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It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.
Bruises and cuts lingered on his body, patches of pale skin and clothing covered in dirt as his hair was messy and uncared for. His right wrist hurt, trying hard to dull the pain by holding and clenching it with his other hand behind his back, his head tilted downwards submissively as he waited for the other person in the room to speak up. It was easy to hide any form of emotion or pain, having become numb and emotionless to drastic and harsh circumstances that were built over the course of his life. His vision was fixated on the ground, out of focus until the other would require his attention, his blue eye becoming glazed with the memory of events that had happened after the mission was handed out to him.
It was supposed to be a simple task; a flick of a wrist and a snap with his fingers, an abomination being born out of his own desperation and necessary requirements to fulfill his job. For what proved to be a complicated operation for others within the organization, was nothing but a mere stepping stone over the river bed for him. The file containing the vital information was handed out to him specifically, shaped and formed to his own requirements that proved to be a hard task for others. Possible matches and female victims were already calculated and matched in his mind as he had looked over the file upon receiving it. He would blankly stare at the result of creating a monster that has fertilized a woman, the memory and scene embedded into his mind like a motion picture that was repeated over and over. A mere child was bred like cattle to become the perfect being, only to be thrown out after its usage.
At this point he would have appreciated any form of noise or voice, the tension crippling and crawling at his back with a feeling that was too familiar for his own liking, imprinted into his core and whispering cold facts into his ears. Tough he bit his tongue, keeping himself silent to hinder any string of words that would dare to leave his mouth. New members should be like loyal dogs and obedient pets, accepting life threatening tasks without a word of objection. They were like lab rats locked in a cage, only then used to breed like bunnies in heat. The taste of metal was still apparent in his mouth, furrowing his brows at the bitter flavor that lingered like a curse, gritting his teeth to stop himself from looking up.
The mission had gone worse than expected.
The file that contained valuable information was being scanned over, blue eyes reading the words that were typed and printed down onto paper out of pure ecstasy and adrenalin. His superior had perfect blue eyes that would reflect the light and look down at his peers with disgust, the blonde hair neatly tied into multiple buns on the back of their head. Their suit was tailored to their liking, their aura giving a sense of pride and fear. He didn’t dare to look up at the other, not wanting to see of what could have been, had it not been for one small detail that haunted and followed him for the rest of his life. The light pressure of the bandage over his right eye ensured that, reminding him every second of what could have been, but never will be.
The mission was a test of his abilities, gathering information without leaving a trace of his own self behind. But he had been tracked down, forced into a fight that resulted in heavy wounds and choked breaths. He had known the consequences that would follow from sloppy work and carelessness, his own body weak and fragile under the presence of another person. Perhaps he should have been more vary, more cautious, but he had already felt a similar pain before. No matter how hard he tried, it was never enough. He was used to it anyway.
The sudden sound of paper hitting the mahogany desk shook him out of his thoughts, quickly snapping to attention at the sudden shift of fabric as his executive stood up to walk around the table. The sound of their clacking shoes echoed off the walls, a ticking time bomb ready to go off and strike like a venomous snake. As they stopped in front of him, he took notice of the hand lifting from the corner of his eye.
Of course, he knew what would come next.
It was a repeated stage, a never-ending carousel of pain as he was ready to feel the strike of a palm hit his cheek with vigor and force. He could already imagine the tingling feeling lingering on his skin, turning red and warm at the impact that has been left there since he was a child. It was useless to fight against it, lowering his head further into submission and defeat as he closed his eye. From muscle memory he clenched his jaw shut, not wanting to accidentally bite the inside of his cheek on instinct from the impact and further taste the metal on his tongue. He let out a breath and held it, having come to dislike the feeling of losing his rhythm from such actions. The clicking was still echoing in his mind, ready to strike and go off. When had he become so used to this feeling?
When had he become such a coward?
“You did well, Melone.”
… What?
Instead of a hard slap, a gentle and soft touch was on top of his head. His shoulders flinched on instinct, his mind cursing at himself for such a pathetic behavior. His body reactively had expected a sudden pain, which would simply have added yet another slap he would have to endure. Slowly opening his eye and blinking from the shock, he glanced up at his superior, confusement and bewilderment washing over his face. The pressure on top of his head was soft, a light touch that left a warm imprint and a lingering effect. It was a foreign feeling, unusual and uncomfortable. Yet it was so welcoming, his heart for the first time doing a light flutter at the small gesture. Was he getting sick?
“Ex… excuse me? May I ask what you are doing, Prosciutto?” Melone asked, easily reading the body language of his superior afterwards. The raise of an eyebrow showed confusion and wonder, whilst the tense shoulders showed a form of reluctance. Prosciutto removed and lowered his hand, dropping it back to his side and let it rest on his hip. Melone’s own dark blue eye followed the movement of the hand, the lingering touch between the strands of his blond hair tingling his skin, feeling a sudden need to seek out the same feeling.
“What do you mean? You did a good job, despite the difficulties of the mission. I simply patted your head. No need to fawn over it.” Prosciutto responded with a high held tone, showing his sustainability without a quiver in his voice. His stance was careful and calculated, years of hardship and experience put into the hands of a perfect human being. A small huff would leave his mouth, leaving Melone to look up and study his facial expressions once more, his own thoughts running a million thoughts a second.
The warmth still lingered softly, yet had the impact of a sunray’s warmth. His own fingers twitched as they desperately wanted to reach out and feel the touch again; to seek out the one source of warmth within the darkness of his heart. Yet looking at the reflection of himself in the other’s blue eyes deceived him, watching as his own desperate and lost soul searched for something that he would never be able to obtain and feel again. The cold chains around his heart rattled like a hollow chamber, the dark and empty carousel he had been on since childhood calling out ominously to him from the void.
The carousel always looked so warm when others were riding it.
“Melone?”
Why did it have to be him? He was staring at an empty promise and a reflection of another version of himself. Those deep blue eyes of Prosciutto were imprinted into his vision, the phantom pain under his right eye aching and throbbing like the arrow that was once stabbed through his heart. Voices of mockery and disappointment were ringing in his ears, the tips of his fingers curling and burning, aching for a touch or any source of stability. He could see the frowns behind the eyepatch, disapproving and glaring at him from another dimension. He-
“Melone-“
Melone striked like a snake’s bite and grabbed Prosciutto’s wrist as he lifted his hand to reach out for the smaller blonde, shock and tenseness leaving the muscles in his body stiff. He quietly stared at the hand that had left an imprint on his heart, wondering if the same warmth would still be there and be able to come return. Prosciutto stayed silent as he stared with wide – yet curious – eyes at Melone, wondering what the young recruit was thinking.
Slowly, Melone brought the hand to his own cheek, flinching at first at the subtle touch of Prosciutto’s fingertips against his skin. Though with passing seconds, he leaned into the palm, ignoring the aching pain in his wrist as he firmly held onto the hand. A heavy sigh left Melone’s lungs, an unfamiliar warmth spreading on his cheek, his heart beating heavily in response. It was different from the pain he had to deal with throughout his childhood.
For the first time, the carousel came to life.
Melone nuzzled into the hand, his own hands desperately clinging onto Prosciutto’s wrist to lock it into place, afraid that if he even loosened his hold for one second, the warmth would disappear and be forever out of his reach. Melone became a child, eyes closing into contentedness as he hungered for the touch. Prosciutto had not expected this to happen; yet saw the desperate attempts Melone was trying to pull, starving for any form of skin ship and human contact that wasn’t forced.
Because before Prosciutto was only a touch starved human, searching for a form of contact in an abandoned world they were left to rot in. Prosciutto frowned, gently caressing Melone’s cheek, taking note of how the other would lean into the touch, emotions spilling over. The river bed was overflowing from the rain, spilling over and drenching the landscape with cold tears.
Before Prosciutto could speak up, Melone snapped back into reality, eye wide open and staring back at Prosciutto with a constricted pupil, realizing what he had done. He could hear a gasp emit from Melone, the man quickly pulling away from his hold and taking a step back. Melone looked like he had burnt himself, been bitten and poisoned by the devil’s whisper. Prosciutto opened his mouth to call him out, only for the other to shake his head in denial. He quickly turned on his heel and walked out the office, leaving Prosciutto alone in the empty room.
Prosciutto frowned and looked down at his hand, the tingling warmth lingering Like a butterfly’s kiss. His fingertips were wet, drenched from the river bed’s water.
Melone had slipped on the stepping stone and fallen.