echo off the sky - an 8027 fst

but no seriously i'm foregoing the moe dedication because this fst has made me bleed and love is dead

streaming at the bottom.

ordinary day ▩ vanessa carlton
	and as he spoke, he spoke ordinary words although they did not feel for I felt what I had not felt before and you'd swear those words could heal
		The thing is, Yamamoto likes ball games and he likes sword games. He likes feeling his lungs burn for air, his muscles strain and quiver in protest, likes the roar of approval from an audience. He lives for those things, even. But when he’s in those moments, the immediacy of the sharp crack of ball on bat or steel on steel fades away, and what he’s thinking of is how it feels when he flops on his back to soak in the rooftop sun and watches Tsuna poking through his bento, Gokudera gesticulating wildly over his lunch in the middle of some incomprehensible point on the nature of math. Because the thing really is, it’s the ordinary moments that Yamamoto works so hard to be extraordinary enough to deserve.
skyway avenue ▩ we the kings
	it all got so mundane with you I'm back again just take me by the hand we're close to the edge
		He kind of expected that, after everything, he’d like heights a little less. Maybe he should feel sick when stepping out onto a bridge, or find himself staring at the railing and feel a little awkward and waiting for something untoward to cross his mind. It just made sense, in a way. He waited for it, but somehow that moment never came. Instead, he found himself standing on the bank overlooking the river with Tsuna, grinning widely at Tsuna’s anxious expression. “It can’t be that cold,” he insisted, and over Tsuna’s protests grabbed his hand--and leaped.
mercy ▩ onerepublic
	angel of mercy, how did you find me? how did you pick me up again? angel of mercy, how did you move me? why am I on my feet again?
		It’s not that Yamamoto doesn’t know that it was an accident. He’s always known, more or less. It’s just that it never mattered. Tsuna’s life, Yamamoto thinks, hinges on a series of happy accidents powered by Tsuna’s relentless, near-coincidental benevolence. Whether Tsuna stumbled onto the roof because he was lost, or because everyone else went, or because he was pushed, or because he was worried, or some combination of all of them--it just never mattered. Because the fact was that he had come.
heartbeat ▩ the fray
	you got a fire and it's burning in the rain thought that it went out, but it's burning just the same and you don't look back, not for anything
		In the few months Yamamoto’s known him, he thinks he’s seen every expression Tsuna possesses. Which is more impressive than it sounds, really. Tsuna has a singularly expressive face that can move from dismay to a wide-eyed grin in the space of a heartbeat. But there’s something about the way Tsuna picks himself up off the ground, wipes the dirt off his face; something about the sharp, bright look in Tsuna’s eyes when he digs in his heels and stands his ground, something about the way his eyes can narrow slightly and his gentle mouth can firm into an unyielding line, that makes Yamamoto forget the rest of the world for the length of just a breath.
big bad world ▩ plain white t's
	just running 'round in circles tripping over every hurdle we're just trying to do the best that we can it's a big bad life, all that we can do is try to make it right
		Yamamoto, unbeaten in baseball since age eight, had become accustomed to (though never quite accepting of) the sense of defeat since joining Tsuna’s Mafia Game. He still hated losing. It hadn’t gotten any easier, but he knew how much stronger he’d become through learning from his losses and adapting his style. Even Squalo had grudgingly acknowledged his growth. There was only one one area that seemed to be improving not at all. “You first,” he told Tsuna, eyeing their overturned papers with some trepidation. Tsuna frowned, scrunched his eyes shut, and flipped. Thirty, the flipped exam revealed. “Forty,” Yamamoto announced as he turned his, and laughed.
echo off the sky ▩ poema
	so we're gonna sing it now until the very last light goes out and then close our mouths and listen to hear listen to hear ourselves echo off the sky tonight this is what life could be like
		They had had a tent, originally. It lasted about thirty minutes, which Yamamoto thought was pretty good, everything else considered. Then there’d been something of an incident with Ryohei, a bear, and some of Gokudera’s prototype dynamite. “It’s kind of pretty.” Tsuna groaned, throwing one arm over his eyes as if to block out the brightness of the stars (classic Tsuna, Yamamoto thought). “I think that one’s a big spoon, or something?” he continued, pointing up at the constellations cheerfully. It was a few seconds before Tsuna finally slid his arm away to look. “I don’t know.” But Tsuna smiled, and Yamamoto grinned back. Even without the tent he felt that much warmer.
sing to you ▩ amely
	so listen to me I'm gonna make you proud keep your high from ever touching ground I'll be your strength when you are feeling down
		Admittedly, he hadn’t been thinking of much at all when he’d taken the ring. Tsuna had said he’d get his rematch, and that was as far as he’d listened before his brain had shut down. His fingers were closing around the cold metal and impressing the rain crest in his skin before he’d really known what was happening. Afterward, when Squalo had finally shouted the explanation at him, it had seemed so obvious he’d all but shrugged it off. Settling accounts, sure. It was his job to keep Tsuna from worrying too much. What else had he been doing all along, anyway?
say it again ▩ marié digby
	the thing about you is you know just how to get me you talk about us like there's no end in sight the thing about me is that I really wanna let you open the door and walk into my life
		Yamamoto thinks nothing of what must be his fifteen millionth box of Valentine’s chocolates. “Thanks,” he tells the girl offering them over, with a very genuine smile. It’s nice of her. He’ll remember her name and give her something back on White Day, because it’d be kind of lousy not to. Later, he pushes the box towards Tsuna in offering, and thinks nothing of it. “Wonder if they’re hard to make?” He eyes the store-bought chocolate curiously, popping one into his mouth and musing if his dad has any advice on this distinctly not fish-related topic. “Maybe?” Tsuna accepts one after all, maybe just to be polite, and for just a moment or two Yamamoto wonders--just a little--what it would be like to try to give Tsuna a box of his own.
you're an ocean ▩ fastball
	make the warm winds circle round my head just like you do if I could do it, I'd be doing it to you I believe, I'd buy whatever you would sell to me nothing in my life ever came with a guarantee
		It’s kind of amazing how Tsuna never ceases to boggle at simple things. “What--” Tsuna squeaks in disbelief at him, “what is that.” Yamamoto shrugs goodnaturedly and resettles his hand on the back of Tsuna’s neck. “Pretty sure that’s a bush, Tsuna.” The bush blinks in agreement, which is confirmation enough for Yamamoto to lean in and try to pick up where he left off, his lips against Tsuna’s. Tsuna’s protest fades against another kiss, and after another minute or two neither of them care if the bush just winked at them and shuffled off.
happily ever after ▩ he is we
	inhale, breathe steady exhale like you’re ready, if you’re ready or not just a boy and a girl trying to take on the world and we want to get caught
		Most people just get to guess at what they’re going to be when he grows up. Yamamoto’s lucky. He’s gotten a sneak peek, a week in a future that could have been his. Turns out, he doesn’t want that one. “There’s a scout coming to the next game.” Tsuna rolls over, blinks at him. There’s a span of unspoken possibilities between them. The paths he could pursue, things that might take him far away. He opens his mouth to speak again when Tsuna smiles. Their fingers brush, reaching for each other at the same moment. “Good luck,” Tsuna tells him, and his voice is warm.

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