Chapter Text
April
He absent mindedly watches the passing headlights, briefly illuminating the crooked stone paths before disappearing around the corner. In the early evening, there’s not as much aimless chatter he can hear from the alleyway, rather, it’s quieter, the distant sound of what must be crickets somewhere in the background. Spring nights like this are warm in Naples, having shed the chill of winter, although not quite reaching summer temperatures.
He sips on a glass of ice water, occasionally glancing down to see the ice cubes swirl in the glass.
The door to his left opens slightly, the smell of stale smoke invades the fresh air of the alleyway, and warm light hits the ground. Loud voices, a louder laugh.
Ghiaccio scrunches his nose up, frowning at the unwelcome company.
“Oh! Did I interrupt something?” Melone smiles at him sweetly, joining him outside before he receives a proper response.
“Yes.” Ghiaccio huffs at him.
“Sorry!” and doesn’t make any move to go back inside.
Splendid. He stares, or more, glares into his glass of water, trying to ignore the quiet humming of the man beside him.
“I don’t see you at the base often, you know? Is there a reason?” Melone leans against the wall, his gaze elsewhere. He’d only joined the team a couple months ago, and while he got along wonderfully with Formaggio and Illuso, Ghiaccio had difficulties adjusting to his…eccentric personality.
“Funny. Everytime I’m here, you’re here.”
Melone grins. “You’re not looking for me are you?” he laughs. “I’m joking, before you get upset. Anyways! Why are you out here?”
“It’s stuffy in there.” he scowls. “And you guys are loud.”
“So are you, though.”
“I’m not obnoxious.”
“Really?” Melone laughs. “You could’ve fooled me. Kidding!” he throws his hands up quickly, feigning innocence. “Promise!” Ghiaccio glares silently. “Still though, I can’t imagine it’s fun standing outside. Are you upset about something?
“No. God, you’re nosy.”
The door opens again, and Ghiaccio inwardly groans at yet another unwelcome person.
“Prosciutto!” Melone raises a hand with a smile. “What’s up?”
“There you are.” he opens the door wider, beckoning for the two of them to step inside. “Come on. Risotto has missions.”
“For us?” Melone steps inside without hesitation.
“Of course not dumbass, he just wanted everyone here for fun.” Prosciutto rolls his eyes. “Ghiaccio, you too.”
“I’m coming, don’t waste your breath.” he scowls back, following suit. Ghiaccio takes a seat on the sofa, trying to keep at least a cushion between him and the others. He really was not in the mood to be around other people. Risotto has always had piss poor timing with these stupid meetings in Ghiaccio’s opinion, they always landed on days that Ghiaccio truly would prefer to go unbothered.
“Get off!” Illuso groans, unceremoniously shoving Formaggio off the arm of the small sofa. “Can’t you just sit like a regular person? Or has all that weed fried your brain?”
“You’re one to talk.” Formaggio snickers, promptly taking his seat on the arm of the sofa again, this time purposefully setting his elbow on Illuso’s head.
“Give it a rest for five minutes.” Prosciutto rolls his eyes, joining the rest of them in the living room.
Before a proper retort or insult can be tossed his way, Risotto steps into the room quietly, a handful of files. He hands one to everyone, excluding Melone, Sorbet and Gelato.
Ghiaccio squints at the sparse details inside his file. Very distantly, he hears Risotto’s voice, briefing the others on their files, and he hardly registers it when he hears his own name.
He looks up, fighting the urge to scowl up at his capo.
“Ghiaccio. You’ve been specifically requested for that particular job.”
“ Why ?” he scoffs. “This doesn’t seem like something I’m suited to at all.” Risotto, as expected, doesn’t give him an answer. He sighs instead, closing it. With how Risotto is watching him, he feels a seed of suspicion wiggling its way into his gut. “What else is there?” he squints, openly frowning now.
“Due to the nature of the mission, I’ve decided it’s in your best interest to have a partner on the field for this one,”
“Who?” he crosses his arms. “Everyone else has got their own shit to take care of, and this seems pretty time sensitive.”
“Melone.”
Ghiaccio catches his gaze from across the room, he sees Melone’s idiotic grin, and the way he leans forward at the information.
“ What ? Why!”
“Hear that!” Melone clasps his hands together. “Partners, Ghiaccio! Isn’t that exciting.”
He stares, almost slack jawed. It’s only Wednesday, and the rest of his week, he knows, has already gone to shit.
“How much longer until we’re there?” Melone groans uselessly from the passenger seat, his head tossed against the headrest. He clutches an outdated map in his hands, not that he’d even pretended to try and figure out any directions whatsoever.
Ghiaccio scowls at the open road. This was ridiculous. What should have been a quick two hour trip quickly turned into a small eternity, one that Ghiaccio was starting to feel desperate to end. Melone hadn’t done much else besides complain, hum to the music, and try to entertain himself with one sided conversations.
“Come on, at least try to not be so cold.” he can practically hear it when Melone’s head swivels around to stare at him, a wide grin on his lips. “Get it?” he goads, “Literally?”
“Of course I’m fucking cold. I’ve already explained to you how White Album works, it uses ice, why the hell would I be warm of all things? Have you even stopped to think-”
“I. Am. Joking.” Melone punctuates with a pop of his lips.
“Because all the best jokes need to be explained, right?” he scoffs. “Whatever. Just shut up.”
“You hurt my feelings,” Melone sighs dramatically. “We’re pretty close right?”
“Of course not, dumbass. There’s a whole middle console between us,”
Melone laughs. “To the city?”
“Oh.” Ghiaccio returns to scowling.
He does his best to ignore the ramblings of the idiot next to him, in favor of silently grinding his teeth, and occasionally checking the road signs they pass. Within another twenty minutes, they’re inside the city limits.
“What’s that address again?”
“Which one?” Melone hums, his gaze focused on the city lights.
“The one Gelato gave us, idiot.”
“Oh, oh. Yeah. Here,” Melone absentmindedly holds a slip of paper out to him.
“Read it to me dumbass! I’m driving!”
“Okay!” Melone huffs. “Stop chewing me alive, why don’t you?” He sticks his tongue out.
Another ten, and Ghiaccio is locking the doors to the car, stuffing the keys in his pocket. He parked roughly a block away, so he hoped they wouldn’t have to make a quick escape if things went poorly.
Four targets, one of which is a stand user. Truth be told, he didn’t really have a plan. The information Sorbet had given him proved its use, the four of them were exactly where they’d been predicted to be, conveniently all in one place.
He peers into the unobscured window, squinting against the harsh yellow light inside.
Melone follows his lead, quietly observing the men inside.
“Do you have…a plan?”
“Not yet.” Ghiaccio mutters bitterly.
“Well…I’m pretty sure I told you how my stand works. I…have my doubts about getting DNA samples without raising any suspicion.” Melone hums thoughtfully. “I could distract them?”
“No.” Ghiaccio scoffs. He squints. His best option was maybe freezing their exits? As far as he could tell there were only two doors, but he’d probably have to do a quick sweep to make sure. Maybe he could freeze them in place and go from there? It certainly wasn’t the worst short notice plan. “We’re going to split up. I’m going to walk to the left, you walk right. We’ll make a loop to scope any potential exits.”
“Sure.” Melone holds a thumb up, promptly slipping past Ghiaccio, disappearing around the corner. He sighs to himself. This was ridiculous. A mission like this didn’t need two people. Sure, he might be at a slight disadvantage, but he certainly didn’t need a useless body to look after. The entire thing felt like a punishment.
He sees Melone making his way around the corner, his eyes focused on the wall.
“Only two.”
“Same.” Ghiaccio murmurs thoughtfully.
“So you have an idea of how to approach this? While they’re still inside?”
“Maybe.” Ghiaccio sighs.
“Well I can’t help unless I know what you’re thinking. Mind sharing?”
“I’m just going to freeze them in.” Ghiaccio says. “Freeze their exits, and go from there.”
“Interesting. Won’t the windows pose an issue? If they catch wind of what’s happening I wouldn’t put it past someone to try and escape through a window. What do you think?”
“I highly doubt it.” Ghiaccio rubs his eyes. “I’m going to be discreet anyway, so they most likely won’t notice.”
“Isn’t it better to have all the bases covered though?”
“That’s wasting effort in a hypothetical scenario. I’d prefer to conserve as much energy as possible if I have to take them head on.”
“Well, there’s two pairs of hands here, and I don’t think I’m useless.” Melone hums. “Okay, so forget the windows?”
“Yes.” they’ve circled towards the front of the building again, talking in hushed tones. “Do you see the bush across the street?”
“Yep.”
“Watch their movements, I’m not going to be able to see them when I’m freezing the exits. Simple enough?”
“Sure.” Melone rolls his eyes.
Ghiaccio slips towards the back again, pressing his hands against the old door. It doesn’t take long for thick ice to spread, locking around the handle, firmly securing the door in place. The front door is a little different, there’s significantly more heat radiating from the cracks, and if he wants to be subtle he can’t instantly freeze it in place.
He frowns in concentration, one hand on the door knob.
So when it wiggles slightly at his stiff touch, he freezes.
He glances over his shoulder, where he can see Melone waving his hands frantically. Some convoluted way of getting him to back off?
The weak ice gives way to the door being pulled open, and Ghiaccio stands up quickly.
“Uh…” the guy in front of him smiles. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Ghiaccio takes a deep breath.
This was not how he wanted to approach things. He reaches out, his hands finding the man’s shoulders, which are immediately enveloped in ice. He falls to the ground, stiff and frozen a second later.
Three other pairs of eyes stare at him.
This fucking sucked.
White Album worked fairly quickly under the right circumstances, and he closed the distance between himself and the nearest target, hoping that none of them moved fast enough to avoid the burst of ice blooming across the floor.
Certainly not the cleanest way to go about things, but with two of the three becoming frozen husks at his fingertips, it wasn’t his worst work. Where’d the third gone?
“Ghiaccio,” Melone breathes, his eyebrows furrowed. Ghiaccio spins on his heel, squinting at Melone in the doorway.
“Did the third escape?” He catches a glimpse of metal at Melone’s side. Was…was that a gun of all things?
Melone’s expression goes from confused to panicked within a millisecond, and he raises his hand. Definitely a gun. Ghiaccio flinches, taking a step back, promptly bumping into someone’s chest. Melone fires, and Ghiaccio feels the disgusting sensation of hot blood on his shoulder.
He glances down to confirm that the third and final man was dead, before turning his attention back to Melone.
“Why the fuck do you have a gun?!”
“You don’t?” Melone frowns. “I was told it was okay.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Ghiaccio groans. “Why the fuck would you bring that on a mission?”
“When else would I use it?” Melone squints at him, a hand on his hip.
Reasonably, there wasn’t much of a reason to be upset with Melone. Weapons were alright to use on missions, Ghiaccio had even been told on more than one occasion that having a backup plan that did not include the power of White Album would come in handy. Reasonably, it changed nothing.
Except the fact that they would probably have to go through the effort of either hiding the body or finding the goddamn bullet he’d used.
Because while Ghiaccio’s ice would melt within a few hours time, only leaving cold but whole corpses behind, bullets did not disappear. Potential evidence was horrendously damning.
“Why are you upset?”
“Bullets can be traced, dumbass.”
Melone scoffs. “Do you think I’m actually an idiot? Why the hell would I use traceable bullets on a mission? No , they can’t. At least not these.”
“They can’t?”
“I don’t think we have a lot of time to stand around and talk about the details of ballistic fingerprints and how they aren’t foolproof. Can we go?”
“Fine!” Ghiaccio ushers him out, shutting the door on their way out, leaving the bodies undisturbed on the ground.
They don’t speak again until they’re outside of the city limits, and the streetlights have become fewer and farther between.
“Are you still pissed?”
“Of course! You brought a fucking gun!”
“You don’t know how bullets work, do you?”
“ You do?” Ghiaccio scoffs. “Unlikely.”
“ Yes I do. If I hadn’t shot him you’d have been in a lot more trouble.”
“That’s another thing! You aimed at me! What the fuck was that about?”
“I did not aim at you, I aimed at the guy behind you!”
“Same shit! He was like a couple inches away! What if you missed? Huh? And fucking shot me?”
“I’m not incompetent, why would I use something that I don’t know how to use with complete confidence?” Melone laughs. “But all the same, I guess I should have mentioned the gun.”
“Yes! You should have!”
“But you should also be grateful I had one.”
“No. Absolutely not.” Ghiaccio says sharply.
“Wow.” Melone chuckles humorlessly. “Whatever. You’re going to throw a tantrum over this?” he rolls his eyes.
“What would you have done if I’d just pulled a gun from fucking nowhere? And proceeded to ‘not’ aim it at you?”
“I would have thanked you for being prepared and not overly relying on your stand.”
“Fuck you.”
“You wish.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
Melone sticks his tongue out again, a habit that Ghiaccio is already tired of. He opts to glare at the road in front of them, and ignore Melone’s fidgeting for the rest of the ride.
Reporting back to Risotto had to be put off a couple of days after they’d gotten back to Naples, and by that point the majority of everyone else had finished their respective jobs too. Ghiaccio spared him the useless specifics, of course, watching him occasionally write unreadable words on papers to be later filed.
“Any issues I should know about?” he sighs. After a brief pause, he looks up from the paper, his disturbing eyes flicking between Melone and Ghiaccio.
“Yes, actually.” Ghiaccio crosses his arms, shooting Melone an unhappy look. “This idiot brought a fucking gun, and didn’t mention anything about it.”
“And you know what? It was the strangest thing, it actually came in handy.” Melone rolls his eyes. “Stop complaining about it.”
Another stretch of uncomfortable silence.
“Is that…an issue?”
“Of course it is!” Ghiaccio throws his hands up. “What? You don’t think it is?”
“Thank you, Capo.” Melone raises his chin.
“Shut up, he hasn’t agreed with you.”
Risotto looks between the two of them, his frown deepening. “I…don’t understand the animosity. Ghiaccio, you must understand that these missions are not always predictable, and not always going to go according to plan, regardless of your abilities. That’s just how it is, it’s good to have a backup plan, Melone wasn’t in the wrong here.”
“See!” Melone scoffs, sticking his tongue out at Ghiaccio.
He seethes. “Next time you do that I’m going to rip your tongue out of your goddamn head.”
Melone raises his chin, sticking his tongue out, again.
Risotto sighs. “On the other hand, communication is important, Melone. I wasn’t there so I don’t know the specifics of the situation, but you should have let Ghiaccio know that you had a weapon. Does that cover it?”
“Asshole.” Ghiaccio glares at Melone’s expression.
“I already apologized for the lack of communication.” Melone huffs, standing up.
“This is ridiculous.” he stands up too, glaring at Risotto’s desk.
Another sigh, and they’re both dismissed with less than a nod.
After asking Sorbet, Ghiaccio ended up getting a lengthy lecture on the details of ballistic fingerprints, pros and cons, why they could be useful, why they weren’t reliable all the time, and so forth. Ghiaccio had started zoning out halfway through, he’d just wanted a simple yes or no answer. So Melone wasn’t completely an idiot, but that didn’t excuse the fact that he hadn’t mentioned shit about having a gun.
Nearly two weeks after the successful, but still frustrating mission, Ghiaccio found himself in the company of Formaggio of all people.
“Hey.” Formaggio sits next to him with a smile.
Ghiaccio frowns, clutching his iced coffee a little tighter. “What do you want?”
“Why are you so prickly? I can’t just hang out?”
“You’ve always got some stupid shit to say.”
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” Formaggio laughs. “Okay, but I was gonna ask you to hurry up and figure this shit out with Melone. You’ve been around the base more often, and he complains.”
“Fuck you. Why don’t you just ask me to leave?” Ghiaccio rolls his eyes. “It’s his problem that he’s upset, not mine.”
“Right. So you’re not going to apologize?”
“No.” Ghiaccio scowls.
“Uh-huh.” Formaggio nods, “Right, of course. Okay, well, it’s kinda annoying for everyone else? You know? I don’t really care about whatever feud you two have got going on but like, figure it out?”
“Why are you phrasing it as a question?”
“Think of it as a friendly suggestion!” Formaggio pats his back with a solemn nod. “I’m just saying, it kinda kills the mood.” he leaves Ghiaccio alone at the counter without another word. Ghiaccio scowls into his cup.
“You’re petty.” Gelato steps into the kitchen, his attention directed at the coffee pot.
“Petty?” Ghiaccio scoffs. “It is not my issue he’s upset! Why does everyone care?”
Gelato frowns. “Just bite the bullet and apologize, idiot.”
Ghiaccio fumes at the suggestion, but lets Gelato leave with his two coffee mugs in silence. Bite the fucking bullet. What kind of saying was that supposed to be? It didn’t make any sense, regardless of how he looked at it. Fucking bullets. He refuses to move from his spot at the counter until his cup of coffee is nothing but ice cubes.
Three days later, he returns to the La Squadra base, both unsurprised and unimpressed to find half of the team lounging about.
“Where is he?”
Illuso grins up at him from the sofa. “You’ll have to specify…uh who are you looking for?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
“I gotta agree with Illuso. I dunno who ‘he’ is.” Formaggio doesn’t look away from the television screen.
“Melone, dipshit. Where is he?” Ghiaccio’s grip on the bag tightens.
“Ohhhh.” Illuso nods thoughtfully. “I don’t know.”
“Kitchen.” Formaggio gestures vaguely.
Ghiaccio rolls his eyes. He does find Melone in the kitchen, staring intently at the microwave.
“Hey.” he offers after a long moment of silence. Melone doesn’t look away.
“Have you ever wondered about the inner…mechanisms of a microwave?”
“Um. No.”
“Me neither.” Melone sighs wistfully, looking away. “Do you need to get to the fridge?”
“No.” Ghiaccio frowns. He holds the bag out to Melone expectantly.
“Well I’m not going to put your groceries away.”
“Open the bag idiot.”
Melone rolls his eyes, but takes it nonetheless. “Tiramisu? For yours truly?”
“Duh. I asked. Someone said you like sweet things.” He does not mention that he’d actually overheard it a couple days ago in a conversation that he was decidedly not a part of.
“I do!” Melone smiles. “But personally I’m not overly fond of coffee flavored desserts, in a lot of cases I think the dessert can fail to capture the taste of actual coffee, or, if it does, it ends up losing the sugary taste. But tiramisu isn’t awful, I like the sugar topping-”
“Just take the apology.” he crosses his arms, watching Melone turn the container over in his hands.
“Oh?” Melone stares at the dessert and sets it on the counter with a shrug. “I’m not sure why you’re apologizing, I wasn’t that upset to begin with.”
“Yeah well everyone’s been complaining.” Ghiaccio huffs.
“A mystery.” Melone says elusively. “ I certainly hadn’t mentioned anything or complained. I, of course, am not petty.”
“Whatever, I didn’t ask, okay? Just, next time try to be a little more forthcoming communication wise. If I’d known you had a gun I would have worked it into the plan somehow.”
“Next time?” Melone grins widely. “Ghiaccio!” he throws a lanky arm around his shoulders. “You’re not already planning our next road trip together, are you? How sweet.” he winks.
“Get off me.” Ghiaccio groans, shoving him away. “Just take your fucking tiramisu.”
“I certainly will, thanks amore ,” he smiles.
“Don’t call me that!”
“Hmm…I’ll think of something better then.” Melone laughs. “Thanks Ghiaccio.”
Ghiaccio stares, like an idiot, watching Melone pick at the tiramisu and go back to staring at the coffee pot like a lunatic.
“What a touching apology.” Prosciutto clears his throat. “One of you, move, I’m not trying to dance with idiots in a kitchen.”
“Fuck you.” Ghiaccio huffs, but moves out of the way nonetheless.
“Where would you dance with idiots?” Melone asks, shuffling away so Prosciutto can get to the cupboards.
“I have standards,” he drawls. “But if I had to pick, probably a club.”
“Hear that Ghiaccio? We should drop by a club!”
“No thanks, and trust me, I’m not the least bit interested in dancing with Prosciutto of all people. And clubs are loud.” he crosses his arms.
Prosciutto scoffs at the response. “No, but we could go dancing.” Melone winks.
“Absolutely not.”
“Sounded like a yes to me.” Prosciutto mutters, setting mugs on the counter.
“I think so too.” Melone agrees.
“You’re even dumber than I thought.” he scowls, stepping away from the kitchen.
“Ghiaccio! Come back, we were still talking!” he can hear Melone’s stifled giggles. He stops briefly in the living room to catch a glimpse of what the others were watching, before stepping outside.
It’s still daytime, and the air is thick with the scent of blossoms and pollen. He shoves his hands in his pockets, intent on taking his usual route around Naples. He pushes past bushes full of blooming flowers, shifting with the weight of little bees on their petals. The streets were roving with people, and it would be worse in the summer, filled with tourists for the season.
He sighs to himself, running a hand along an old railing, turning his eyes towards the sky. Not a single cloud hangs in the sky above.
He was not looking forward to summer.
July
If he had to pick, his least favorite thing about summer would be the persistent heat. He much preferred springtime temperatures to the heatwaves ravishing the city of Naples. His favorite thing? There were too many to pick from in his opinion. Clear skies, cold sweets, fruity drinks, the tourists, skimpy clothing, swimming. It was all incredibly, endlessly entertaining to him.
Truly, he couldn’t think of a single reason why someone wouldn’t like summer, aside from the heat, maybe. He’d also never met someone with blatant hatred for the season, that is, until Ghiaccio.
He was starting to suspect there was very little the man actually enjoyed.
The base was full, everyone had dropped by for the day, it had begun to feel more like a hangout rather than a base of operations to Melone, and he supposed he wasn’t the only one to feel that way. Even Ghiaccio was around more frequently, often sitting secluded at the counter or on the little sofa.
“Ghiaccio!” Melone cooed sweetly, draping an arm around his shoulders. “ La mia dolcezza ,” he’d say he got along pretty well with most people, but Ghiaccio required a little more effort, and he was more than willing to spend some of his free time relentlessly teasing him.
“Stop making pet names for me,” he groans, pushing him away. Melone smiles.
“Not until I find one you’re not opposed to. Shall I mark that one off the list?” he pulls himself onto the countertop, tapping Ghiaccio’s arm.
“Please.”
“Will do. What are you doing here?”
“The same thing as literally everyone else.” Ghiaccio huffs, resting his chin on the counter. “It’s hot outside.”
“Yeah?” Melone grins. “It is kinda hot.”
“Please, please spare me your lewd jokes.”
Melone laughs. “Okay, okay, just this once, though.” he turns his attention to the living room, he can see the television from his spot on the counter. Prosciutto was watching news of all things. He shakes his head quietly. No one in the team seemed to mind the changing weather…except for Ghiaccio. He seemed worn down, more exhausted than annoyed. Unusual.
“Are you going to just sit there?”
“Where else would you prefer me to sit?” Melone leans closer, grinning again.
“Not two inches away from my face.”
“Closer, maybe?”
“Further away.”
“ On ?”
“Christ.” Ghiaccio groans, moving away from the counter. “Forget it. Have the countertop.”
“You didn’t say no.” Melone hums thoughtfully. He watches him for a second, silently noting the way his feet drag across the tile. Very unusual. He wondered if there was a particular reason for it. Did Ghiaccio simply dislike the heat? Was it because of his stand? There was a lot Melone didn’t quite grasp about Ghiaccio’s stand, beyond the basics of course.
He hops off the countertop to follow Ghiaccio further into the base.
“Why are you following me?”
“You have a bad habit of leaving mid-conversation.” he offers. “Do you not like summer?”
“Not like it.” Ghiaccio mocks. “It sucks. Everything about it.”
Melone blinks slowly. “That…is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Okay, well, maybe not the dumbest, you say some stupid shit. But! Pretty damn close. Summer is amazing. Is it because of your stand?” he prods curiously.
“I’m not literally made of ice, idiot. The heat sucks, the people suck, sweat sucks, the sun sucks.”
“Really.” Melone hums. “You sound a little silly talking about it like that. There’s so much about summer to enjoy, I don’t get the issue. You seem to have a problem with the heat.”
“And the people.” Ghiaccio mutters.
“Then what’s your favorite season? Oh, let me guess, Winter?” he chuckles to himself.
“ No .” Ghiaccio raises his chin, his eyes closed. “I just like it a bit more than the other seasons.”
“You’re nuts.” Melone smiles.
“No, I’m reasonable. What’s your favorite then? Huh? Summer?”
“Who knows? Maybe it is.” Melone clasps his hands together eagerly. “It is pretty great. The heat is the only drawback, but that’s what beaches, pools, ice cream, iced drinks, and air conditioning are for.”
“Spare me.” Ghiaccio rolls his eyes. “And I sounded silly?”
“I can’t wrap my head around the fact you dislike summer so much.”
“Stop repeating yourself. Christ. What the hell does that even mean? Wrapping your head around something. That’s physically not possible. And idea is nothing more than that, it can’t be wrapped around, and your head can’t wrap around things to begin with, it doesn’t make any damn sense,”
Melone raises his eyebrows silently. He’s not listening to Ghiaccio’s rant about confusing phrases and why they don’t make sense. He watches Ghiaccio’s glasses slip down his nose slightly, his cheeks turning red from long stretches of sentences without breaks, his hands becoming increasingly more animated as he speaks.
It’s something utterly unique to Ghiaccio that Melone doesn’t quite think he understands, but it’s somewhat endearing. Everyone had their quirks, he supposes.
Briefly, he wonders if there’s any way to change this stubborn man’s opinion on possibly the best season life has to offer.
He blinks slowly, and breaks into a grin.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Ghiaccio frowns.
“I just got the most brilliant idea,” he says eagerly.
“What? Leaving me alone?”
“Not even close. Okay, hear me out, you hate fun stuff, like summer,”
“No I don’t.” Ghiaccio frowns.
Melone clears his throat, continuing, “So, allow me, your humble Melone, to get you to like summer before the season ends.” he grabs Ghiaccio’s hand, beaming.
Ghiaccio stares at their hands, before fixing him with a skeptical look. “Right. We don’t have time to be vacationing, we have shit to do. Or did the heat fry your little pea brain?”
“Of course we have time for fun stuff! In between missions. Like…right now.”
“You’re incredibly dumb,” Ghiaccio sighs.
“According to you, and no one else.” he pulls Ghiaccio back towards the living room, curiously peering at the television. Sometime in the past couple minutes, Illuso and Risotto had joined Prosciutto in front of the television, all three frowning at it. “Come on.” he tugs Ghiaccio outside, temporarily leaving the comfort of the air conditioned base.
“This is ridiculous.” Ghiaccio groans, pulling his hand from Melone’s. “Not to mention abrupt, a bit rude, and unplanned.”
“Summer is the epitome of spontaneity.”
“Those are big words for someone like you.”
“I can handle big things,” Melone grins widely.
Ghiaccio rolls his eyes, following a step behind. “What do you even have in mind?”
“Well…today maybe just a brief stroll. Walk along the pier.” Melone hums. “What do you think?”
“This is supposed to be your idea.”
“Then we’re going to do just what I said.” Melone says confidently. “First, we have to get drinks though. What do you want?”
“Iced coffee.”
“That’s…okay. For now. You can get something better later.”
“Better? I’m not interested in all those fruity sugary drinks I’m sure you like.” Ghiaccio scoffs. “I like that café,” he gestures to one coming up along the sidewalk, shaded with their vibrant awning.
“That works.”
An iced coffee and one strawberry smoothie later, Melone and Ghiaccio are back on course, determinedly plowing their way through the roving crowds, weaving between tourists. By the time they reach the steps down to the pier, sweat has begun to bead on Ghiaccio’s forehead.
“This fucking sucks.” he takes a sip of his coffee.
“It doesn’t. Do you want a hat?”
“A hat? No. I’d look stupid.”
“Let’s get matching hats,” Melone winks, beckoning him along. It’s not hard to find wide brimmed hats, although Ghiaccio resolutely refuses to wear anything besides a traditional hat to help shade his face from the sun. Melone settles for the wide brim.
Water beads at his fingertips, slipping along his skin, before sliding down the slick plastic sides and onto the old wood of the pier boards below their feet. He tosses the empty cup away when he finds a trash can, beckoning for Ghiaccio to do the same.
Ghiaccio wipes his wet hands on his pants, eyeing the thinning crowd. There were many other places for tourists to visit, and the pier was a large area, so it wasn’t as crowded as some streets in Naples. Ghiaccio stops at the railing, watching the water shift beneath them, lazy waves rolling into the wooden supports, splitting into a million different directions. Seabirds float with the current, occasionally dipping beneath the cerulean waves to try their luck with the various feeder fish and shellfish beneath the surface. Rocks line the shore, more birds laze about the shoreline, soaking up the sun with quiet chirps of satisfaction.
Melone taps Ghiaccio’s arm, pointing to a bird floating along the wave crests, flapping its wings with the current. It chirps in what Melone can only assume to be frustration. He grins.
“What? It’s a bird.”
“It reminds me of you.”
“You’re stupid. I’m not a bird.”
“Of course not!” Melone laughs. He lets Ghiaccio stand at the hot rail, his hands barely ghosting along the hot metal, watching the mesmerizing waves until he loses interest. “I see a vendor down there.” Melone nudges him.
Ghiaccio squints against the gleam of the sun. “What is it?”
“Ice cream.”
“Ugh, no thanks.”
“What? Why not? I’m sure they have popsicles too, if cream isn’t your thing.” he winks.
Ghiaccio gags, holding a hand up. “Gross. I’m not looking to have melted sugar all over my fingers. Do you have any idea how sticky that stuff is? And it’s such a pain to wash off when it dries.”
“Really.” Melone listens with a sly smile. “I can think of a couple other things that match that description.”
“You are vile.” Ghiaccio screws his nose up at him.
“Come on, we’ll skip it today then. Don’t you want to see the sailboats?”
“Not really.” Ghiaccio rolls his eyes, but is less vocal in his protests as Melone pulls him along. It takes all of twenty five minutes with occasional stops to reach the end of the pier. The sailboats are further from the shoreline, but they’re close enough to see the people working ropes, directing the course of their boats, thin fishlines hanging over the sides, men hoisting silvery fish out of the water.
“Do you like boats?”
“No. I get seasick.”
“You’re kidding.” Melone sighs. “That sucks. Maybe there’s some kind of medicine for seasickness?”
“I dunno. Do you like boats?”
“A bit. They’re okay, but I get tired of the constant wind pretty quickly.”
Melone turns to watch Ghiaccio again, immensely pleased to find him not scowling for once. He keeps it to himself though, pretending to look elsewhere. A new, larger wave pushes the older ones away, it crashes against the wooden supports like the countless before it, a spray of salt water splashing their shoes. Melone can’t help but laugh at Ghiaccio’s mild disgust.
“It’s just water.”
“Salt water. Ew.”
“What is with you? I take it you don’t like beaches either?”
“No. It’s hot. The sand sticks to you and the water fucking burns.”
“Oh my God.” Melone laughs, patting his shoulder. “Ridiculous! You live in Italy! There’s beaches literally everywhere, and you hate them.”
“You don’t have to make fun of me every goddamn chance you get.” he shoots back.
“Right, right.” he snorts. “Okay.”
The ringing of Ghiaccio’s phone interrupts the moment, and he hums, looking down at it. “Says it’s Risotto.” he answers not a moment later, his lips pursed into a thin line. He hangs up a minute later with a shrug. “We need to head back to the base.”
Melone slumps with a groan. “Why?”
“Risotto said that the pay from the past couple jobs has come in, half of it is going to be handed in cash, but the rest is going to be wired to our bank accounts. So, we need to be there if we want our cut. That last part was mostly Illuso.”
“Well, I’m not complaining if it’s about money.” Melone follows him up the pier, and along the same sidewalks they’d taken to get there. “Any thoughts? About the walk? It wasn’t very long.”
“It was way too long, and the weather still fucking sucks. Do you see how much I’m sweating?” he sneers at his sweaty palm, before wiping on his pant leg again. “It’s gross.”
“ Caro , you’re never gross,” Melone coos with a grin. “Maybe a little stinky. But never gross. Promise.”
“Shut the hell up.” Ghiaccio laughs, shoving him away. “I do not stink, you do.”
“You wound me!” Melone draps a hand over his forehead with a groan. “How cold.”
“Stop acting like a princess,” Ghiaccio grins. “It makes you look ridiculous.”
“That’s an improvement! Didn’t you say I always looked ridiculous once upon a time? I’ll take the compliment! Grazie !”
“Christ,” Ghiaccio rolls his eyes, still smiling.
When they reach the alleyway leading into the base entrance, Melone nudges him. “Today was day one. I’ll figure day two out in no time.”
“You’re assuming there’s gonna be day two.”
“I sure am. Come on, let’s get back into the base, it’s hot as balls out here.”
He couldn’t not laugh, but he was certainly doing his best to contain himself somewhat. He really hadn’t thought about it, but seeing Ghiaccio’s red and swollen skin did a good job of reminding him why sunscreen was important.
“This is not funny,” Ghiaccio seethes, shoving a finger into Melone’s chest. “This is awful. My skin fucking burns, all becuase of that stupid walk of yours. This is ridiculous! Look at me!”
“I’m looking, trust me.” Melone laughs, pushing his finger away. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry I forgot about sunscreen. It didn’t occur to me that you might have sensitive skin!”
“Sensitive…sensitive! I am not sensitive! The sun just sucks!”
“You are most certainly sensitive if you burn that easily.” Melone smiles. “Want to go find some lotion? Or aloe vera?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you, asshole.”
Melone shakes his head. “Give me an hour, I’ll go find something.” he holds two thumbs up. Ghiaccio scowls, his red nose scrunching up at the suggestion. He looked even less threatening.
“Screw you.”
“Be right back!” he pats Ghiaccio’s arm with a grin.
“Fuck you,” Ghiaccio recoils away.
The weather has remained pretty consistent throughout the past week, clear skies, hot wind. As much as he would love to meander, he doesn’t want to keep Ghiaccio waiting too long. He’s not sure why Ghiaccio had waited the entirety of three days to come back to the base and tell him he’d gotten sunburnt, but it didn’t necessarily matter.
The market he steps into isn’t that far away from the base, and delightfully cool inside. There aren’t many people milling about the short aisles, but even if there were, he thinks he would have spotted the mountain of a man stooping to look at something a couple aisles away.
“Capo!” Melone grins. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of the base.”
Risotto hums dismissively, turning a bottle in his hand. “Melone, is there something you need?”
“Uh,” he peers at the bottle. Sunscreen. How convenient. “Yes! Actually. Ghiaccio got sunburnt pretty badly, so I’m picking up something for his skin. And maybe preventative sunscreen for the future.” he smiles. “Do you burn pretty easily too then?”
“Um.” Risotto frowns, glancing at Melone. “No.”
“Oh.” he raises a confused eyebrow, turning his attention to the selection in the aisle. Something in a yellow bottle, he picks it up. “Do you think sensitive skin would do okay with SPF thirty?”
“Uh.” he glances at it. “I don’t really know. I think fifty works better?”
“I’m confused, why are you picking up sunscreen if you don’t need it, or know about it?” Melone hums. He places the yellow bottle away, picking up a blue one marked with ‘fifty’ in stark white. He thinks the blue bottle will do fine, plus the color kinda matches Ghiaccio’s hair, so maybe he’d like it.
“Well…”
“Risotto, did you find something?” Melone peers around his capo, pinching his lips shut to keep himself from laughing. Prosciutto’s face is just as sunburnt as Ghiaccio’s was, his cheeks and nose a vibrant red, and the distinct outline of sunglasses around his eyes, his pale skin stark against the red. He frowns at Melone.
“Prosciutto has sensitive skin.” Risotto offers after a second. “Does this work?” he hands the bottle he’d been holding over.
Prosciutto hardly looks it over, putting it into the small basket he’s holding. “Yes, thank you. What are you doing here?” he directs back at Melone, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
“It’s a market, I’m allowed to stop in.” Melone smiles. “Ghiaccio got sunburnt. So I’m picking some stuff up for him.”
“Uh-huh.” Prosciutto clears his throat. “There’s a one hundred SPF somewhere, but I haven’t tried it myself, so I don’t know if it’s any more effective than say, fifty. You’re not picking sunscreen up to help with a sunburn he already has, are you?”
“No,”
“Look into some lotions or something.” Prosciutto waves his hand dismissively. “Good luck with it.”
“Thanks?” Melone chuckles, watching the two of them move away from the aisle. He shakes his head, turning his attention to look for said lotion.
He settles for medicated aloe. His attention is briefly stolen by the freezers, he eyes the selection of frozen sweets and drinks curiously, before heading over to grab some to take back. Maybe Ghiaccio wouldn’t be opposed to a popsicle today.
He finds Ghiaccio hunched over the counter, turning a glass of ice water between his hands, glaring at nothing in particular. Though, he finds it difficult to take Ghiaccio’s stern expression seriously with his swollen features.
“I’m home, il mio miele !” He sets his selection of goods on the counter, a proud smile on his lips.
“I’m not honey. That’s a condiment.”
“Huh. I don’t know if I’d consider it a condiment, that’s weird. Anyways, look, I got you some fancy sunscreen, recommended by none other than Prosciutto himself, and some stuff to help with the sunburn now. Also some snacks!”
Ghiaccio takes the bottle with a frown, flipping it to read ingredients.
“It’s not going to kill you.”
“I’m just reading, dumbass. Some scented stuff can make my skin burn too.”
“You’ve gone your whole life thinking you don’t have sensitive skin, haven’t you?” Melone chuckles. “Well, this stuff is for that kinda stuff, so you shouldn’t have any issues at all.”
“Ugh.” Ghiaccio groans.
“Want a drink? I picked up some soda!”
“What kind?” He’s busy uncapping the bottle, rubbing a generous amount of the gel between his fingers. Melone turns his attention away to push the popsicles into the freezer, and place some sodas in the fridge. When he turns back, Ghiaccio has begun the process of gingerly smearing the gel across his face and arms.
“Strawberry, lemon, cola, grape, and my personal favorite, passion fruit.”
“Cola works, I guess.” Ghiaccio mutters, wiping his fingers on his shirt. He takes the bottle quietly. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” Melone hums. “You’re not busy today are you?”
“No. But I’m also not looking to be bothered all day either.”
“Perfect, I’m not bothersome in the least. Wanna watch something? For once Formaggio and Illuso aren’t hogging the television.” he nudges him. “Come on.”
“How are you so damn dense?” Ghiaccio groans, but lets himself be pulled towards the sofa, he falls onto the sofa next to Ghiaccio, his fingers slightly sticky with drying gel. Melone flips through half a dozen channels before a soap opera catches his eye.
“Is there nothing else on?” Ghiaccio huffs, leaning into the cushions, sipping his drink slowly.
“I’m not going to check. Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
Ghiaccio rolls his eyes, pulling his feet onto the sofa quietly.
The soap opera in question, in fact, is that bad. Regardless, Melone can’t help but appreciate the dramatic, horrible acting, the dramatics, the horrible dialogue. Ghiaccio grumbles in displeasure everytime a phrase or slang is thrown around, but otherwise watches the screen with squinted eyes. Halfway through the third episode, he glances at Ghiaccio with a grin.
“Looks like we’re lucky, it’s a marathon.”
“Of shitty reruns?” he scoffs.
“You haven’t complained much. What would you prefer to watch?” He pokes Ghiaccio’s knee.
Ghiaccio stares at him, before forcing his lips into a frown. He looks silly, what with the fake frown coupled with his red skin. Melone smiles. “This is fine, I guess. I doubt anything else is on anyway.” he huffs.
“Right.” he hums, turning his attention back to the screen.
They’re joined by Formaggio a couple hours later, loudly announcing his arrival by falling across Melone’s lap. Illuso is not far behind, but is less obnoxious about it, he only makes snarky remarks about the shitty show. The base has become dark, he admittedly doesn’t notice until the door opens again, squeaking with the arrival of someone else, and the lights in the entrance hallway flick on, followed by unhappy grumbles.
“What is it? Movie night?” he glances over his shoulder, waving a hand at Prosciutto. Risotto follows a step behind, his arms full of bags.
“Grocery shopping?” Formaggio grins, eyeing the bags. “What’d you get?”
“Actual food, not the junk you idiots keep buying.” Prosciutto scowls back. “Go back to watching whatever it is that you’re watching.”
“Did Sorbet and Gelato leave?” Risotto asks, although Melone doubts it directed towards anyone in particular.
“I haven’t seen the lovebirds all day.” Illuso shrugs. “I don’t blame them.”
“I haven’t either.” Melone offers.
Ghiaccio sighs beside him. “Some people are trying to watch the show.”
“You would,” Illuso snickers, crossing his arms.
“Shut it.” Formaggio jabs a finger in his direction. “I’m watching too.”
When the episode ends, Melone stretches, glancing at the time. It’s past ten, and it didn’t seem like anyone else had any intention of leaving the base tonight. He nudges Ghiaccio.
“What?”
“I can’t really convince you summer is great if we’re inside all day.”
“I’m tired, I don’t want to go prancing through the city after dark.” Ghiaccio huffs at him, crossing his arms stubbornly. “Plus, we just watched the season finale. You don’t want to start the new season?”
“I’ve got better things in mind. Come on, I’m not gonna drag you around Naples, promise.” Melone tugs him off the sofa.
The base of La Squadra is squared away, further from the center of the city, and further away from busy pedestrian streets. All the same, commotion can still be heard all around the base. It’s a squat building, not very high, and it certainly doesn’t have the best views, but on several occasions, Melone has found that he doesn’t have to justify sitting on the roof of their base with poor views. It was nice, listening to the ambient city noises, and staring at dying streetlights.
He stops briefly at the freezer, before leading Ghiaccio towards the crooked window that has the best access to the roof.
“This is stupid.” Ghiaccio sighs, settling next to him on the roof tiles. “And dangerous.”
“You think you’re so clumsy that you’re gonna fall? It’s not even that high up.” Melone grins. “It’s not that bad, be honest. Look,” he gestures up at the sky. The stars aren’t all that visible, of course, but the moon is bright, and not shy this evening.
“I can look at the sky anytime, dumbass.”
“But, this is a summer sky! It’s different.” he huffs. “Want a popsicle?”
“No.” he mutters, but takes the one he’s offered anyway. Melone peels his open, turning his attention towards the street below. “Plus, you can watch the weirdos that go walking around at night.”
“Watching them makes you sound like a creep.”
“I am not a creep!” Melone gasps. “Anyway, you liked the show after all?”
“No. It was awful.”
“But?”
Ghiaccio frowns at him. “Don’t push your luck, Melone. I was just going to say that it was interesting enough to keep watching. Even though it was horrible.”
Melone beams. “Glad you liked it zucchero ,”
“You’ve got to stop with the names, you suck at them.”
“I’ll find one.” he laughs. They fall into a lapse of silence, listening to the choir of crickets, only occasionally broken by the sound of tires against the street below, or soft wandering conversation. It still feels distinctly summer, at least Melone thinks so. The way the air hugs his skin, the humidity making his hair stick to the back of his neck.
When he looks back over at Ghiaccio, he’s furiously wiping his fingers on his pant legs, again, the remnants of rouge juice on his fingers.
He catches Melone’s eye, and sighs. “They melt too quickly in this heat.” he mutters.
“Come on,” Melone giggles. “You’re that slow?”
“Shut up.” Ghiaccio groans tossing the bare popsicle stick at him. “How do you not make a mess?”
“Practice?” Melone offers after a moment of faux consideration.
Ghiaccio rolls his eyes, leaning back on his hands. “Do you come up here often?”
“Not really. It’s just nice sometimes.” Melone hums. “Isn’t it?”
“I guess. The view sucks.”
He laughs, nodding. “It’s not the best, but a good view doesn’t make everything nice. I bet being on top of a cathedral would be a nice view, but I’d hate it.”
“I guess.” Ghiaccio concedes slowly.
“Do you have a secret hideaway?” Melone lowers his voice playfully.
“Ah,” Ghiaccio clears his throat after a second. “Something like that.”
“Really?” Melone raises his eyebrows.
“It’s nothing. Just a veranda. It's part of a house…well more like a country house than anything, I just like the veranda.”
“Where is it?”
“Like I’d tell you.” Ghiaccio huffs. “I go there to be alone.”
“I’ll add it to my list of growing things to get you to change your mind on, then.” Melone hums thoughtfully.
“List?”
“It’s getting pretty long,” Melone sighs, shaking his head.
“You’re a freak.”
“I’ve been told it’s one of my many attractive qualities.” he offers with a grin. Ghiaccio snorts, shaking his head. “Wanna go back inside? It’s late.”
“Maybe in a second.”
It’d taken a lot of convincing. Well, if he was being honest with himself, it was a lot more like begging, and nagging, but it’d paid off, and God was it worth it.
He’d caught wind from floating conversations of a live performance by the pier two weeks ago, and he’d spent every second of those two weeks begging Ghiaccio to come with him. Formaggio and Illuso needed very little incentive, both looking forward to the noise and high energy of the evening.
They were right about the energy, neon lights dance across the stone beneath his feet, a variety of music sends vibrations through the ground. The crowd was dense, but mostly focused towards the pavilion where musicians perform. Late night vendors had decided to line the venue, offering cheap drinks, finger foods and snacks for the energetic audience.
“If I go, will you stop spending every day following me?” Ghiaccio had huffed at him, his lips pulled into a frown. His sunburn hadn’t lasted long, and his frowns and scowls looked much more regular.
“Cross my heart.” Melone grinned.
“Fine. Whatever. When is it?”
Melone had laughed at that, he guessed he hadn’t mentioned a date, had he? “Tonight,” he offered.
“Tonight? Absolutely not!”
“No take backs!” Melone had declared, crossing his arms. “It starts at seven thirty.”
It was not like clubbing, and it wasn’t anything like the atmosphere of a bar, although Melone had a hard time trying to convince Ghiaccio of that.
“It’s loud.” he’d muttered when they’d first arrived, eyeing the shuffling crowd skeptically.
“Just like it’s supposed to be!”
No one is immune to the charm of music, and although it takes a while, Ghiaccio proves himself to be no different.
It’s certainly a strange sight, seeing him with a smile on his face for longer than a second. The lights flash again, and Ghiaccio squints against them, catching Melone’s eye.
So he was learning a couple things, one, Ghiaccio couldn’t dance, no matter how much he may be convinced that he could. Two, Ghiaccio liked music, although what kind of music was still up for debate.
He holds his hands out to Ghiaccio, he takes them after a second.
“Enjoying it?” Melone grins.
“Don’t feel so proud of yourself.”
He laughs, raising one hand up, offering to spin Ghiaccio. He accepts, spinning flawlessly on the rough stone.
The music begins to die down not long after, some guest speaker announcing the closing of the show. Only two more numbers.
“Want a drink?” Melone offers, gesturing to the vendors.
“Just cola works.” Ghiaccio nods, his attention flicking back to the pavilion. Melone laughs, slipping through the crowd.
It takes some searching, but he finds an iced cola for Ghiaccio, and then goes on a hunt for himself. It feels like forever before he gets his hands on a strawberry martini, but it couldn’t have been much longer than ten minutes. He joins Ghiaccio back in the crowd, the last notes of the final numbers beginning to die.
“Thanks.” Ghiaccio’s face is shiny with sweat, his cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Melone holds his glass up with a wink.
“No problem, sugar plum.”
Ghiaccio rolls his eyes.
“Well the show is over.”
“Yeah.” Melone nods. The martini is delightful, just the right amount of sweet on his tongue. “Wanna walk down the pier?”
“The pier closes at ten.”
“Ghiaccio, my dearest,” Melone sighs dramatically, raising his glass again, “We are hitmen for hire, you think a flimsy curfew and chain are going to keep us out?”
“I’m beginning to think you’re a horrible influence,” Ghiaccio laughs. “Okay, I guess, let’s go.”
“I’m rubbing off on you.” Melone grins, leading the way.
When they reach the pier entrance, they’re barred by a gate and a chain around the bars. He frowns at his rolling his drink in his mouth curiously.
“Well?” he glances at Ghiaccio.
“Listen,” Ghiaccio glances over his shoulder. “If I do this, you swear not to tell anyone?”
“No promises.”
He presses his fingertips to the chain, ice spreading over the links in seconds. He pulls the brittle metal tightly, and it snaps, giving way. The gates shift, and they push their way through. Melone keeps the illusion of a closed gate by pushing them back to the way they were, but a strong breeze would have little difficulty shifting them.
The sound of waves rolling over themselves, and crashing into sharp angles is a stark contrast to the lively music they’d been entertained with the past couple hours. The lights behind them have begun to die down, leaving only the warm orange glow of street lamps. The lamps along the pier are fewer and farther between, leaving small swaths of unilluminated darkness between them. He sips on his martini slowly.
Ghiaccio stops when the chattering of conversations can hardly be heard, coming to rest in the darkness between the lights. He peers into the black water below them, squinting as if he could see the crests of individual waves.
“It’s nice out.” he rests his hands on the railing, his eyes focused elsewhere.
Melone grins. “It is. Not humid, not hot.”
The breeze brushing against the sea water brings with it an invisible chill. His glass is wet, large beads of water gathering around his fingertips, but falling without much resistance at the soft breeze.
“Aren’t you glad you ended up coming along?”
“Yeah,” he breathes softly. “It was nice. I can’t remember the last time I went out like that.”
“If ever?”
“If ever,” he concedes with a smile. “Stop patronizing me.”
“I would never, mon chéri!”
“That’s french,” Ghiaccio scoffs. “Are you running out of things to call me? ‘My dear’ doesn’t count just because it’s in a different language.”
“You’re keeping track?”
“Of course not. What are you drinking?”
“Martini. Wanna try?”
Ghiaccio’s fingers brush along his as he takes the glass, colder than the ice inside the drink. He sniffs it curiously. “It smells awful.”
“Try it,” Melone urges, nudging him. “You might like it.”
“I don’t need a pep talk,” Ghiaccio scoffs, taking a sip. He shakes his head immediately, handing it back. “Gross.”
“It’s not that bad,” he takes a sip, sighing contentedly afterwards.
“Thank you. For bugging me to come out tonight.”
“Not a problem.” Melone hums. “I’ll probably keep doing it, until you’re convinced that summer does not suck.”
Ghiaccio laughs, pushing Melone softly. Melone is surprised by the way he drags his fingers down Melone’s arm, almost lingering. “I forgot that was your goal.”
“Really?” Melone tilts his head, watching him. He could really get used to this side of Ghiaccio, the one that’s not overly prickly. And he could get used to that laugh of his. Not that he found any other part of him unattractive.
“It’s almost August. I don’t suppose you have any more spontaneous plans to change my mind?”
“That’s the point of them being spontaneous.”
“You’re right.” Ghiaccio nods. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary, though. The…the convincing part. You can keep inviting me out if you want.”
“Why’s that?”
“Maybe I’ve already changed my mind.”
“Oh?” Melone leans closer, grinning. “Go on.”
Ghiaccio smiles. “It’s not all awful…there are some nicer parts.”
“Continue?”
“Stop pushing your luck.”
“I’ve a bad habit of it. Can you blame me?”
“Yes.”
Melone chuckles again. The sea breeze chill doesn’t quite reach him, and he’d like to think the same is true for Ghiaccio, even if he does feel perpetually cold. He stares, silently drinking in the little details of Ghiaccio’s face, more specifically his smile. He knows how to be subtle, at least, he thinks he does most of the time, but he wants his intent to be crystal clear tonight, he keeps his gaze on Ghiaccio’s lips. He feels Ghiaccio’s breath on his lips, mingling with his own.
“You smell like martini.” Ghiaccio murmurs.
“All the more inviting, right?”
The moment is short lived, broken by wavering beams of lights flashing along the pier. “Hey! The pier is closed! You two get home!” Some stout police officer, waving his light angrily at them.
Melone sighs, only mildly frustrated. “Seems we’ve been found out.” he grins.
“Yeah.”
He sighs to himself again, quieter as they walk past the bumbling officer, towards the gates. He’s sure there will be other opportunities to come, but he can’t help but feel disappointed at the lost one.
“Heading back to base?” Melone yawns, finishing the last of his drink.
“Probably not.” Ghiaccio takes his glasses off, wiping the lenses with the tail of his shirt. “You?’
“Definitely. I’m exhausted,” he groans.
“Me too.”
“Well, I’ll see you then. I think I heard Prosciutto and Risotto talking about another one of those meetings? Must have a handful of jobs coming up.”
“We’ll know before long.” Ghiaccio glances at the sky. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, il mio tesoro.”