had ever told anyone.
Tsuna looked down at the kitchen floor, suddenly incredibly interested. He shrugged in response. Reborn wasn’t pleased with the answer, not in the slightest, but he felt so tired and he didn’t want to fight. Not today. He closed his eyes instead, and wished that Tsuna would just leave him be. He didn’t want to think about the way his sister had looked at him, shocked. He didn’t want to think about her choked gasp, eyes welling with tears.
He didn’t want to think about the way he pulled the trigger.
There were arms around him. When had the cup of espresso been moved from his grasp? A chest he was being pulled into. Thin arms littered with scars - Reborn wondered how many were from him and how many were from the chaos that he invited into the brunette’s life - that did little to showcase the strength the teen had. A hand was tucking his head under Tsuna’s chin.
Tsuna was hugging him.
His hands that were in front, originally holding the cup, clenched around nothing. Reborn felt his breath hitch, catching in his throat and he hated the sound and how weak it made him seem. There were fingers in his hair, carding through the curls of black. He swallowed, and the sound echoed in his ears.
“Tsuna...” he began, and he hated the way his voice cracked.
The arms around him tightened, and the brunette shushed him softly. “Let yourself be helped, Reborn. You’re overwhelmed. God only knows how long you’ve been overwhelmed.” The teen sighed softly, “you help me all the time when things get to be too much. Let me help you. Please.”
Reborn swallowed thickly. He opened his mouth, ready to respond, only to find an unpleasant taste on his tongue. He realized, with a jolt, that it was his pride . Instead of responding, Reborn nodded slowly, and closed his eyes. His hands fisted into Tsuna’s sleep shirt.
For the first time in years, Reborn allowed himself to break.
(Then, he allowed himself to be carefully put back together).
+ i.
Reborn hadn’t planned on a lot of things.
He hadn’t planned on the mafia. He hadn’t planned on finding his mother’s dead body while he was a child. He didn’t plan on being taken since his Sun Flames were so close to going active. Being brainwashed and manipulated, to the point where he had killed his own sister without even knowing who she was to him. He didn’t plan on the Arcobaleno Curse, or being hired to train the Vongola heir.
He certainly did not plan on Tsunayoshi Sawada.
The hitman, now back to his true form, stood at the bar in a small coffee shop. He was in his hometown, and although the familiar streets and the memories of what he’s done makes his heart ache, all he had to do was glance to his side and remind himself that he wasn’t alone.
Next to him stood Tsuna. Twenty-four years old, eyes still incredibly kind, and holding an air of regality around him. When he caught Reborn looking in his direction, he smiled over his own macchiato.
(“Espresso is way too bitter, Reborn! It tastes like sludge!”
Reborn sniffed defensively. “You never had true Italian espresso,” he argued.
Tsuna stared at him shaking his head with the ghost of a fond smile on his face, “I don’t think that’s the problem, Reborn.”)
“What is it?” Tsuna asked the hitman, cocking his head to the side.
Reborn looked at Tsuna for a little longer, lifting a hand to tug at the curls of his sideburns. “We should do this more often, Useless Tsuna.”
The brunette furrowed his brows, and then frowned at the use of his childhood nickname. A name Reborn hadn’t called him in a long time. “Eh? Do what?”
Reborn took a sip of his espresso, smirking as he lowered the cup with a soft clink against the wood of the bar. “This. Go on dates.”
He had not planned on Tsuna falling in love with him, and he knows the male was. He remembered Tsuna's face when he regained his true form, and then when the brunette had caught him half-naked at one point or another. Reborn had never been shy, but he couldn’t deny the slight feeling of heat at the tips of his ears.
When Tsuna responded with a shriek he had not let out since he graduated high school, Reborn allowed himself to smile.
Yeah. Reborn hadn’t planned on a lot of things, and falling in love with Tsuna?
Well, that was just second on Fuuta’s ranking list.
(The first was marrying the man).