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Unlocking the front door should’ve been such a mundane and simple endeavor, but through a blur of tears and with your hands shaking so uncontrollably, it felt like an absolute chore. Your chest shook as you let out a soft “f-fuck” of frustration, trying desperately to not wake up the others in your attempt to enter the La Squadra house. By some miracle (maybe intervention from the gods who pitied you), you managed to open the door and stepped inside, locking it behind you before sluggishly removing your shoes and tucking them next to the others, which were always kept in a neat line - or else Proscuitto would raise hell over the lack of organization.
The house was dark, but someone was kind enough to leave the lights on in the kitchen for you, illuminating your path to the wine cabinet where Melone procured a good selection of drinks. With extra care, you opened up one of the cabinets to retrieve a wine glass, being as delicate as possible in your tear-soaked stupor in an attempt to avoid waking your housemates. You had done most of your uncontrollable wailing in the car ride over, so now you were reduced to gentle sobs and soft whimpers, but you didn’t doubt that if your mind happened to betray you with demonizing thoughts about the night’s previous events, your hysterics would come back at full force and wake everyone up.
The glasses clinked together as you made your selection and attempted to uncork the bottle of wine with a bit too much effort, your arms feeling as though they were weightless.
“Can you please,” began a voice, violently startling you out of your melancholic pity party and erupting a broken gasp from your reddened lips. Your attention was brought to the living room visible from the kitchen, where the glow of a laptop illuminated Ghiaccio’s annoyed scowl from his place lounging on the armchair in the corner. “Shut the fuck up.”
“So -” You heaved a breath, wiping your eyes to remove the tears blurring your vision. “Sorry.”
Ghiaccio rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his laptop screen in an attempt to dismiss your presence. How very polite of him. Despite your displeasure with Ghiaccio’s inconsiderate reaction to your entrance, you made an effort to be more quiet, in no mood to hear his rambling, especially at this time of night with the instability of your mood. All you wanted was a glass of wine and some cheese before you went to bed and cried some more, and you hated the feeling of Ghiaccio’s eyes burning into the back of your head, clearly scrutinizing you from the living room.
The more you struggled to get the bottle to uncork, the more frantic and distressed your breathing became, causing you to feel light headed and give up, curling over the countertop with quiet, yet harsh sobs. Your chest shook hard as you caught your breath, then sobbed some more, folding your arms over the counter and burying your tear-soaked face into the crook of your elbow.
“G -” You sobbed out, before taking in a shuddered breath to collect yourself and straightened up to look at him, eyes glistening in the dim kitchen light with unshed tears. “Ghiaccio?”
“What.” Came his flat response, not looking up from whatever he was working on, which you were grateful for, because if he had fixed you with the same withering glare he was using on his laptop screen, you would probably cry more.
“Can you -” You sniffed, wiping your face to clear more tears. “Can you he - help me?”
“With what?” he snapped.
“Um, I - I want some wine,” You explained, voice stuffy and whiny. “But I can’t - I can’t get it open.”
At first, Ghiaccio didn’t reply, which made fresh tears fill up your eyes the more you deflated shamefully. Then, with a very dramatic sigh, Ghiaccio stood up, the glow from his laptop glinting against the lenses of his glasses as he set it on the coffee table and walked into the kitchen, bringing his own empty wine glass with him. He might as well refill while he humored you.
Relief washed over you and you offered a watery smile as thanks, but he either didn’t see it or ignored you, instead electing to swiftly uncork the wine bottle with a crisp pop. With a stony expression, he poured his own glass but didn’t fill up your own, instead setting the bottle next to you. Oh, okay. That’s fine, you did ask him to open it for you, you couldn’t complain. You muttered a quiet “thank you” and sniffled, grabbing the bottle by the neck with shaking hands. The action of pouring wine into a glass used to be so practiced, so simple and mundane that you were cursing yourself for being so ridiculous in that moment, but suddenly your arms felt weak and the bottle felt too heavy, the rim hitting the edge of your wine glass with a cringeworthy clink. A jet of wine sloshed out, most of it landing in the glass, but some dripped onto the countertop messily, and you decided to give up the endeavor before you made an even bigger mess, setting the bottle down a little too roughly as you sobbed in defeat.
“I - I -” You stammered, as if just realizing that Ghiaccio was still standing there, watching you like you were a circus act. “I can’t -”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ghiaccio sighed in annoyance, snatching up the bottle and filling up your glass. “What the hell has you so worked up?”
You were so grateful he was there to keep you from blundering around the kitchen, but before you told him your tale of woe you needed a strong drink of that wine. Taking a generous gulp, relief washed over you and you relaxed a little, managing a calming breath before going into detail about why you were so distressed.
“I had -” You started, swallowing the saliva in your mouth before continuing. “I had a b - boyfriend, outside of Passione. He - He, um, he took me out tonight, but it was - it was just to bre -”
You were interrupted by a strangled whine, which evolved into a sob, fresh tears racing down your flushed cheeks, but you inhaled deeply to calm yourself and stopped them on their journey down your face. “It was all just to break up with me. Really, r - really publicly, too.”
“Hmph,” Ghiaccio grunted, sipping his wine. “Well, it’s over now. He can fuck off and you can start over. No reason to cry over it.”
“It still hurts…” You defended, and you wished that someone else had been up to comfort you. Still, if this is the best you would get, you’d take it, you just really needed someone to talk to. “I’ve never m… Met someone like him before.”
“Then meet someone different,” the bluenette scowled, dismissing your melancholy with what could be considered a lack of empathy, but in reality this was how Ghiaccio consoled you. It sounded harsh, but he was being sincere, and telling it to you straight that you needed to move on, that crying over someone that doesn’t deserve your tears isn’t worth it. He opened up the fridge and rifled around until he produced a block of gouda cheese, which he placed on top of a cutting board he pulled from one of the lower cabinets, beginning to cut off two slices. “What’s that dumbass saying again? There’s plenty of fish in the sea?”
You were a bit taken aback, but you could see through his callousness easily. Only he would use an idiom he hated when he was being earnest. You wiped your eyes on the back of your hand again, which was now gritty with smeared mascara and salty tears. “You - You’re right…”
“So stop fucking crying,” Ghiaccio snapped with finality, handing you one of the cheese slices. “And eat this fucking cheese.”
A smile appeared on your face and a soft laugh bubbled out of your throat, taking the offered cheese. “Okay.”
The nutty flavor of the cheese complimented the tang of the wine flawlessly, and it brought a soft, delighted sigh from your chest as your previous sorrow was put to rest. All that was left was a numb feeling, an emptiness, but with room for something new. It honestly made you feel much better, and you felt like a great weight had been lifted off your shoulders.
“And I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but -” Ghiaccio’s voice was muffled around a mouthful of gouda as he shoved the cheese block back inside, but you heard him clearly as he addressed you. “Every single damn guy in La Squadra has been losing his mind over you. Not that I give a shit about what goes on in here, I’m just saying that you have options. Just because one asshole dumped you doesn’t mean there’s not dozens more lining up.”
Your eyes widened a fraction at the revelation, and suddenly, all those times the guys treated you with a little more respect than they normally would each other came to light. That explains a lot… Still, you couldn’t help but give Ghiaccio a sideways look, eyes suspiciously narrowed. “... Even you?”
Ghiaccio almost choked on the gouda as he sputtered in response. “Wh - What?!” He spat, looking up at you with wild ferocity. “No. I have other things to worry about than some annoying woman.”
If you were a fresh-faced recruit and you had only just met Ghiaccio, you would’ve been immediately discouraged by his response, maybe even a little angry and offended, but you’d known him long enough that he never really meant what he said. He blinked an awful lot and refused to meet your gaze when he lied, and his face was flushed in embarrassment, all of this severely contradicting his claims in your eyes.
A lazy smirk pulled at your lips, and you sipped your wine to hide it, knowing that if he saw he would probably admonish you. “Thanks.”
Ghiaccio scoffed at you. “For what?”
“Being up with me… Listening to me,” You spoke softly, your smile kind and thankful as you met his gaze with sincerity. “Really, thank you.”
It was as thought the ice meister had frozen himself with his own power, his eyes just barely visible over the rim of his glasses, which reflected the kitchen light. He considered you for a moment, probably not expecting you to be so unguarded and vulnerable like that, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t make his cold heart melt just a little bit.
He snapped his eyes away, and took a generous gulp of his wine to hide the blush on his cheeks. “W - Whatever. Just don’t fucking think that I’m going soft, got it?”
“Okay, okay,” you chuckled, although your response didn’t sound very reassuring to him, finishing your wine with one last swig.
“Now go to bed,” Ghiaccio ordered, his brows flat and his eyes glaring, although you could tell this was his way of being caring. “And I better not hear you fucking crying in your room later tonight, capiche?”
“Si, signore,” You responded with a mock salute, making him scowl and walk back towards the living room.
…
When you woke up the next morning, there was a nice surprise on your bedside table. Honestly, you didn’t think Ghiaccio was the materialistic type, much less the type to give anyone gifts - he was normally very stingy, which was understandable since he wasn’t very close with any of his fellow gang members. So when you found that someone had left a small ice figurine of a cat, you were a little taken aback.
Of course it didn’t take you long to figure out who gave this to you, only Ghiaccio would be able to make something like this and not have it melt in the time it takes you to wake up. He’s probably still manifesting this from somewhere else in the house, and it was that thought that made you smile. There was a note beneath the little cat, which was written in Ghiaccio’s fast but legible handwriting.
“Don’t have another breakdown, or else. - G”
You couldn’t help but chuckle, turning the icy cat around in your hand to admire it. Sure, he was pretty cold and brittle in the way he went about comforting you, but his honesty and bluntness is what really brought you through your sorrow in a way that hugs and words of reassurance could never. And his little token just left you with the silent reminder that he really cared - “hey, cheer up” it said, without ever having to say it.
You smirked to yourself a bit. So… Everyone in La Squadra has his eye on you, huh? Well, in Ghiaccio’s own words, there’s always more fish in the sea - and you were looking forward to fishing in the cold oceans of the arctic.