The low hum of the jet’s engines filled the cabin, a soft rhythm beneath the stillness. Warm sunlight filtered through the oval windows, casting golden light across the polished wood and cream leather of the Vongola’s private jet — his jet. It still felt surreal.

You sat curled on one of the plush couches, paperwork scattered across the table. Half-signed documents, official seals. The weight of what was coming.

Now ignored.

Tsuna leaned back with a tired sigh, stretching before his arms fell loose at his sides. His tie was undone, top button open, shirt wrinkled. His hair was messier than usual, and for a moment, he looked less like the future Decimo and more like the boy you knew.

“Five hours until we land,” he muttered, eyes on the ceiling. “Think Reborn’ll let me disappear before then?”

You nudged his foot with yours. “You disappear now, and Gokudera’s jumping out mid-air to follow you like the loyal puppy he is.”

Tsuna chuckled, the sound quiet and worn. Then he turned to you, his gaze soft.

“I still don’t get it,” he said. “They used to laugh at me. Barely noticed I existed, and now they’re flying to Italy to watch me become Vongola Decimo.”

His voice wasn’t bitter, just tired. Like this conversation had played out in his head a thousand times.

You shifted closer, your shoulder brushing his. “They don’t know you, Tsuna. Not really. But they will.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you. Then slowly, he rested his head on your shoulder, letting out a quiet breath.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured. “Before everything starts. Before the masks go on.”

You tilted your head against his. “I’m not going anywhere. Not when it gets loud. Not when it gets ugly.”

Tsuna exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

He didn’t respond.

He didn’t need to.

For now, the world could wait.