Kyouko was bent over a letter to her mother when Tsuna knocked on the doorframe on the way into her study. “Kyouko,” he said, slowly, taking the seat next to her desk, “do you have a moment?”

“Mm, just a moment,” she said, and finished the sentence she was writing. She put the pen down and looked up, and blinked at the expression on his face, which was suffused with embarrassment and exasperation both. “What’s wrong?”

He set a bottle on the desk; it was dark brown glass and unlabeled. “This,” he said, slowly, “is a tonic. Dino-san sent it to me.”

Kyouko picked the bottle up and uncapped it, and wrinkled her nose at its pungent aroma. “What kind of tonic?” she asked, capping it again.

“According to the letter? The kind that a man takes to improve his, ah, vigor.”

To improve his… vigor? Kyouko looked at the bottle again, and then at Tsuna, but it wasn’t until I-Pin squeaked that she understood the implication. “His vigor,” she repeated, face burning.

“Yes.” Tsuna passed a hand over his face. “If you don’t mind, could you kindly let Caterina Modigliani know that my vigor is not in need of improving?”

“Right away,” Kyouko said, hastily, putting the letter to her mother aside.

“Thank you,” Tsuna said, and stood. “Every time I think that I’ve heard it all…” he said, and shook his head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to give Dino-san a call.”

“Of course,” Kyouko murmured.

She waited till he was decently out of the room before looking at I-Pin; when their eyes met, they burst into helpless laughter.

“Poor Tsuna,” Kyouko said, when she’d caught her breath again. “Oh, poor Tsuna.” She wiped her eyes and reached for a fresh sheet of stationery, and tried to figure out a graceful way of telling Caterina that really, things were fine, and there was no reason for anyone to be concerned about Tsuna’s, ah, vigor.

– end –