Chapter Text
The days leading up to the funeral feel strangely hollow.
Time doesn’t stop—it just slips sideways? Sort of? Meals come and go without flavor. Morning and night pass like pages in a book she doesn’t remember turning.
The Hibari estate is quiet but not empty, filled with the soft, practiced movements of its inhabitants. Even Nii-san is subdued, his usual energy dampened under the weight of the occasion.
They all handle things Kyoko doesn’t have to think about: the flowers, the seating, the notes to school. She doesn’t ask questions; Reika-san simply takes care of it all, her composure absolute, her efficiency a shield for Kyoko.
It is, in a way, a strange mercy—to be spared the details, to be allowed to float through days of grief without confronting them fully. And yet, that very sparing leaves her in a peculiar limbo. She feels as though she is moving through a half-dream, observing the world from behind a pane of frosted glass.
Only now, as the funeral approaches, does the reality begin to press against the edges of her consciousness: she has lost her parents. And it is not just a loss measured in memories, but in a cold, gnawing emptiness that creeps through her chest and settles there. She is surrounded by people, by quiet care and soft attentions, and yet she feels hollow—as though the core of herself has been left behind somewhere, along with the warmth of their presence.
School is much the same, though the hours blur together in a haze of chalk dust, half-scribbled notes, and the distant drone of teachers’ voices that Kyoko barely hears. The days crawl forward, each one bringing her closer to the funeral she doesn’t want to face.
Hana and Tsuna-kun become her anchors—though in very different ways.
Hana takes charge without hesitation. She plants herself at Kyoko’s side, carrying her books before Kyoko can protest, glaring down anyone who dares whisper too loudly, and cutting off nosy classmates with her trademark sharp tongue. Whenever Kyoko falters, Hana fills the silence with steady chatter, as though her voice alone can keep the world from pressing too close.
Tsuna-kun, on the other hand, still looks like he isn’t quite sure how he ended up in their little orbit. Hana makes sure he is there —looping him in with an offhand, “You’re walking with us,” or nudging him into the seat next to Kyoko at lunch before he can stammer an excuse. He still hesitates, shuffling nervously at the edges, but he never pulls away.
And though he clearly doesn’t know what to do, Kyoko can tell he’s trying. He offers her part of his lunch even when his hands shake, or hovers uncertainly by her desk until Hana waves him closer. His presence is awkward, stumbling, but steady in its own way—like he wants to help but is afraid he’ll get it wrong.
Together, the three of them form an odd little unit: Hana’s sharpness, Tsuna-kun’s hesitant loyalty, and Kyoko’s quiet grief pressing them closer with every passing day.
When the day of the funeral finally arrives, Kyoko dresses without thinking. The black formal wear fits like a costume—too stiff, too somber. Her hands tremble a little as she buttons the collar. She stares at herself in the mirror for a long moment and doesn't quite recognize the girl looking back.
The temple is quiet when they arrive. But not for long.
People begin to gather—slowly, then all at once. Nii-san and Reika-san are a steady presence on either side of her. And when faceless people approach her, she bows automatically. Thanks them. Moves through the motions like a ghost. A blur of dark clothes, bowed heads, soft-spoken condolences that drift past her ears like static.
This is the second time, over two lifetimes, that she’s lost her parents—but the first time she has to bury them.
Before, death had always come with noise: a flash of green light, a battlefield’s roar, the frantic rush of fighting and there was no time to stop and mourn properly. Not immediately anyway.
She’d lost friends, mentors, and makeshift family in the chaos, grief buried beneath the need to keep moving. Sirius, Remus, Dobby, Fred and many more…
But here, in this life, there is no war to blame.
No villain to fight.
No greater good or other lives saved by their sacrifice, which can maybe make it all a bit easier to cope with.
Only silence, incense, and the weight of finality pressing down as she prepares to lay her parents to rest. It feels heavier than anything that came before.
Relatives she barely knows appear before her to say how sad they are by what happened. An uncle from her mother’s side she hasn’t seen since she was seven. A second cousin who cries more than Kyoko currently feels capable of. Many more follow but she doesn’t really register them as individual people.
Polite, strained conversation. The scent of incense is heavy in the air.
It is strange, to see all these strangers and see how much they care (or so they say) now that her parents are dead, yet Kyoko doesn’t know any of them by name. Why are they here, crying and caring, when they couldn’t be bothered to be around when her parents were alive?
But it’s the arrival of familiar faces that steady her.
The Yamamotos come first. Takeshi’s father gives her a respectful, quiet nod, his warm palm resting briefly on her shoulder. Takeshi himself smiles—soft and unsure—offering a small and a softly spoken “I’m sorry.”
It is seeing the two of them, that makes er realize Yamamoto Takeshi knows at least part of what she is going through. Because he lost his mother years ago.
She has no time to stand still by this thoughts, because the family of two moves on and other people take their place.
Later Hana arrives, cutting through the crowd with sharp heels and sharper focus. Her black skirt barely rustles as she makes a beeline for Kyoko. She doesn't speak right away—just reaches out and takes Kyoko’s hand, squeezing it hard.
For a second, it looks like Hana wants to break all traditions and stay next to her, but after a nudge of her mother, Hana continues on, sharing her condolences with Nii-san before moving further into the room, so others can have their turn.
Hana is not the last one to arrive either.
Trailing somewhat behind her is Tsuna-kun, wringing his hands and trying not to look as uncomfortable as he clearly feels. His black jacket hangs off his narrow shoulders, looking way too big on him (but she appreciates the thought and effort) and his eyes are wide with quiet uncertainty. He bows too low, nearly falling over, and straightens with a quiet “Sorry—for your loss. I mean. Uh…”
He trails off, visibly sweating.
Kyoko’s mouth trembles—but something like a smile flickers across it anyway. “Thank you. For coming.”
Hana come to get Tsuna-kun and drags him along before he can dig himself in deeper. “We’ll sit nearby. Just signal if you need anything.”
They settle in as the temple fills further.
As the stream of people trickle to nothing, nii-san places a hand on her shoulder and guides her to their seats.
The ceremony begins. Monks chant softly near the altar, incense wafting through the room in delicate spirals. People bow. Offer prayers. The air is heavy, but still.
Kyoko doesn’t cry.
It’s not that she doesn’t feel the loss. It’s just… distant. Muted. Her head feels hazy. Like grief has built a wall around her heart and left her in the quiet stillness behind it.
She listens to the prayers. Follows the procession. Bows and stands when she’s meant to. Her hands remain folded in her lap, whenever she can. Her eyes don’t stray.
As the ceremony winds down, guests begin to file out in murmuring groups. Kyoko stays seated for a while, watching the smoke curl up from the altar. She’s not ready to move yet.
But eventually, she stands when the ceremony is done.
Her friends are ready, as if they were waiting for her. As soon as she stands, both Hana and Tsuna-kun are on either side of her.
Hana catches her elbow. Tsuna-kun doesn’t touch her, but stands close as her nii-san catches her other arm and together with the three of them surrounding her, they leave the temple.
She’s tired. Bone-deep.
But not alone.
It will take time, but a part of her is confident she will be fine in the long run.
--
The sky has already darkened by the time they return to the estate.
Kyoko walks the path home slowly, her footsteps measured and quiet. The sleeves of her mourning clothes whisper with each step.
Nii-san walks slightly ahead of her, silent for once. He must have a lot on his mind as well.
Tsuna-kun and Hana walk on either side of her, with Hana holding her hand. Reika-san has suggested they walk home from the cemetery instead of taking a car. It isn’t too far, and allows her to clear her mind a bit thanks to the fresh air.
The estate’s lanterns glow softly beyond the gate, their light spilling like gold against the gravel path. It feels almost too warm, too welcoming, after the muted grey of the day.
When they step inside the house, Reika stops both nii-san and Kyoko. “I asked to have tea and light food prepared for us by the time we got back,” she says. Her voice is calm, even gentle, but the faintest thread of weariness runs beneath it. “You are free to eat in your room if that is your preference.”
Nii-san nods and excuses himself, disappearing through the corridor towards his own room before Kyoko can say anything.
Kyoko blinks, surprised and taken aback by the abruptness of it all.
She glances back—Hana is toeing off her shoes with precise movements, and Tsuna-kun is awkwardly fumbling with his. Neither of them looks in a hurry to leave.
Reika inclines her head, her voice as smooth as silk. “In case you don’t remember, I arranged for your friends to stay the night. Neither of their families made an issue out of it, given what happened and that it is not a school day tomorrow, and I thought you might appreciate some familiar company. I cleared two guest rooms, but you can have a sleepover and all sleep in your room as well. Whatever you prefer.”
Kyoko stares at her for a second. Not because she’s upset—but because she hadn’t even thought of asking. It simply never occurred to her, the idea that someone else might anticipate what she needs before she’s figured it out herself.
“I—no. That’s… Thank you,” she murmurs, a bit thrown. “Really.”
Reika only nods. “Good. I insist you try and eat at least something small before trying to go to sleep. You barely touched anything earlier.”
With that, she slips off down the hallway, soundless as ever, leaving Kyoko with her friends.
Kyoko watches her go, then turns back to Hana and Tsuna-kun. Hana raises a brow at her.
“You look like you just got blindsided by a kind gesture.”
“I sort of did,” Kyoko says. “I didn’t expect… this. Today has been a lot.”
Hana shrugs out of her jacket and folds it neatly over her arm. “Reika-san’s very perceptive. Which is scary, when you think she is related to that demon prefect.”
Tsuna-kun rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting toward the hallway. “Are you sure it’s okay? I mean—I don’t want to intrude. Or bump into Hibari-san.”
Kyoko smiles at him, tired but genuine. “You’re not intruding. I’m glad you’re here.”
Tsuna-kun looks a little stunned by that.
“You heard the lady,” Hana says dryly, stepping forward to guide him further inside. “Come on. Tea sounds great. And I’m not letting you trip over any priceless heirlooms while Kyoko’s too tired to save you.”
“Hey—!” he starts, but she’s already walking, pushing him along.
Kyoko watches them go for a second, warmth flickering in her chest. Exhaustion still pulls heavy at her limbs, but it’s softer now. Less suffocating.
She toes off her own shoes and pads after them.
She isn’t sure what tomorrow will feel like. Grief has a way of creeping in when the noise dies down and the crowds go home.
But for tonight—tonight she’s surrounded by warmth and quiet voices.
By a friend who’s never once let her drift too far.
By a boy with scared eyes and a shaky heart, who showed up even when he doesn’t believe he is really wanted.
Kyoko exhales, slow and long.
She catches up with them and leads them to her room and, true to Reika-san’s word, a tray has been laid out—cups, a steaming pot, and a plate of delicate sweets she really have the appetite for.
It’s only when Kyoko sits down at the low table with Hana joining on her right that she notices Tsuna-kun has stopped just short of the threshold. His face is already a shade too red, his fingers twitching at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
“Tsuna-kun?”
“Uh—th-this is…” He gulps, eyes darting from the tatami mats to the low table to the futons stacked neatly against the wall. “…a girl’s bedroom. I shouldn’t be … here?”
Hana snorts, leaning on her elbows on the table. “Oh, please. It’s not like Kyoko has frilly lace underwear laying about or a shrine to pop idols in here.”
Kyoko flushes lightly at the mention of her underwear, but tries to hide it as best as she can.
Hana sweeps her gaze across the room, tilting her head. “Actually… huh. This is kind of nice, for your new room. Old-school—feels like stepping into a ryokan. Very fancy.”
Tsuna-kun finally enters the room, still a bit reluctantly, hovering close to the wall like he might set off an alarm if he touched anything. His eyes stay stubbornly on the floor.
Hana, meanwhile, is still looking around Kyoko’s room. “So, Kyoko… and don’t get me wrong, but do you plan to decorate this place? It feels almost too impersonal, you know. Didn’t you bring stuff from your old room? Posters, books, photos, anything?”
Kyoko blinks, startled. She looks around slowly, really seeing the space for the first time.
The pale paper walls. The spotless tatami. The way everything is arranged with quiet precision, but nothing is hers. No knickknacks. No childhood photos. No little pieces of memory tucked into corners.
It’s… a room. Perfectly prepared. Perfectly empty.
Her lips part, but no words come at first.
“I…” She swallows. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
Hana straightens, frowning faintly. “You didn’t even realize, did you?”
Kyoko shakes her head, a small knot tightening in her chest. She had been living here for what feels like weeks now, but she hasn’t once tried to make the room feel like hers. She’d just accepted the space as it was. Neat. Pristine. Impersonal.
Tsuna-kun finally lifts his eyes, cheeks still pink, and says softly, “It… doesn’t really look like your room, Kyoko-chan. I mean, not that I’d know, never having seen you old room but… I mean, not that I’d ever assume… I just … ” the boy is a stuttering mess by the end, his words becoming softer until she can’t make them out anymore.
The words are gentle, but they hit harder than he knows.
“Don’t hurt yourself.” Hana shoots Tsuna-kun a smirk.
Kyoko wraps her arms around herself, her gaze dropping to the floor. “No. You’re right. Both of you. It doesn’t feel like me.”
For a moment, the silence feels heavier than the air itself.
Then Hana claps her hands lightly, as if shaking the weight off. “Well. That just means we’ve got a project. One day soon, when you’re ready, we’ll fix this place up. Make it yours. Kyoko-fy it! It will be fun. ”
Kyoko blinks at her, a small warmth stirring at the edges of her grief. “…Yeah. That sounds nice.”
“Now, you, sit down will you, Tsuna, and then we can finally enjoy this tea and these snacks. They smell really nice, and I am hungry.” Hana says, gesturing towards Tsuna-kun.
Tsuna-kun makes a squeaky noise, but does as he is told.
It startles her, and a laugh slips from Kyoko before she can stop it. Not a big one—barely more than a breath—but enough to make her cheeks warm.
Hana’s smirk grows. “That’s better.”
Kyoko shakes her head, smiling faintly as she settles at the low table across from them. “You really do like bossing people around.”
“Someone has to be in charge,” Hana says easily, pouring tea into three delicate cups. “And clearly, he doesn’t mind.”
“I-I do mind!” Tsuna-kun sputters, going red all over again.
“You’re sitting, aren’t you?” Hana counters.
He makes another strangled sound, but reaches for his cup of tea anyway, holding it carefully with both hands like he’s afraid to break it as he sips it.
For a while, the three of them just sit quietly. The tea is light and floral, and the sweets—though none of them have much appetite—melt on the tongue in a way that makes it hard not to nibble at least a little.
“It feels weird,” Kyoko admits after a while, turning her cup slowly in her hands. “Being in this room, like this, with you both here. Not being home, with mom and dad.”
Hana’s expression softens, though her tone stays light. “Dream or not, you’ve got us now. And trust me, I’m not letting you drift off and face all this alone.”
Kyoko swallows, her throat tight. “I know.”
Beside them, Tsuna-kun shifts, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant. “I… I don’t really know what to say. I mean… I’ve never…” He trails off, brow furrowing, clearly struggling to find the words.
Kyoko watches him, patient.
Finally, he blurts out, “I just don’t want you to feel… forgotten. Or… left behind. That’s all.”
The words tumble out clumsy and awkward, but the earnestness behind them makes Kyoko’s chest ache.
Hana leans back with a small, satisfied smile. “See? He’s not hopeless after all.”
Tsuna-kun yelps, glaring at her. “H-Hana!”
But Kyoko is smiling, really smiling this time. “Thank you,” she says softly. “Both of you. I… I don’t think I’d be holding it together right now without you.”
The air between them warms, the heaviness of the day easing just a fraction.
Hana lifts her cup in mock toast. “Then it’s settled. Tonight, no ghosts. Just tea, sweets, and figuring out how not to let Tsuna-kun trip over the futons when we set them up.”
“I-I wouldn’t—!” he protests, but his voice cracks halfway, and Hana bursts out laughing.
Kyoko presses a hand over her mouth, giggling quietly despite the lump still in her throat. For the first time in days, the sound feels real.
Once the teapot is empty, Hana sets down her teacup and stretches, eyes darting toward the stack of folded bedding left in the corner. “Alright. Logistics. If we’re doing this, how do we want to line things up? Any suggestions?”
Kyoko blinks, then laughs quietly. “You’re taking this very seriously.”
“Of course I am.” Hana gestures grandly toward the empty tatami space. “This is sacred work. A sleepover arrangement defines the night. What do you think, Tsuna?”
Tsuna-kun fidgets in his seat, shoulders stiff. “I… I’ve never… um, had a sleepover before, so I have no i-idea?” he admits quietly, voice barely carrying.
Kyoko feels a pang in her chest, sharp and familiar. She remembers that loneliness—growing up without friends, always on the outside, always pretending to belong. Back in her life as Harry, there had been no one to reach out to her, no one to pull her into warmth like this. Not until Hogwarts.
The memory twists uncomfortably in her stomach.
She swallows and forces a soft smile, feeling more determined than ever. Because now she sort of understands the protectiveness Ron and Hermion displayed for Harry. She hadn’t understood it before. But now, she can be a Ron or Hermione for someone else. She wants to be this person for Tsuna-kun.
Hana raises a brow, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Never? Really? Well, there’s a first time for everything.” She gestures for them both to get up. “Let’s go and grab some futon and cushions and stuff.”
Kyoko gets up and holds out a hand towards Tsuna-kun with a small smile, while Hana is already matching out the room to get started.
After a long, hesitant pause, he takes her hand, and lets her pull him to his feet, cheeks pink, fumbling slightly but clearly trying.
Kyoko’s chest warms at the sight.
Good. He’ll learn and see, with time.
The extra futons had already been prepared in one of the guest rooms by Reika-san’s staff—thick, clean mats and fresh blankets, neatly folded in stacks. The three of them carry them back together, Hana chatting about pillow strategy while Tsuna-kun nearly trips twice but somehow manages not to drop anything.
Between the three of them, and with Hana taking charge, the futons are soon laid out side by side in a tidy row, pillows lined up evenly. Kyoko ends up in the middle without them even needing to discuss it.
“Perfect,” Hana declares, patting the blankets with finality. “I approve.”
Afterward, they scatter for their night routines. Towels, toothbrushes, and soft yukata have been set aside for them, Reika-san’s foresight covering every detail.
When they return to her room, Hana flops down dramatically across her claimed futon.
Tsuna-kun carefully lowers himself onto his own futon, as far away from Hana as he can, pulling the blanket up to his chin like a shield.
And who can blame him? Hana has been teasing him quite a bit this evening.
Kyoko shakes her head at her friends’ antics. She turns of the light and joins them on the futons. She lies between them, listening to Hana’s easy breathing and Tsuna-kun’s restless shifting.
For the first time in days, her chest feels lighter—not hollow, but full. And she falls asleep easily.
TBC.