Work Text:
"But if I was made to love you
Then how can you bring me pain?
And if I was made to love you
How come we're here again?
And why does it hurt so bad?
If I was made to love you, ooh, ooh?" - Made to Love you by Dan Owen
Prosciutto doesn’t have to turn his head to know that Risotto has just walked into the room. And it’s not that the other man does anything to announce his presence. If anything, Risotto is completely silent as he crosses the threshold.
“Something wrong, capo?”
“I saw a light on in here.”
“I have to work late sometimes.”
“It’s 3am.”
“Would you like me to turn in for the night?”
Prosciutto turns in his chair to face his capo. Risotto’s still hovering near the doorway, which is strange given how he doesn’t seem to have any qualms about invading his team members’ personal space during the daytime.
Prosciutto gives Risotto another moment to reply, but when the latter doesn’t, he goes on.
“But just so you’re aware, we’re already pretty behind on turning in our reports…no thanks to a few rather irresponsible individuals on this team. I’m sure I don’t have to name names.”
Risotto tilts his head slightly to one said and says nothing.
“Did you have something particular you needed to say to me?”
“I saw a light on in here. That’s all.”
“Can I get back to work then? Or would you like me to call it a night?”
“Mmmm.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to tell me what that means.”
Risotto comes a step further into the room and Prosciutto feels a slight chill run up his spine. From time to time it hits him just how imposing his capo is and how fortunate he is to even exist in this man’s shadow. Risotto never fails to leave him in reverential, if unspoken, awe.
“I’m concerned about your performance.”
“My what?”
“If you overwork yourself like this, you won’t perform well.”
Prosciutto’s on his feet, a twinge of fear twisting his gut. “Has my work not been up to your standards?”
“I didn’t say that. I just said…or meant to say, that I’m concerned about you.” The way Risotto is holding himself is suddenly awkward, as if he feels out of place, like he’s grown much too big to fit in the room. Prosciutto notices that he’s sliding his thumb along the side of his index finger in a subtle show of agitation.
“Capo?”
“You should rest.”
“But the reports-”
“I’ll get on Melone and Gelato’s asses about it in the morning.”
“Formaggio’s too.”
Risotto nods. “Formaggio’s too.”
“Well, goodnight then.”
Prosciutto’s crossing the room and he can feel Risotto’s gaze boring into him and it’s making him feel a little warm. He’d like to quicken his step, but Risotto would surely notice and then he’d probably question him about it. Truth be told, it’s extemely rare that he finds himself alone with the capo like this, and it makes him feel uneasy about himself because he suddenly feels like he can’t speak quite as eloquently as he usually does and that he’s bound to say something stupid and that Risotto’s bound to think he’s just like everyone else on the squad after all...and if he were to suddenly think less of him, when what he wants most is for Risotto to believe he’s someone capable and worthwhile and maybe even-
Risotto’s put a hand on his shoulder, halting his progress just at the threshold of the room.
“Is there something else, capo?” He’s struggling to keep his voice steady.
Risotto looks at him and then slowly shakes his head and removes his hand.
“Goodnight, Prosciutto.”
“Goodnight, capo.”
Prosciutto’s hands are shaking. There’s a tingling sensation creeping under his skin where Risotto just touched him and he’s aware that he’s much too warm in his jacket and that his head is aching from having his hair tied back all day.
As he heads out into the hall and starts up the stairs toward his room, he’s taking off his jacket and throwing it over his shoulder and reaching up and pulling the mats out of his hair one by one and shaking his hair free and…
He freezes with one foot on the landing. Risotto’s come out the door of the common room and is watching him.
“Forget something?” Risotto asks in very quiet, almost polite voice.
“Ah, no- I just…it’s nothing.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down.”
“Sorry…it was unprofessional of me to-“
“It looks nice.”
Prosciutto flushes to the tips of his ears.
“Well, goodnight.” Risotto’s turning to go and Prosciutto’s heart has started pounding in his chest. ‘Nice’? It sounds like a compliment, but Risotto is so sparing with his praise that even people who have moved mountains to earn his approval haven’t gotten a lick of recognition…and Risotto has never, EVER made a comment about anyone’s physical appearance…so…
“Capo…”
Maybe it’s because it’s the middle of the night and he really is tired…or maybe it’s because there’s never really been an opportunity like this before…or maybe it’s because he feels a bit bolstered by that single syllable ‘nice’, which is still humming in his ears.
“Mmm?”
“Can I talk to you a minute?”
“I suppose…” He’s reaching for the common room door, as if he’s meaning to hold it open until Prosciutto makes his way back down the stairs.
“No…why don’t you come up to my room for a bit?”
“Your room?”
Prosciutto feels a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach. Risotto’s eyes have narrowed just the slightest bit, but otherwise his expression is completely impassive.
Prosciutto’s mentally backpedaling as fast as he can.
“If you think that my invitation is inappropriate…”
“Not at all. After all, it’s just business, right?” Risotto says rather decidedly and he’s crossing the hall and mounting the stairs behind Prosciutto.
---
“Can I get you a drink or something? Maybe a cigarette?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Right…of course…I knew that.”
Risotto’s perched on the very edge of Prosciutto’s settee and the latter is pacing the room looking for something, anything to serve as an excuse for his asking his capo to his room alone in the dead of night.
‘This is the sort of shit Melone would pull…but I’m not Melone and he’s expecting me to uphold some semblance of decorum and-‘
“Do I have to invite you to sit down in your own room?” Risotto’s raising an eyebrow.
“No…I was just looking for…something important that you needed to see and…and I’m starting to think I left it downstairs and-“
“I think you’ve overworked yourself, Prosciutto. Sit down…please. And you can just tell me about this important thing instead of showing me.”
“I- alright.”
Prosciutto sets himself gently on the edge of the settee a good couple of feet away from his capo.
“Now…uh, you see it had to do with…” But he finds himself trailing off because Risotto’s just slid himself over and closed the physical distance between them.
“I’m listening.”
“Uh…Melone made a mistake with…the…uh…the reports last week and-”
“Melone wasn’t working on the reports last week.” Risotto cuts in abruptly.
“Oh…really? Because I thought...I mean, I could have sworn he…er, that it was...ah, but perhaps I’m mistaken...“
“You don’t make mistakes, Prosciutto.” Risotto’s leaning in, his face much, much too close to Prosciutto’s. “That’s one of the things I admire most about you.”
Prosciutto moves his eyes to look at his capo and blinks a few times, but says nothing.
“Is something wrong? You seem unusually...agitated.”
“Probably just a bit tired is all...and stressed about the reports. We were already late with them last week and the way things are going it’s looking like they’ll be in late again this week. And if I’m being quite honest that sort of thing bothers me quite a lot because in the end it reflects poorly on you rather than on us, even though we’re the ones-”
A lock of hair has fallen across Prosciutto’s eye, and even as he moves to brush it away, he sees his capo’s hand shooting past his own, and the next thing he knows Risotto’s tucking the hair behind his ear for him. But even when this task is complete, his capo’s running his thumb along the lock of hair all the way down to the tip and then Prosciutto can feel his fingers gently brushing the ends of his hair.
Risotto’s got an intent look on his face. It’s the sort of look that suggests sudden, if perhaps impulsive and oblivious, fascination.
The next moment, though, Risotto seems to have become aware of what he’s doing.
“I’ve never seen your hair down before.” It’s almost an excuse, but certainly not an apology.
He’s slowly retracting his hand, but, without thinking, Prosciutto reaches out and catches it.
Risotto raises a questioning eyebrow and Prosciutto feels his hair standing on end.
“I really don’t mind.”
“Mind what?”
“You touching my hair. Or any other part of me for that matter.” Prosciutto’s heart is pounding in his chest as the words tumble out of his mouth, but he steels his gaze despite that fact. Risotto has to know he absolutely means this…he has to know this isn’t just some whim, but something Prosciutto’s turned over in his head again and again...and made up his mind about very definitely…
“Oh? Is that so?”
Risotto’s hand is curling around his own and he’s suddenly aware of how much larger it is than his own. There’s not even a hint of warmth in Risotto’s eyes.
Shit...this was a mistake.
“Forgive me...that was out of line…" He drops his eyes to the floor.
"Yes, it was." Risotto's got a bone-crushing grip on his hand. "But I'm not sure what you expect apologizing will do."
Prosciutto's mouth has gone dry, but he keeps his face as composed as he can.
"Did you really ask me up here to talk about reports?"
"N-no…."
"Look me in they eye when you say that."
Prosciutto looks up. Risotto's eyes are boring into him.
“No...I didn’t ask you up here to talk about reports.”
Risotto’s leaning in so close their noses are almost touching. His expression is scathing.
"Do you really think I didn’t know that?”
Prosciutto’s skin is prickling. Every instinct tells him that he’s in danger, that he needs to extricate himself from this situation as quickly as possible because if he doesn’t….
He swallows hard and there’s a sharp pain in his throat. He suddenly feels dizzy, like all the air has left the room.
Is he going to kill me over this? Is that really something he’d do?
“I-I’m sorry. I was out of bounds…”
“You’re not the sort of man who apologizes, Prosciutto. That’s what I’ve always liked about you. There are never any accidents with you. Everything is clear and intentional. So don’t stop that now just because you think it’s what I want to hear or because you think it’s what you ought to say.”
Risotto’s lips are an inch from his. It’s as if he’s tempting him, pushing him to see if he’ll break.
Prosciutto holds himself back.
A long moment passes. And then…
“Do you really not want me?” The words sound strange coming from Risotto’s mouth. His tone is almost wistful and hearing something that soft and plaintive from someone whose physical presence is usually so imposing...
Prosciutto goes numb from head to toe.
“I…”
“Maybe you sense I’m not exactly a generous man. I’ll ask for a lot in return. Possibly more than you’re able or willing to give.” He’s drawing away and dropping Prosciutto’s hand.
Risotto’s on the point of rising to his feet when Prosciutto reaches out and places a hand on his thigh, effectively arresting his movement.
Risotto cocks his head to one side.
“There something else you wanted?"
"I asked you up here because you drive me out of my fucking mind. And I was foolish enough to think that I might finally be able to...to...well, it doesn’t matter much what I think, now does it? But I’ve said my piece. And since I’ve had to answer questions, so do you.” Prosciutto’s bolstered by a sudden wave of confidence. “Are you here because you actually want to be or because you like screwing with people?”
Risotto doesn’t blink. "I'm here for the same reason you are."
"Which is?"
"Life is short and you're attractive."
"That it?" Prosciutto says with a hollow laugh that makes his chest physically ache.
"That not what you wanted to hear?"
Prosciutto shrugs. "At least you're honest."
Risotto puts his hand over Prosciutto’s. "Your hand is shaking."
They look at each other for a long moment and Prosciutto slowly pulls his hand free of Risotto’s. The latter makes no protest and there’s no change in his expression. Prosciutto is folding both hands respectfully in his lap and willing himself to stop shaking.
"Ah...well…I....well..." He’s stammering.
Risotto sighs and shuts his eyes. But this isn’t exasperation. It’s resignation.
Prosciutto feels his very insides quiver.
"I hope you have a good rest of your night." Risotto is on his feet and is crossing to the door.
"And one more thing, Prosciutto."
"Yes?"
"It's best not to get attached to anyone. It'll just distract you from you work...and over time you'll start getting careless...and that would be unfortunate. Wouldn't you agree?" The look Risotto shoots in his direction tells Prosciutto there's only one answer to this question.
"A-absolutely."
Risotto gives a slow, approving nod. "I'm glad we see eye to eye on this."
"Me too." But the words strike them both as empty and worthless.
"I'll see you in the morning."
"Of course."
"Sleep well." And with that Risotto's out the door and heading down the hall.
Prosciutto sits a long moment, and then reaches into his pocket for his cigarette case. He's got a cigarette between his lips as he rummages now for matches, a lighter, anything. Inexplicably, he doesn't find one, but he knows that there'll be matches at least in the top drawer of the side table next to his bed.
But as his hand closes on the drawer's ornate knob, he pauses. Risotto hates that he smokes. He's always telling him he should quit...that it's bad for his health.
'Is everything I like inherently harmful then?'
He's crushing the unlit cigarette in his fist and tossing it in the bin. He turns on his heel and heads for the door.
He's finishing those damn reports. Tonight. Like hell is Risotto's squad sending in their reports late again.