Campfire

"I got insulted by a kid today," Tsuna began conversationally, eager to spill the next installment of his adulting woes. "I was out running errands this morning and a ten year old came up to me and told me I'm the shortest man he's ever seen. As an Asian, I feel personally attacked."

Yamamoto and Ryohei exchanged a fleeting glance, which Tsuna caught.

"I'm not short!" Tsuna insisted, crossing his arms angrily. His drink spilled over his bougie Egyptian cotton shirt, which looked like any other white collared shirt. "You guys are just too tall. And frankly, I'm getting quite tired of everyone thinking Yamamoto is Vongola Decimo because he's the taller Asian!"

"They do say shorter people are closer to hell," Mukuro remarked, smirking eerily. He crossed and uncrossed his longer legs slowly to mock the brunet. The leather pants and thigh high hooker boots made it so much worse. "Kufufufu, how terrifying."

"Yeah, and you're the closest to hell because of your short dick," Tsuna shot back hotly. He ripped off his soaked shirt and tossed it into the fire. "Go fuck yourself, Mukuro."

"Oya? Is our beloved boss asking for a private show?"

Lambo quickly snatched Gokudera's bottle before it turned into a spray of glass on the ground. "Woah woah, calm down buddy," he said to the other man, setting him back onto the log. "He's joking."

Then something evil glinted in Reborn's devilish onyx eyes. "Hell is a wonderful place," he said proudly, passing over the next round of drinks. "You should take it as a compliment, Tsuna."

"Yeah? Well then the kid asked his mother why Asians are so short. And whether it was because they ate cats and dogs." Tsuna glared at the crackling flames and skulled his fifth beer. "What a racist. I don't eat pets. I'm a fucking herbivore. Isn't that right, Kyouya?"

"That's Yamamoto," Lambo answered, following Tsuna's fiery gaze to the other male. Kyouya was still refusing to partake in their merry liver-slaughtering adventures. Yamamoto, on the other hand, lived and breathed alcohol. "Now you're being racist, Tsuna."

"And you're short because you're lactose intolerant and don't drink milk," Mukuro added snidely.

"You don't need to drink milk to grow tall," Gokudera argued. "But water in Italy does have higher traces of calcium than in Japan."

"Milk tastes good," Yamamoto said happily. "One of these days I want to try Baileys. Or Yakult in soju. Hey, we should get some next time and write it off under general office experiences. You know, since self-medication is like, essential when it comes to paperwork."

"No thank you," Gokudera replied, taking his vodka back from Lambo. "I'm vegan."

Heads turned to the Vongola's self-proclaimed right hand man. "You're what?" Yamamoto asked, gobsmacked.

"Like you can only drink water and absorb sunlight?" Tsuna questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"That's a vegetable, Tenth," Gokudera answered with a pained look. "Vegans don't eat or use animal products. Like milk."

"Isn't that extremely worse than being a herbivore?" Ryohei was extremely confused. "Level five vegans don't eat anything that casts a shadow."

"I gain weight really easily," Gokudera confessed, his cheeks glowing. "When I was a kid, I was morbidly obese because Bianchi's cooking was simply divine. Now my metabolism is slowing down because I'm ageing and it's getting near impossible for me to stay in shape, even with rigorous training."

"I remember this," Reborn confirmed. "Gokudera would rebel against his father by bingeing on junk food and not exercising. It was only when he ran away and got beaten to pulp when he realised there was a problem."

"Wow...that's actually really inspiring," Tsuna said, his jaw dropping. Gokudera always had a badass body, complete with an eight-pack and terrifying biceps. Tsuna suddenly regretted removing his shirt. Reborn's strict training regime had packed some muscle into him, but he was still scrawny in comparison - even the Vongola's experienced tailors found his proportions nightmarish to work with.

"The only six-pack I need is a six-pack of beer," Yamamoto drawled. He examined the label of the brown bottle under the firelight. "Woah, this stuff is actually vegan approved. It must be healthy then."

"I lowkey think Reborn's turning us into alcoholics," Tsuna complained. His hitman tutor merely smiled, completely unrepentant. "We're not even drinking the fancy Italian wines and cocktails. We're like college students drinking for the sake of getting drunk."

"Fuck paperwork," Yamamoto murmured.

"Fuck work," Lambo corrected.

There were hums of agreement from the rest of the circle as they drank their vegan beer and vodka, feeling very healthy and zen.

"Anyway I'm not short," Tsuna huffed a moment later. After seven drinks, he was finally feeling a buzz. Drinking everyday did wonders to his alcohol tolerance. "I'm taller than Bermuda. We've all seen his adult form. I still don't get how his anatomy works, by the way."

"The guy looks like some edgy kid still stuck in his emo phase," Gokudera muttered. "Black, chains, cuffs and studs? Been there, done that. Glad it's all in the past."

"I wonder what he does at Vendicare," Tsuna added with a shiver. "He probably fucks zombies."

"Kinky," Lambo said.

"What the heck, can zombies even consent to being fucked?" Yamamoto asked.

Mukuro gave him an unimpressed stare. "Did Chrome and I ever consent to being experimented on?"

Tsuna felt bad for him and gave him a bottle of vodka. "Nothing happens in Vendicare though. All the prisoners are unconscious and trapped in solitary water tanks. The Vindice are like zombies. But can Bermuda he even get his dick hard? No offence, but he's pretty ancient - it's probably shrivelled down there."

"I'd rather not know, Tenth. I'm getting some horrifying images in my head."

"Maybe the chains and bandages turns him on. It's a thing," Lambo explained. "Oh daddy, maybe they even have a guard/prisoner roleplay going on in the dungeons."

"Kinky," Mukuro snickered. He had turned a shade of green, but it was concealed by the orange glow of flames. "Well they do have to pass the time somehow."

"It's also freezing down there so they'd be exchanging body heat," Yamamoto added with a cheeky grin. "All of them together. At the same time."

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up Yamamoto," Tsuna said, now completely red. Nobody could tell whether it was from embarrassment or his Asian glow. It was probably both. "We really don't need to know."

"I hope they use protection because infections suck," Lambo continued, making a face. "I can't even imagine what zombie STIs are like."

"Sounds extremely painful," Ryohei agreed. "Always use protection. And a lot of lube."

"Especially a lot of lube," Lambo said. "Dead bodies don't self-lubricate."

Suddenly the air dropped in temperature, and the brilliant flames of the campfire dulled as if it had been doused in water. Dramatic, ominous silence descended. A bandaged baby in a black cloak and top hat rose from the glowing embers, glaring at them with yellow lizard eyes.

"I do not fuck zombies," Bermuda hissed, his voice echoing inside their heads like microphone feedback. With a snarl, balls of black flame engulfed his hands and the logs they had been sitting on disintegrated into ash. Every bottle shattered. Then he vanished, leaving nothing but an edgy black feather boa on the ground.

"Guys, I think we made him angry," Yamamoto whispered from his hiding position behind Gokudera's back.

"Shouldn't he be burning?" Ryohei asked, blinking uncomprehendingly at the dying campfire. "He was standing on top of fire."

"He's a zombie," Gokudera replied, stating the obvious. "He's already dead."

"Urgh, I think I'm going to throw up," Mukuro muttered, before disappearing into a poof of mist flames. Violent retching could be heard by a tree a few metres away. Confused eyes followed him - none of them were even remotely close to being drunk, and Bermuda had ruined the rest of their booze stash.

"Mukuro's been to Vendicare," Reborn pointed out. "He might know a thing or two about Bermuda's...activities. He might have even witnessed it."

"Oh. Oh God." Lambo said, facepalming. "I need another five bottles of vodka before I can get that image out of my mind."

There was a loud thud of someone hitting the ground. Tsuna had dropped to his knees, staring tearfully at the remains of their glorious campfire. "Oh noooooo," he wailed in despair. He clawed their initials into the ashes, in memory of all those blissfully drunken moments they'd shared together at this sacred place. He broke into sobs as his friends spared a moment of solemn silence. "Where are we supposed to rant about our woes now?"