Reborn decreed that they would be doing some no-holds-barred wrestling for the day, because of course he fucking did, waving off the vice principal's stuttered objections with a nonchalant, "Oh, didn't I mention? I'm an Olympic wrestling coach. It's in my CV, but perhaps you didn't read it?"

The vice principal turned pink, though it was hard to tell if it was a reaction to Reborn's roundabout accusation of incompetence or the way he was shucking off his track top to reveal a thin white T-shirt so tight it could be used as a tourniquet in a pinch. It looked like it was on the verge of ripping open every time he flexed a muscle, and he was flexing all of them at once.

"Fnergiheb," said the vice principal, and retreated, holding his suit jacket in front of his crotch. Two of Tsuna's classmates hurriedly took off their sweatshirts to do the same, though they were markedly more reluctant to leave.

"Now," Reborn said, still in his stupid fedora, though nobody's eyes were anywhere remotely near his face, "who wants to volunteer so I can demonstrate a couple holds?"

After three full minutes of horrific bloodshed, the few still standing limped frantically forwards, still subtly aiming kicks and punches at the worst of their opponents' injuries. Tsuna had been felled in the first ten seconds by a bony elbow to the gut from Kurokawa Hana, of all people, who seemed much more enthusiastic about muscle-bound gorillas than she was about monkeys. That hadn't stopped the rest of his classmates from trampling all over him in the ensuing battle, though Tsuna wasn't sure if it was to keep him out of the running or simple spite.

Reborn, curiously, had Yamamoto by the collar, as if to prevent him from rushing into the fray. Maybe Yamamoto has a crush on Reborn? That might explain why he wants to get back in the game so bad…. Gokudera, meanwhile, was leaning broodily against the wall in the exact manner an edgy K-pop idol might do in a magazine centerfold, were it not for the immense disgust on his face and his nicotine-withdrawal jitters.

"Thank you for volunteering, Yamamoto," Reborn said, teeth grinding so hard Tsuna worried about his dental bills (which must already be astronomical to keep them that shade of white). Yamamoto was smiling so wide that Tsuna could see his gums. It was not a particularly reassuring expression, though it was as photogenic as ever.

What followed was the most uncomfortably erotic wrestling match Tsuna had ever witnessed, and Tsuna had once seen Kurokawa's search history for Turkish oil wrestling on YouTube. (Come to think of it, that might be why she had tried to kill him several minutes earlier.) Yamamoto and Reborn were both… vocal. If someone had been standing outside the gym they might have accused Reborn of teaching sex ed, complete with a practical demonstration, instead of gym.

A couple of the boys excused themselves with strangled voices, claiming to need to go to the nurse's office but instead making beelines for the bathroom. A few girls had gotten weak-kneed enough to need to sit down, but all had the emotional fortitude necessary to remain, eyes glued to the unrealistically muscular and weirdly glistening display before them. Kurokawa appeared to be discreetly filming.

Their shirts were riding up so much they looked like crop tops, and he was pretty sure that position was grounds to get disqualified even in a WWE match—

"Like what you see, Tsuna?" Yamamoto panted, his hair tousled, his voice strained, and his face flushed. From this angle it looked more like Reborn was giving him a hickey than like any useful wrestling move. Tsuna would know; the wrestling club had once cornered him and used him as a practice dummy, though their helmets and leotards made the experience much more miserable than sexy. All things considered, though, he found this situation more appalling than anything else.

He realized that his bug-eyed staring could be misconstrued when Gokudera clicked his tongue louder than Tsuna knew a tongue could be clicked, giving him the sort of look someone directs at a drunk urinating in public, possibly in front of an elementary school on field day. His sheepish wave did not improve matters.

Yamamoto made a loud, indecent noise when he got pinned in an exquisitely uncomfortable-looking hold that spoke wonders of both his and Reborn's flexibility. Tsuna lifted his eyes to the ceiling and kept them there until Yamamoto finally tapped out, thirty excruciatingly uncomfortable seconds later.

When Tsuna stopped looking for the word "gullible," he realized that he was the last one standing. Most of the boys had fled, and those who hadn't made sure that their laps were covered. The girls all looked like they needed a cigarette. Only Gokudera remained unruffled, for all he was giving Tsuna the filthiest look someone could give a person they didn't have any carnal inclinations towards. He'd changed into gym shorts, but they still looked several sizes too small for him.

"So," announced Reborn, his fedora somehow still in place. Tsuna wondered if superglue might have played a role. "Pair up and do that. Tsuna, you're with the new kid."

Yamamoto smiled and waved.

"The other new kid."

Gokudera seemed just as enthused as Yamamoto, for wildly different reasons. Tsuna mentally lit a candle for his frail, easily-pulverized bones.

"Reborn," he hissed, grabbing an improbably girthy bicep and doing his best to ignore how pathetically narrow his was in comparison, "he's going to kill me."

Reborn stared at his hand, pale and delicate against the olive of his skin, until Tsuna took the hint and snatched it away before it got cut off.

"Ah, so you wanted tips about headlocks?" he announced loudly, then bent Tsuna nearly in half with his body weight alone. Tsuna cringed, not wanting all that glistening sweat anywhere near his person, but then got a whiff of Reborn's cologne and forgot what was troubling him in the first place.

Reborn tightened the headlock, pressing Tsuna against his chest. Gokudera cleared his throat loudly. Yamamoto effortlessly suplexed a blushing, drooling classmate, his eyes fixed on Tsuna's quickly-heating face.

Oh, right, that's what he was worried about.

"I've given you a cheat, since you're so pathetic you'd probably die the moment you hit the mat. It's called hyper intuition, and it'll warn you when someone is trying to kill you," Reborn murmured in his ear, his broad chest rumbling distractingly against Tsuna's back.

"I already know he's trying to kill me! So is everyone else!" Tsuna hissed, scrabbling ineffectively at Reborn's forearms.

"You'll take what you get and like it, Dame-Tsuna," he taunted, his curly sideburn tickling Tsuna's ear (no doubt bright red, at this point). Tsuna did the stupidest thing he had in nearly 40 minutes and tried to flip him judo style. It involved shoving your hips into your opponent's to destabilize their center of gravity, right?

In theory, it might have worked. In practice, he was fighting with an eroge character, so all he managed to do was grind his ass back against something large enough that he'd thought it was Reborn's thigh.

It was not Reborn's thigh.

Reborn made a choking noise (which was somehow still erotic, because of course it was), and dropped Tsuna like a hot potato, the fedora fluttering to the ground behind him. He faceplanted into the mat, all thoughts of sexy headlocks abandoned when his still-tender nose bore the brunt of the impact.

Besides, he had managed to make Reborn release him. Whatever works, right?

"Gokudera," Reborn barked, pushing his spiky hair back from his forehead and drawing sighs from admiring spectators, "get over here and kick his ass."

Tsuna squinted. His eyes must be watering more than he thought, because he could've sworn Reborn's cheeks were darker than normal.

Then Gokudera was hauling him to his feet by the collar of his shirt. Tsuna looked up at him tearily, silently begging him to cut him some slack, and he faltered, bloodthirsty grin wavering. Sometimes, if you looked too pathetic to be any fun, bullies would leave you alone; Tsuna was desperately hoping that would apply here.

Of course, then there were the bullies that it would provoke even more. Gokudera snapped out of his hesitation, scowling thunderously. Oh, good, looks like he was one of them.

"I know what you're doing," he snarled, giving Tsuna a little shake. "I'm not going to fall for your seduction tactics! You're gonna have to fake cry way harder than that to get a reaction out of me!"

"What?" Tsuna squeaked. What seduction tactics? What kind of weirdo gets turned on by crying?

"I won't fall for that Bambi-eyes routine! I know what you're after!" Gokudera declared, and sucked in a loud breath when Tsuna blinked in bafflement, tears clinging to his lashes. Tsuna saw a hint of pink in his pale cheeks before he was getting piledrived into the floor.

"I give, I give!" Tsuna shrieked, slapping frantically at the floor once the world stopped spinning long enough for him to find it. Seriously, his skull could not take much more of this abuse.

"God, you're pathetic," Gokudera snorted, and put him into another of those ridiculous holds that strained the limits of credulity, Tsuna's flexibility, and the seams of his miniscule gym shorts. This one meant they had to get reeeeeeaaal up close and personal, which Tsuna might have minded more if he wasn't busy getting folded like a pretzel. Yamamoto and Reborn were watching pretty closely, too.

Why did all these love interests like the sight of the player in pain so much? Tsuna made a mental note to complain about it to Reborn some more—or failing that, his dad—as soon as he could pick himself up off the floor.

All things considered, that might take a while.

Sorry for how short this is! I ran out of steam a thousand words in and I wanted to give you guys something, so here you go!

Also, you can't tell me that Hana's not into meatheads. She married Ryohei, for god's sake, it couldn't have been for his brains. I headcanon her as bi with a weakness for himbos and ditzy, angelic rays of sunshine like Kyoko. She already has all the smarts and snark she'll ever need in a relationship.