Chapter Text
In the bustling city of Sicily, there is a quaint, little cafe hidden in between the alleys, right at the end of the street. The cafe is not fancy–it is run-down, in fact. Walls old and dreary, paint chipping off in the corners, table and chairs barely enough to sit six or seven.
Despite that, the ambience is undeniably homely: it is peaceful and quiet, as if enveloped in the warm embrace of the morning sun under the vast, blue sky.
There is only one person present in the shop–its owner: a young man–busying himself with the preparations to start the day, humming a tune under his breath.
Despite his tight finances and subpar living conditions, Tsuna is fond of this place. It has become his one joy and pride.
Growing up in an orphanage has taught him to be frugal, and having spent the last couple of years running odd jobs and saving what little he can, Tsuna has managed to finally scrape enough money to open this cafe. It’s not famous by any means, nor is it bustling with business, but the slow trickle of customers is plenty for a person who prefers to live a humble life.
Perhaps because the cafe is so small and cosy, the chatter of customers travels easily through the room and oftentimes, Tsuna becomes unintentional listener to the day’s happenings. Occasionally, a customer would leave behind a newspaper but those days are rare and few in between, and so Tsuna keeps up with the news through hearsay. Of course, it is not the best way to obtain information, but beggars can’t be choosers, and all forms of gossip have a certain degree of truth in them.
It also helps that Tsuna has an intuition better than most–it is what led him to buying this place at below the market price, after all.
Recently, word on the street has it that there is an up and rising vigilante group who are, quite literally, beating up the thugs. It’s good news, in any case. Tsuna has often had a few of them as free-loading customers, and while he always tries to serve them as best as he can, there is nothing he can do if they were to upend his shop. A few free meals is an acceptable bargain, honestly.
Still, unruly gangsters as customers are, thankfully, not a common occurrence and Tsuna hurries to prepare the store for business. Strategically placing the freshly-baked pastries near the entrance, the smell wafts onto the street, enticing weary, morning workers on their way to work.
Happily, Tsuna greets each of them and packs their orders neatly for takeaway. It’s a one-man show, but with time and practice, Tsuna has managed to efficiently run the cafe. At this hour, most, if not all, orders are to-go; it makes sense, workers rushing to their workplace wouldn’t have time to sit down and enjoy their coffee.
The customer before him is clearly an office worker, well-dressed in a fitting suit–and very handsome, Tsuna can’t help but notice–however, ordering an espresso for takeaway wouldn’t make sense. Wincing internally, Tsuna braves himself to ask, “Would you like this to-go, sir?”
The black-haired man gives a stare, before replying in a flat tone, “For here, thanks.”
Face reddening slightly in embarrassment, Tsuna nods and quickly moves to brew the best cup of espresso he can. If only to set the impression right and get rid of the previous awkward encounter, he offers a pastry as well. “It’s on the house! A new flavour I’m trying out.”
It’s true, Tsuna is always trying to improve the cafe menu, but as he works alone, most of the sample testers will have to be customers who are willing to be his guinea pigs. His pastries are delicious though! While he himself has tried and tested them, a second opinion is always good to have before putting the new items on the shelf. Shuffling slightly in anticipation, Tsuna gingerly sets the tray before the handsome customer. The man tilts his fedora in acknowledgement, and Tsuna brightens, bowing quickly and nearly tripping on his feet in his scurry.
Secretly appraising the man through the reflection on one of the windows, Tsuna has to admit that the man is ridiculously good-looking: sharp features, unique curly sideburns, tall and lean. If he guesses right, the Italian man is also wealthy, to be able to leisurely sip on his coffee during the morning rush hour, either that, or he sets his own hours.
Slowly, the wave of customers dwindles down to a lull, and peaceful silence returns.
Tsuna is stirred back to reality by the soft clink of glass and an emptied plate on the table. The handsome man drops a generous tip, before taking his leave.
Tsuna beams, "Please come again!"
To his delight, the handsome customer does indeed come back, and while his order remains unchanging, Tsuna is thrilled to have a regular customer. It becomes somewhat of an unofficial agreement between them: Tsuna would offer his new bakes, the man would give his opinion.
It’s an ongoing occurrence, and it is clear that the handsome customer is a fan of his coffee. Hence, after days of deliberation, Tsuna has worked up the courage to ask the man for his name. He even prepared tiramisu for this!
Placing the offering beside his usual tray of coffee and bread, the change has the man looking up–and oh dear, those eyes of his!–and Tsuna fidgets with his sleeves, flustering, "I, I always see you every morning, so I was wondering… if I could get your name? My name is Tsuna!"
There is usually no change in the man's expression apart from the slight tilt of lips, strangely though, Tsuna can somehow tell that the man is pleased? Amused, to say the least. In a low voice, husky and alluring, he replies, "Reborn."
Tsuna's smile widens, happy to finally put a name to his favourite customer's face.
(The tiramisu, needless to say, becomes an unmatched favourite.)
Thereafter, Reborn seems to change a little: he lingers longer in the cafe, and even makes small talk! Their conversations, while aimless and random, have a way to always make Tsuna’s day. On second thought, it may just be Reborn’s presence itself that makes Tsuna happy.
He’s usually the one chattering away, because Reborn is a private man–and Tsuna doesn’t blame him for it, he’s simply thankful to have someone to converse with–no doubt, who would sometimes comment, or nod along.
More recently, Reborn appears to be much more amiable, relaxed, leaning against the counter as he shares tiny tidbits about himself. Moments like these are Tsuna's favourite and most cherished, he holds it close to his heart as he learns of Reborn's background, embodying strength and independence, with an unmatched prowess of the gun. All of which, Tsuna didn't quite believe, until one fine day disorderly customers came barging in, demanding free food and drinks, and at Tsuna's slight hesitance, threatened to damage the store. Unable to fend for himself, Tsuna meekly started preparing their orders when a gunshot ran cleanly through the air, brushing the tip of the leader's ears.
"Leave," Reborn says, tone terrifyingly cold in a way Tsuna has never heard before. It has goosebumps climbing up his arm, body stiffening in a natural response to danger. Not to him, he knows, and without him realising, Tsuna has his hand clenched in the cloth of Reborn’s back.
The deafening sound of bullets has Tsuna squeezing his eyes shut, until all the sound that remains is Reborn’s voice, slow and soothing. It takes him a few moments to get his bearings, crumpling Reborn’s suit to no end, and when he apologised, Reborn instead removed the jacket to drape it over him.
At the state of the cafe, riddled with bullets, marked in a distinct path from the tables to the exit, Tsuna’s panic nearly returns, when Reborn cuts in gently, "I'll pay for the damages."
All Tsuna could do was nod numbly.
The truth makes itself known: Reborn is a hitman.
Despite that, Tsuna feels not fear, but a sanctuary of safety; the warmth of the jacket wraps around him, assuring and protective.
It seems that the air between them changed slightly, as Reborn became more talkative, and much more touchy. Tsuna has always been affection-deprived, and so he welcomes it, but he can't help the curiosity behind this change of behaviour. The question rests at the back of his mind.
Furthermore, Reborn has been giving… gifts. He claims it’s not, but Tsuna can tell from the nice, pristine packaging that it was bought for him. New clothes that can replace his old and torn ones, baking equipment that Tsuna has been keeping his eye on, and even a new wallpaper for the store! (“It was unsightly,” Reborn had complained.)
It will be terribly rude for him to refuse, and Tsuna is never one to look the gift horse in the mouth, thus, as he accepts the numerous packages carefully, he makes a mental note to pack some of the nicer pastries and a thermos flask of coffee for Reborn in exchange.
It’s the least he can do, and judging by the pleased mien Reborn carries, the thought is very well received. It makes a funny sight though: Reborn dressed in a formal suit, carrying a small orange bag of homemade goodies, striking bright against the black. But it's a heartwarming sight all the same–because it implies that Reborn will return and visit him again.
“Alright, spill it.” Colonello demands, sitting across Reborn in one of their usual meet-up places.
Theirs is a precarious alliance, a mutually beneficial one where Reborn offers information in exchange for Colonello’s. Apart from that though, if he may dare to admit, Colonello would very carefully claim that Reborn might even be a friend. Something more than an acquaintance, at least. They have been keeping these spontaneous meetings for a few years now, and there is definitely something up with the hitman.
Reborn says nothing in return, and as Colonello reaches out to take one of those delicious smelling pastries, Reborn instantly smacks the hand away to guard the box, territorial.
Like a lightbulb lighting up, Colonello makes the realisation, “You’re courting.”
Reborn merely takes a sip of his coffee from the thermos flask–hinting that the drink is handmade, prepared for him–and that is all the reply Colonello needs.
Breathlessly, he leans back in the chair, curious, “Is it a Sky? No, wait, it must be. Do I know them?”
“No, stop asking.”
Then, as a peace offering of sorts, Reborn places the last treasured piece of pastry before Colonello, its request loud and clear.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll keep quiet about it,” Colonello grumbles, “Won’t stop me from trying to find out who it is though.”
Reborn waits for Colonello to take the first bite of the pastry, smirking when Colonello exclaims, eyes lit up in amazement, “Fuck, nevermind, I might just court them for myself.”
"Keep your grubby hands to yourself," Reborn warns.