Archive of Our Own ^beta

The day he’d first met Pericolo was a day he’d never forget, with a chilly November breeze and fingers iced red. He’d been sent, on his own, to discuss some unknown terms the boss had kept vague. Risotto would’ve come along but he was busy, overwhelmed with an abundance of missions. Their manpower was stretched thin, and in such chilly weather, The Grateful Dead didn’t work to its fullest potential. In the colder months, Prosciutto wasn’t sent as frequently on assignments that demanded stand usage, and thus, was chosen for the meeting. 

Prosciutto had heard of Pericolo, an exceptionally small man of dense stature with a loyalty steadfast through the years. He was a trusted Capo by many, and large monetary exchanges were frequently done with his presence, which is why their planned meeting struck Prosciutto as odd. La Squadra was infamous for their measly earnings; they’d always been severely underpaid for their skilled work. To meet with Pericolo, of all people, roused a shaky yet powerful hope within him. Prosciutto wondered if they’d be awarded a much deserved raise. 

While not surprised, Prosciutto couldn’t fully contain his disappointment when the meeting ended abruptly, and not once brushed upon the topic of money. Instead, Pericolo has been sent to discuss a less contentious issue- a troublesome stand user, whose ability interfered with digital technology, had forced Passione to communicate via direct speech instead of email. The mission debriefing couldn’t be done over the phone either, for the paper documents were a necessity. The stand user was to be dealt with quickly, his ability weak for combat maneuvers. It was an easy hit, but driving to an isolated and abandoned building for the meeting was an unpleasant and long trip. 

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Pericolo spoke, voice pleasant and amicable. Seeing him for the first time, Prosciutto could say he was thoroughly unimpressed. His appearance was mediocre at best- knobbed and twisted knuckles scarred with nicks and dents. His eyes were off, not quite looking in the same direction, and with age, his skin had grown a leathery texture, wrinkled and folded from a deteriorating body. Noticeably, however, his nose was prominently defined, the thinning skin stretched taught over the bridge, causing the underlying bone to show through with a pale bulge. 

“It was no problem,” Prosciutto responded, neatly tapping the mission papers into an arranged fashion. He slipped them in the manila folder, standing to leave when Pericolo made a sudden noise. 

“You know, you remind me of someone I knew,” Pericolo mumbled, gazing at the younger man with a sudden softness, eyes staring in a way that made Prosciutto’s stomach curl. There was something unnerving in his gaze, but he couldn’t place what. 

“I had a friend like you once.” 

Prosciutto waited a moment for Pericolo to elaborate, itching to leave but aware that retaining a positive relationship with higher-ups was critical. He couldn’t care less as to what Pericolo was murmuring about. He could tell the old man had a habit of chattering, and he figured his statement to be one of unnecessary small talk. 

Several moments passed without movement before Pericolo leaned back in his seat languidly, seemingly unbothered by Prosciutto’s increasing antsiness, “He was smart,” he began, gazing at the ceiling in whimsy, “He knew good etiquette and what to say to make people bend in his favor- a smooth talker if you will. You strike me as someone that knows their way around a conversation like he did. You didn’t enjoy meeting with me, I could see it in your posture, but had I not known what to look for, I’d have guessed you enjoyed my presence. It’s a skill, and you’d be surprised by just how few are as convincing at lying as you are.” 

Prosciutto blinked, somewhat stunned by such a comment. He’d expected to hear many things today, but being called a liar by a Capo wasn’t one of them. 

He opened his mouth, about to respond with some apologetic sentiment when Pericolo’s hand shot up, “It’s not a bad quality. I’m sure it’s useful in your line of work, but I’d recommend you be more honest with me next time we meet.” With that, Pericolo stood, stubby legs shuffling towards the door, suitcase in hand. 

Prosciutto snapped his mouth shut, unable to do more than muster a nod of affirmation with a hasty goodbye, shoving his hands into his pockets and trekking to his car at a brisk pace, the envelope tightly pinned beneath his arm. 

The second time he’d met Pericolo was only two months later. 

Little was happening that day. Assignment rolled in with consistency, but they were in the midst of a dry spell. They hadn’t been given an assignment for a good week, and La Squadra was getting restless. 

Currently, the team was lazing about mindlessly. That was how their lives went, sudden bouts of intense stress followed by moments of reprieve and silence. While they always remained on edge, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice, it wasn’t a life of constant murder, at least, not daily. 

Prosciutto had gotten back from a brief walk, finishing a quick smoke on the front porch whilst gazing at the sky- this routine a simple ritual of sorts.

“Hey, you got a message,” a voice behind him spoke, the tone pressing. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting Ghiaccio beckoning him from the doorway. 

“From who?” He sighed, plucking the cigarette from his lips and flicking the bud towards the ground. He never liked wasting a smoke, but he tried to avoid smoking indoors. Their already dilapidated complex didn’t need more stains on the wallpaper. 

“Pericolo. He sent a notification addressed to you specifically.” 

Prosciutto frowned at that, brows scrunching in distaste. 

He hadn’t thought much over their first meeting, but he’d be lying if he said Pericolo wasn’t memorable. He was shrewd. He’d taken him to be nothing more than a simple man, but his shift in tone towards the end of their meeting proved otherwise. He supposed it had been foolish to judge him too soon, he was a Capo after all. It took a special kind of person to reach a position like that, but their whole meeting left a sour taste. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of their conversation, but it’d be in his best interest to approach any future interactions with a level of respect and neutrality. 

He followed Ghiaccio closely, shutting the front door and sitting next to Melone on the couch, peering at the computer resting on his lap.

“Here,” Melone gestured, showing the email. 

It was a request for a second meeting in two days, but the reason for the meeting was, like last time, left unclear, and he requested Prosciutto to show up alone. 

“You must’ve left a good impression,” Melone mused, “I don’t think he’d ask to see you again if he didn’t like you.” 

“We hardly talked,” Prosciutto huffed, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I was in n’ out in twenty minutes.” 

“I think something more is going on,” Illuso added, arm resting on the back of his seat, “Why does he wanna talk to you and only you? Why not Risotto? Why does he wanna meet in person? The last face-to-face meeting was because of stand complications. I doubt the same thing happened again.” 

“How the hell should I know?” Prosciutto grumbled, readying to leave. The pressing comments were getting on his nerves and he craved a second smoke. 

“This is an important task,” a deep voice rumbled, all eyes snapping towards Risotto. His arms were crossed, posture rigid and cold. 

“If we can develop a good standing with a well liked Capo, it could be our ticket towards a higher status and paycheck,” Risotto spoke, contemplating something for a moment before staring at Prosciutto, “This could be one of the most important meetings we’ll ever hold. Appeal to him and his character at all costs, though it seems you’ve already done a good job at that. Don’t lose it.” 

The pressure was immediate, all attention pushed his way. One wrong impression could spell disaster for his comrades. 

“Of course, Risotto.” 

The location turned out to be in the middle of nowhere. It was an area completely uninhabited. No life in sight beyond some trees and the occasional bird passing by. Pericolo had requested a meeting in a small, empty, rundown park, on the ‘wrong’ side of town. Despite the name of the location, a park seemed too generous of a term, for it wasn’t much beyond a few patches of grass, a bench, and some graffitied walls and paths. Not many people visited this place. Prosciutto had been here once, but whether it was on a mission or simply in passing, he couldn’t recall. 

It was an odd choice of meeting. A secluded location like this wasn’t unusual, and it wasn’t necessarily uncommon for documents to be casually, but cautiously, exchanged in a public place, but that was usually reserved for circumstances where two people couldn’t communicate using technology. Pericolo sent him an email, and they were heavily encrypted by Passione’s systems and locks. He couldn’t see the reason for a personal meeting beyond needing to tell something to Prosciutto and only Prosciutto in secrecy. The thought intrigued him as much as it bored him. He was curious, but he didn’t find himself particularly interested in what Pericolo had to say. 

He sat, waiting on one of the metal benches. It was evening, and he couldn’t fathom what the man wanted at such an ungodly hour. It was nearly eight, and Prosciutto arrived ten minutes early, as per habit, and relaxed while nursing a cigarette. There wasn’t much to look at, but he found enough contentment in the slow burning and choke of his own ash, crumbling from the stick planted between his fingers. 

The soft footsteps of another person alerted him, and he turned, spotting a small figure walking towards him. 

Prosciutto huffed and threw his smoke down, crushing the bud beneath his heel in finality while leaning his elbow on the armrest, head hanging in his hand as Pericolo stopped before him. He didn’t even go up to Prosciutto’s head while sitting. 

“Thank you for joining me again. I hope I didn’t disturb your schedule too much.” Pericolo said, reaching out his hand for Prosciutto to take. He grasped his small, stubby fingers, noting the slight clamminess present there.

“Not at all. Not much to do on a Tuesday night, anyway,” Prosciutto spoke easily, retracting his hand to rest by his side.

Pericolo sat on the bench beside him, hands resting on his knees as he stared straight ahead, though Prosciutto couldn’t tell exactly what he was looking at. His lazy eye was severe. 

“Have you ever been outside of the country?”

Prosciutto pursed his lips for a moment, caught off guard by the oddly simple statement. He wasn’t sure what to expect coming here, but he’d figured some strange and unusual business would be discussed, and his mind raced to comprehend how such a question could relate to anything professional. Or, perhaps, the old man simply enjoyed indulging in small talk.

What a pain , Prosciutto thought. 

“No, I haven’t,” He responded.

Pericolo suddenly turned towards him, and he smiled. Wide, toothy grin on full display. Prosciutto was thrown off balance.

“Why’s that?”

“Never had the chance or interest in doing so,” Prosciutto said, a bit too fast and too harshly, and his fingers tapped lightly against his knee. This entire meeting felt unsettled, and his posture remained rigid. 

“Is there some place you’d ever like to go?” Pericolo asked, and Prosciutto shook his head. 

“No.” 

Pericolo nodded, “I see.”

“Why am I here?” Prosciutto cut in. It was rude, but his patience was wearing thin, and he doubted he’d face much punishment for simply wanting to hurry on with business. 

Pericolo’s smile faded, “Why do you think?”

Prosciutto scrunched his nose, “If I knew I wouldn’t be asking.”

Pericolo scratched his chin, “It seems we’re not on the same page. Did you not listen to me during our last meeting?” 

Prosciutto frowned.

“I may have spaced out a little. I apologize,” He responded, slightly embarrassed. 

“I appreciate your honesty,” Pericolo said, gazing at the street, “At our last meeting, I said that I’d like to get to know you better, personally.” 

“I see,” Prosciutto murmured. He knew it was unwise to pry, but he didn’t know what more to say, “Is there any particular reason as to why?”

“Is it so wrong to wish to know a work companion better? I think we could develop a mutually beneficial relationship, wouldn't you agree?”

Prosciutto nodded, but he couldn’t quite grasp what that exactly meant. 

“Why don’t you get to know Risotto better? He’s the one you should be wanting to talk with if you wish to become further acquainted with my team.” 

“I have no interest in him. He’s not the most…. Ah…” Pericolo trailed off, rubbing at his chin as if struggling to find the right word, “A…. there’s some word I’m looking for… it starts with an “a” I think.”

“Approachable?” Prosciutto offered, and the small man shook his head.

“No… not that…” He tutted, mumbling to himself. 

Prosciutto felt a mild annoyance seep in, his foot tapping idly as he watched Pericolo fumble around. He kept stroking his stache, square fingers running along the white hair and down to his chin strap. 

“Agreeable?”

“No, no,” Pericolo waved him off, his eyes suddenly narrowing as if ready to sneeze, “Ah- Amicable.” He finally said, nodding confidently, “Yes, that’s the word- amicable. Nero isn’t the most amicable.”  

Prosciutto scoffed, unable to hold himself back from quipping, “And I’m somehow more amicable than he is?”

“Much more so- greatly so.” Pericolo agreed.

He supposed it was true. Prosciutto, despite working under Risotto for many years, still couldn’t tell what went through the man’s head. He kept himself solitary, and there’d never been any reason to get closer. It wasn’t a downside- Risotto was efficient and careful with work-related communications, but he couldn’t say what Risotto does in his leisurely time, if anything.

“Well, what is it you’d like to know from me?” Prosciutto asked. He didn’t want to go off on discussing himself. He wasn’t keen to reveal more than the absolute bare minimum, and he suspected the man’s intentions were more severe. 

“Like I asked, where would you like to go?” 

Prosciutto blinked, “I already said I have no interest in traveling.”

Pericolo glanced downward, and had it been anyone else, Prosciutto would’ve thought his expression was something solemn. 

“I see.”

Prosciutto pursed his lips, trying to smoothly recover from the uncomfortable lull in their conversation. 

“I have some hobbies- like… taking walks,” Prosciutto mumbled.

Their conversation continued like that for a while with short, quiet statements exchanged here and there that were inevitably overshadowed by Pericolo’s ramblings. On occasion, they’d find a topic that would warrant a more in-depth discussion with Prosciutto’s input, but beyond that, it was merely shallow pleasantries and light small talk that gradually grew less awkward. Prosciutto credited the growing comfort to his ability to smile when needed, and to pick up the talking, though that wasn’t normally an issue, as Pericolo rambled about the most mundane of things for an egregiously long time. For as hard as he tried, he felt antsy, and Prosciutto had trouble keeping himself from shifting or showing signs of discomfort.

Nearly an hour and a half had passed by the time Pericolo glanced down at his watch, blinking as if surprised.

“We’ve been talking for longer than I expected. I’m sure you’re a busy man, I should be going,” Pericolo said, and Prosciutto was quick to stand.

“Yes, it’s been a pleasure talking with you, Sir.”

“No, no please…” Pericolo responded, sticking out his hand for Prosciutto to shake, “Just call me Pericolo.” 

Prosciutto blinked but was quick to return the shake with a firm grasp, “Alright, Pericolo.” 

The small man bid farewell, walking down the street from where he came, and Prosciutto sighed, kicking the cigarette he’d crushed earlier. He tried not to smoke too late but he figured he’d give himself a break, and he was quick to light a fresh stick and shove it between his lips. He’d had enough social experience to suspect what was happening. He hoped he was merely jumping to conclusions, that he was simply imagining the way Pericolo had leaned towards him, the way he smiled when it wasn’t necessary, the way he’d asked to be called by his name. 

Prosciutto was ready to do just about anything for his team, anything for Risotto , but he wasn’t sure if he’d be willing to give his body and love to a man he had no care for. 

------ 

The third time they met was at Pericolo’s own home.

The connotation of such a thing was rather suspicious, but Prosciutto couldn’t say he was surprised by the request. He’d caught on that the man carried an interest in him, but he didn’t expect such a forward move so soon. He wasn’t completely certain of his intentions, however, as meetings were conducted in one’s living spaces on occasion. It was safer in some ways.

He’d been sent Pericolo’s address through an encrypted email, and Melone had given him a funny look.

“Again?”

“Looks like it,” Prosciutto responded, leaning over the back of the couch to read Melone’s computer, scrutinizing the email.

Melone hummed, tipping his head back to gaze at Prosciutto, “It seems things are going well between you two.”

“Apparently,” Prosciutto shrugged, pulling out his notepad.

“How’d you do it, huh?” Melone asked, shooting him an inquisitive look, “I don’t think he’d be a Capo if he was easily swayed by someone’s bullshit. Perhaps his mind is going,” Melone mused, deleting the email once Prosciutto finished copying the location.

“Does it really matter? It’s working and that’s what’s important,” He said, stepping around the couch to take a seat.

“I truly do wonder…” Melone continued, mumbling to himself like he so often did. He looked at Prosciutto then, eyes sparkling with something devious.

“What?” Prosciutto snapped, disgusted by that face Melone made when he was readying to say something distasteful.

“Maybe you two are compatible,” he said, and Prosciutto sneered.

“Oh really?”

“Not necessarily in a sexual way- alignments with zodiacs and blood types also apply to friendships. Not my specialty but it's a possibility for why you’re getting along so smoothly. Or, perhaps, he’s just lonely,” Melone hummed, tapping on his keyboard.

“But if you could get a sample of his DNA-” 

“Not happening,” Prosciutto stated, “As I said, the reasons why we’re getting along don’t matter.”

Melone stopped tapping, gazing at Prosciutto from the corner of his eye, “If you say so.” 

Prosciutto nodded with finality, heading into the bathroom to get cleaned up for the night. Against his better judgment, he pondered over what Melone said, splashing his face with cold water. He wasn’t a superstitious person, and compatibilities were a rather silly, meaningless thing, but that begged the question as to why Pericolo had interests in him. Regardless of any romantic advancements that would be made, the man evidently carried some inexplicable interest in him . It was rather odd, as they’d had little to discuss during their last two meetings. If anything, Prosciutto had thought he’d carried himself a little more unfavorably than he should have- acting antsy and rushed, irritated when Pericolo rambled for too long, and yet, the man didn’t seem to mind. Or perhaps, he didn’t notice, but Prosciutto was inclined to believe the former. 

He dried his face with a cloth, starting his night care routine of rejuvenators and moisturizers, finishing the process with a hearty helping of vaseline smudged across his face. He was sticky, but the unpleasant sensation was important to ensure he’d wake up with soft, pliable skin. He gave himself a quick once over before slipping into bed, falling into a dreamless sleep that left him tired the next morning. He wasn’t unbearably exhausted, but there was a sting behind his eyes that wasn't quick to vanish, and he quickly got dressed for the day.

He greeted Formaggio in the main room, taking a seat beside him as the rest of the team trickled in, preparing for Risotto’s announcements. The meeting was faster than normal, and most everyone was quick to leave, finding little of interest to do. Only Ghiaccio and Illuso were assigned missions.

“I have another meeting with Pericolo,” Prosciutto told Risotto once everyone had left, calling him to the side, “We’re meeting tonight at eight again.”

Risotto didn’t react, “Where?”

“At his place,” Prosciutto mumbled, incredulous.

Risotto gave a small nod, “Did he say why?” 

When Prosciutto shook his head, Risotto continued, “That’s fine. You’re doing a good job, Prosciutto.”

Unwillingly, Prosciutto beamed at that, holding his posture impossibly straighter, “Thank you, Risotto.” 

When nothing more was said, he left, and Prosciutto felt the pressure to succeed increase even further, for he’d be damned if he’d allow himself to witness any form of disappointment from Risotto. He couldn’t stop, not now, and with a firmer resolve, he prepared himself for the day, waiting with bated breath till he met with Pericolo.

When the time came, Prosciutto drove to his destination- a small but well-kept house that wasn’t far from the La Squadra base. It was in the ‘bad’ side of town, a place best known for crime-riddled alleys. It was a hot spot for Passione residents, so he wasn’t too surprised to find his place so near. 

He parked a ways back, tucking his vehicle into a hidden spot across the street before crossing over, entering through the back entrance as the email had requested. He gave six distinct knocks as instructed, settling back on his heels when the door was quick to open, and he tilted his head down to greet the man beneath him. His attire was more casual, his normal green suit absent for a simple button-up shirt and slacks. Formal, but not uptight. Prosciutto felt overdressed but he tried not to think too hard of it.

“Good evening, Pericolo,” Prosciutto gave a pleasant smile, shaking his hand when Pericolo offered his own.

“The same to you,” Pericolo responded, ushering Prosciutto in with a small wave, “You can give me your coat if you’d like, I’ll hang it up.”

“Oh, I can-”

“No, no, please- I insist,” Pericolo affirmed, quickly pacing over to the coat rack when Prosciutto handed him his jacket. 

He felt more exposed like this, his upper chest further accentuated and displayed without the jacket on top. His necklace swayed slightly, thumping against his stomach when he walked towards Pericolo’s home office, following the man’s beckoning.

“Would you like some wine? Chianti?” Pericolo asked, and Prosciutto figured it was polite to affirm.

“Yes,” He responded, watching the small man grab a stool to reach the top shelf of his wine cabinet, tucked in the corner of his office. The room was of a decent size, filled with chairs surrounding a large wooden desk and couches pushed around a coffee table. It somewhat mirrored his own team’s living room, but the quality of furnishing was far greater. 

“How’ve you been?” Pericolo asked, offering Prosciutto a glass and the bottle for him to take. 

“Fine, same as usual,” Prosciutto murmured. Their living situation was anything but fine, though that’s why he was here, wasn’t it?

“I see,” Pericolo said, sitting on the opposite side of the square, mahogany desk, gesturing for Prosciutto to sit in front of him. He grabbed the wine bottle once Prosciutto was finished, filing the glass half way before setting it back down. 

“Tell me, though, more in-depth. How have you been doing?” Pericolo asked, leaning back in his seat.

So it was another personal meeting, Prosciutto realized, and he settled himself in for a long night. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle; he merely had to keep his patience in check, “Things have been stagnant. There have been no significant changes in our workflow. Our pay hasn’t changed recently and the intake of missions is relatively consistent,” he drawled, keeping his voice light and pleasant, “No excess stress from the daily routine, you could say.”

“I see,” Pericolo responded. 

Prosciutto had begun to pick up on that little verbal habit of his, the repetition of that phrase, ‘I see.’ It was said with a decent amount of interest, and Prosciutto could only guess it was a positive thing rather than a statement of boredom. 

“Well,” Pericolo continued, “It’s good to hear things haven’t gotten worse for you or your team. Though, I wouldn’t exactly deem your quality of life as… good.”

Prosciutto couldn’t help but bristle at that, an oddly defensive urge arising within him, “Yes, our pay isn’t the greatest but we make do.”

It was true, La Squadra was probably the single most underpaid team in all of Passione, but Pericolo making assumptions of his familia in such a pitying tone was an offensive gesture- as if they weren’t capable of handling themselves. 

“Ah…” Pericolo quietly said, trailing off to scratch his chin, as if remembering something, “It’s- nevermind.”

Prosciutto quirked his brow at that but eased his expression to one of pleasantness again, their conversation continuing like it did last time. It was of a simple and utter mundanity but Pericolo filled in the empty silences with his ordinary ramblings. It really was incredible- how someone could say so much yet so little all at once. 

“- that trip to France wasn’t one I’d ever forget,” Pericolo mumbled, having spoken of his trips across Europe. With his primary focus being that of money exchange, he’d done some trade outside of Italy, and his stories were rather interesting. They seemed rather embellished, and Prosciutto internally questioned the accuracy of them, but it didn’t matter. So long as he managed to look entertained, and he responded when the situation called for it, he was in the clear.

“Ah- that reminds me,” Pericolo abruptly said, “Remember how I asked you where you’d want to go one day?”

Prosciutto nodded, “Yes.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to America.”

Prosciutto hummed, “And why’s that?” He took a sip from his glass.

“The Mall Of America,” he smiled, whimsically.

“What?” Prosciutto said, a few beads of wine dripping from his bottom lip. He was quick to gracefully wipe them away.

“I haven’t been to America since I was a child.” Pericolo continued, as if he didn’t hear Prosciutto, “My mother is American and my father is from Sicily. We grew up in the countryside of Italy, and things were rather stable for a time. They both worked respectable and simple jobs and our lives were rather quaint,” Pericolo sighed, “But that changed one day when my mother vanished. It was sudden, as I woke up one morning to find my father weeping in the kitchen, scrubbing his eyes dry when I asked what was wrong.

“He smiled at me then. I didn’t quite understand that smile, for I was a mere child. Now, remembering it, the way his lips quivered, I know it was a smile of pain and grievance- of a man attempting to hide something unbearable. He told me that my mother had taken a long trip somewhere and that she wouldn’t be back for a while. It was no less than three days later that my father vanished too, and a group of strange men took me away. I didn’t fight back, for they presented themselves as friendly and kind. I was lost and confused, and I latched onto any adult I had, for there was nothing left to hold.

“They raised me- they taught me how to shoot a gun, and I’d killed my first man by age nine. I quickly learned that they were members of Passione, and my father had been indebted to them. When he could no longer pay, they took my mother away, and I was next. He pleaded with them and begged for my survival at the offering of his own life. Ever since then, I’ve lived my life underground, steadily working my way up through the ranks of Passione. Despite not having a stand, I’ve proved myself, and I’ve made it to a place where I’ve attained prestige. Nevertheless, I was tempted to exterminate those that killed my parents, but I knew that doing so would result in my own demise. Passione has eyes and ears lining the very ground you walk upon, and I waited many years for the right opportunity. When the time came, I found that the men who hurt my own parents were already dead. Funny how it works- you spend your whole life chasing something that never even existed to begin with,” He chuckled, shaking his head, “Yes- that was a dark part of my life. There were better days- one man in particular-” he abruptly stopped talking, head turning towards Prosciutto, “Oh, I apologize. I’ve spoken too much. I’m not sure what my point was again.”

Prosciutto could only watch with wide eyes, sweating beading on his temple in discomfort. For a Capo to reveal such private information to a subordinate, and one he barely knew at that, was deeply alarming, and he wondered if his words were a lie. They were spoken with great sincerity, but he couldn’t be sure. He suspected this was some trick to make Prosciutto open up and let his guard down- perhaps Pericolo actually wanted something from him, something beyond that of merely building a work relation. 

“What was my point?” Pericolo mulled over his words once more, and Prosciutto ground his teeth. 

“You were talking about the mall.”

“Ah, yes! Well you see, my mother was from America, and she promised that she’d take me on vacation to her hometown. Where she grew up so happened to be close to the Mall Of America. She had fond memories of that place, and I’d wished to experience that with her one day.”

Pericolo leaned back, tipping his head upwards to gaze at the plaster overhead, but one eye rolled in the direction of Prosciutto, as if to watch him, “They have ceilings made of glass…. an aquarium, too.” Pericolo mused, “More attractions than you can possibly imagine.”

Prosciutto gave a quiet hum of affirmation, shoving his face over the wine to hide the growing unease bubbling in his stomach. He didn’t know what to do or say to something such as that, but he didn’t need to, for the man rolled the other eye towards him.

“I suppose it’s time I was rather blunt with you, Prosciutto,” Pericolo said, and Prosciutto gazed at him from over his glass, holding the cool material to his lips.

“You’re a smart man. I’m sure you’ve realized it by now, but my interests in you are more than that of a mere work colleague. I am attracted to you, and from what I gather, the interest isn’t entirely one-sided,” Pericolo stated, briefly stopping to take a sip of his wine, “I’m not going to force a relationship of any sort onto you, as that’s simply distasteful. I’d rather you be wholeheartedly invested in our relationship should we seek to have one, and my wants aren’t only that of physical attraction. I’d be likened to explore a romantic dynamic between you and me- with both an emotional and physical attachment. I’m sure you’re fully aware of such consequences this would pose, but I thought I’d offer anyway. Such a… candid request isn’t one I’d usually make but our situation isn’t anything of normalcy,” Pericolo finished, tapping his fingers against the wood of his desk, “What do you think?”

Prosciutto nearly choked, his throat closing up around the wine that burned his mouth, the taste overly potent and crisp in its descent to his stomach. He had his suspicions towards Pericolo’s interests in him, but he’d assumed they’d dance around the issue; with barely-there touches and fleeting glances. To think a capo would be willing to take such an open risk. It was odd, really, but he couldn’t pass up such an opportunity, regardless of the consequences. His sole mission was to gain Pericolo’s favor. The consequences didn’t matter much either. He never planned to live long in this kind of work.

“Yes. I’d be interested in that too. All of it,” Prosciutto responded, downing the last of his drink. He thought he could use some more, and he reached for the neck of the bottle, not wanting to consider the implications of what he’d done.

“Would you like to stay the night with me?”

What?

“I have an early mission tomorrow,” He hastily replied, reeling himself back when he spoke just a little too quickly, words a little too hushed, “I’d rather not miss sleep.”

Pericolo nodded, seeming unbothered by his request as he nursed his drink. Prosciutto wondered what his blood alcohol levels were- surely, such a small body couldn’t handle much, but he was on his second glass.

“We should wrap things up soon then,” Pericolo said, standing up and offering Pro his hand. 

“Ah- yes,” Prosciutto responded, setting the bottle back down.

“You can have more if you’d like.”

“No- I probably shouldn’t,” Prosciutto mumbled.

“Alright- leave the glass there. I’ll take care of it,” Pericolo said, sticking out his hand more insistently. 

Prosciutto rubbed his clammy palms on his shirt, attempting to mask the action as if adjusting his coat. He stood, extending his arm down to brush his fingers against Pericolo’s own. His hands were surprisingly big for his size. Small- but larger than he’d think with a rough texture across the knuckles. The sheer oddity of the situation left him uneasily shifting, struggling to keep his hand in place as Pericolo led him to the back door.

“And Prosciutto-” He said, crooking his finger.

“Yes?” He asked, and when Pericolo waved him closer, he bent down, reaching his height level and leaning his head in. He assumed Pericolo would tell him something quietly- perhaps, something personal and delicate. What he didn’t expect were the man’s lips to catch his own. The surface wasn’t soft- his lips rough but warm- strangely pleasant, and he found himself unable to reciprocate by the time Pericolo pulled back. It ended as quickly as it began, and he froze when the small man brushed his face with his palm, thumb rubbing against his cheek and down the curve of his jaw before falling.

“I’m sure that was a bit too soon for such a bold move, but I need you to understand the seriousness with which I’m approaching this relationship. This isn’t something I’ll take lightly, and you need to be prepared for that,” Pericolo said, and Prosciutto was left to find his tongue, the muscle heavy and sluggish where it sat thick in his mouth. Through years of training, he’d gained the ability to recover after fumbling, and he was quick to right himself. “Yes. I’m prepared for that, and everything that shall come with it.” 

Pericolo grinned, “I’ll hold you to that.” 

Prosciutto hummed in response, giving a small wave goodbye before slipping on his jacket and walking to his car. He couldn’t tell if Pericolo was watching him leave, and he couldn't find it in himself to check. He fumbled with the keys, struggling to pop open his car door before slamming it shut behind him. It paid to have his windows tinted in his line of work, and with the blanket of night further shrouding his car in darkness, he allowed himself to rest his head atop the steering wheel. He took a deep breath, letting out his frustration in a soft, shuddering sigh. He laid there for a moment before sitting upright, sparing a quick glance at Pericolo’s home. The lights were still on, shining through the window, and a dark silhouette stood pressed against the glass, watching him. He couldn’t make out Pericolo’s expression from his distance, and he was sure he was invisible, but he felt naked all the same.

Prosciutto was quick to put his car into reverse, backing up and driving away, wanting nothing more than to sleep.

The drive home was a blur, nothing more than passing streets and signs, all meshing together into a cacophony of light and shape, something his body navigated automatically, as if he wasn’t fully present in the moment. He could barely feel his own form, and that hardly changed once he walked inside of the base. Fingers slippery and cold as he fumbled to shove the key into the door.

Everyone was gone. He saw a few lights peeking from beneath separate rooms, but they didn’t quite register as he shut himself in the bathroom. His breath reeked of wine, and he didn’t so much as comprehend the recklessness of his driving.

Prosciutto smoothed out his hair, unraveling the tightly woven buns that clung to his scalp and pulled his skin. The release of tension was always a relief, and his receding hairline was quickly covered by the soft, flowing bangs that spilled down his forehead. 

He leaned against the porcelain sink, scrubbing his teeth. 

He didn’t want to mull over the course of the past day, too uncomfortable with the direction of developing events. Granted, he wasn’t bitterly disgusted by the thought, but any romantic relationship with a man like Pericolo wasn’t of his flavor. The kiss wasn’t bad per se, but it was unlike anything he’d experienced, and not in an appealing way. He could back out now, as there was still ample opportunity to keep his distance by engaging in purely surface-level attractions, but he didn’t want to fail Risotto. For the better of the team, he had to see things through to the end. 

As he continued scrubbing, he found himself getting lost in his own reflection, but it wasn’t out of ego or appreciation. He stared at all the parts of himself he tended to turn away from. The weak wrinkles forming rivulets around his eyes- soft, but present in how they dipped and sunk with the planes of his face. He knew it hadn’t always been quite so sharp, and the gradually sinking skin disturbed him. 

He knew he was attractive. It was all the more evident with how frequently he’d been approached in bars and clubs, but such a thing was fleeting. In a few years, would anyone give him a passing look? Or even one of disdain? He didn’t know, and the great lengths he took to preserve his beauty were just as futile. 

He spit, toothpaste dripping past his lips and into the drain.

He’d noticed his teeth looked a touch yellower.

Prosciutto put more toothpaste on his brush, cleaning his mouth a second time with greater vigor. 

Had his eyes always been so wrinkled? 

He pushed his fingers into his face, stretching the skin to smooth out the lines. They settled back into their distorted form. 

He frowned deeply, pushing aside his bangs to stare at the strands along his hairline, the fullness waning with a gradual decay. His hair had once been lush. He didn’t get his father’s genes, as that man had balded in his early twenties, but it seemed he wasn’t fortunate enough to retain a full head, and the hints of a silver lining glistened through. 

He scrubbed with the toothbrush harder, pushing with an intensity that left his gums bleeding. 

He stopped. 

Thin ribbons of red-streaked and spread through the white froth, and a mild sting wedged from between his teeth. A shallow cut formed, the bristles bent and smashed from where they were forcefully flattened. 

He spit and rinsed his mouth, the iron taste lessening as the blood flushed away. 

He looked in the mirror again. 

His teeth were no less yellow. 

It was then that Prosciutto realized, as he summoned The Grateful Dead beside him, his skin turning an ashen color with age and rot, marks and blemishes dotting his arms, the skin thinning and dripping- melting from his muscle and bone like water, that he was the same as Pericolo. Rejecting the man for his age alone would be a rejection of his own self, and for what would that make him? Proof that one was foul once their body reached a state of irreversible repair, proof that he, himself, was someone to be unloved, and standing before the mirror, skeletal arms exposed, skin paper thin and translucent with bulging veins, that he felt more alive than he ever had before, and his permeating fear of this form became all but null, for he found himself to be one with his body, and one with Pericolo’s own.

------

“Gay relationships are frowned upon,” Prosciutto said one night, threading his fingers through Pericolo’s hair. The smaller man was laid against his chest, peacefully dozing. 

Nearly six months had passed since his epiphany,  as he called it. He and Pericolo had grown closer than before, their meetings a near-daily occurrence. The rest of his team seemed oblivious as to what was happening, or at least, Prosciutto was trying to keep it that way. From what he’d gathered, Risotto, Melone, and Pesci, oddly enough, were aware of the intimacy he’d gained with Pericolo, though they might not have known the extent of it. He could see it in the way they’d look at him, so knowingly, too knowingly. His clothes had begun to smell of the man- an unusual, leathery scent with the underlying odor of figs and wine. It was hearty, but Prosciutto found himself reveling in it. He’d wondered if that’s how some of the others found out about his relationship- through the stench. 

For as steady as things were, there had been no increase or improvement in their pay or status as Risotto had expected, and the rest of the team had grown rather restless, too. For as accepting as he’d become of his situation, Prosciutto couldn’t deny his own selfish wants to attain a higher paycheck, and Pericolo rarely bought him gifts. Things were becoming stagnant, and La Squadra continued to suffer day by day.

Nevertheless, the predictability of his situation gave some comfort, as the days bled into one another- a cycle of meetings and missions. At least, everything was complacent until several days prior. He’d received a call from Pericolo during a meeting with his team, and he stepped outside La Squadra’s complex to answer it, engaging in some rather passionate language with the older man. He’d gotten overly confident, and as such, he didn’t properly check his surroundings. He was horrified to realize that Risotto overheard the conversation. 

Prosciutto hung up once he was finished speaking, clicking the phone shut with finality and shoving the device into his pocket. He stretched, rolling his shoulders to lessen the ache in his back. He was tempted to grab a cig, but he recalled having left his lighter inside. He turned around, jumping out of his skin when he crashed into a solid mass, looking up to see two dark eyes peering down at him. 

“Risotto,” Prosciutto said, voice agitated, “You surprised me.” 

A chill rushed down his spine when he realized he didn’t hear Risotto open the back door. The man’s gait was inhumanly silent, and Prosciutto’s heart sank, wondering if he overheard too much. Wondering just how long he’d stood there for.

“Did you need me for something?” 

Risotto blinked slowly- gaze stoney and cold, but Prosciutto couldn’t tell if he was upset or not. He always appeared tense. 

Risotto’s large hand suddenly raised up, stiffly coming down to grip his shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze. 

“You’ve gone to greater lengths than I imagined. I didn’t know you possessed such humility.” 

Prosciutto gritted his teeth, fists shaking by his side as a wash of shame thoroughly drenched him. Risotto was a smart man, and Prosciutto was fairly certain he had suspicions for a while, but this only confirmed any previous notions he possessed. His intimacy with Pericolo was embarrassing, regardless of the comfort the older man brought. Prosciutto frowned deeply, turning his head upwards in anger. 

“I’m just following your orders, Sir. I’m gaining Pericolo’s favor as you asked.”

Risotto didn’t seem bothered by his snapping tone, his hand squeezing his shoulder just a bit tighter in response. 

His grip lessened after a moment, but his hand remained firmly planted all the same, “Your dedication towards the team is commendable. You’ve shown where your priorities stand, and I respect that.” 

His tone grew less rough, voice softening slightly, “Despite that, I’d rather you not resort to an unwanted relationship. Everyone has their limits, Prosciutto, and sinking that far into sexual relations with him isn’t worth the reward.” 

Prosciutto didn’t expect to hear that. 

“What are you suggesting?” 

Risotto sighed through his nose, “Drop him if it’s too burdensome.” 

“But the pay raise, gaining a better standing- you said so yourself! He might be our sole ticket to a better life-“ 

“Not at the cost of your wellbeing,” Risotto said, tone leaving no room for argument. 

Prosciutto’s mouth snapped shut, licking his dry lips and mulling over what more to say. 

He greatly appreciated Risotto’s care. He knew the man worried for the wellbeing of his men, but he’d never been in a situation where Risotto had to choose between one of them as individuals or the team as a whole. Prioritizing Prosciutto’s health over a possible progression was equal parts admirable and foolish. It seemed hypocritical that someone so ruthless could be so sentimental, but Prosciutto was guilty of that to some extent. He wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet between the eyes of a target, but he worried about Pesci.

“No,” Prosciutto murmured after a long silence, “I’ll stay with him.”

He left out the part about how Pericolo made him happy- how the man’s toothy grin and off eyes made him feel strange- in ways even he didn’t fully understand. 

Risotto’s expression furrowed, and his large body leaned over, hunching to stare directly at Prosciutto. Their noses nearly brushed, and he resisted the urge to shift backwards, meeting Risotto’s gaze with an even severity.

“Your pride will suffocate you.”

“So be it.”

Risotto inhaled deeply, leaning up once more and removing his hand, taking a step back. 

“So be it."  

He left, padding away on silent feet, and Prosciutto shut his eyes. 

So be it.

He idly wondered if he’d made the right choice back then, but he figured it meaningless to worry about now. Regrets are for those stuck in an inescapable past.

When Periocolo didn’t respond, Prosciutto continued, “Not only that, but relationships with an age difference are seen as bothersome. Not to mention the subordinate and superior dynamic.” 

He roughly sighed, stretching out his arm and patting the bedside table, feeling around for his cigarette box.

“Triple hitter- how could we become any more problematic?” He remarked sarcastically, grabbing a cigarette from the bedside table. He popped open his lighter, watching the dull rod bubble into an orange glow before lessening.

Prosciutto called his name again, and the Capo hummed, “Yes?” 

“Did you hear what I said?” 

“Yes,” he responded. 

Prosciutto sighed again, “Well? Do those things not bother you?” 

Pericolo shifted, leaning upon his elbows to stare at Prosciutto, “Would I be here if they did?” 

Prosciutto frowned, “You could lose everything from this- your whole job, your respect, your life-”

“So could you, and yet, you stay with me,” Pericolo retorted, settling back down. 

Prosciutto was left with nothing to say, for anything he could say would only send him spiraling further. 

He could say that he was just using Pericolo for his own financial means, seeing the man as nothing but a bank account for his own squad to drain. That was what it was initially, anyway, but now, holding Pericolo in his arms, he wondered why he fell so deep. If he wanted to, he could’ve kept Pericolo at an arm's length, leading the man on but never going beyond a surface-level romance. It’s likely he’d still have gotten Pericolo’s favor by doing just that, and yet, he went all the way. 

Did he love him? 

Prosciutto didn’t like not knowing, and the question haunted him.

He’d had skirmishes in the past- brief flings and fleeting relationships that proved themselves fruitless long term, but he was fine with that. He didn’t feel the need for something more, but being with Pericolo ignited a foreign desire he hadn’t ever known. 

Prosciutto shook his head, attempting to clear away the swirling thoughts, but his mind wouldn’t ease. He itched to talk- words piling and heavy set on his tongue. 

“What I’m most worried most about is the status difference,” Prosciutto continued, against his better judgment. 

“You treat me as an equal, but if word of us ever got out...” He trailed off, unsure of how far he was willing to tip over, unsure of why he was speaking in the first place. He has nothing to gain from this.

“You’re slipping,” Pericolo said, and Prosciutto’s blood ran cold. 

Only everything to lose. 

“What?” 

Pericolo sat up, his tubby body rolling to the side, “You’re slipping,” he repeated, “For you to bring up the problematic happenings of our relationship paints a picture of insecurity. We’re both fully aware of the issues in our dynamic, and the consequences of those issues, and yet, you bring them up all the same as if that'll change anything. For what reason are you worrying over it- now of all times? Shouldn’t you have brought this up sooner?”

Prosciutto glared at him, “Is it wrong to be worried over such a thing?” 

Pericolo grew quiet for a moment, and then, he smiled. 

“No, it’s not. But you never brought up these fundamental concerns earlier on. It would be easy to assume you simply didn’t care about the consequences, but you strike me as a cautious person, and your attitude now only affirms that. These worries have always been present within you, but you continued with our relationship because of the practical use I carried. You used me for your own favors, and you figured the advantages I could grant you outweighed the dangers of our relationship,” Pericolo said, tone unnervingly calm. 

Prosciutto swallowed thickly. 

“I’m simply left to wonder, for what reason are you expressing concern now?” 

Prosciutto shifted uncomfortably, “I…. I don’t know.” 

Pericolo chuckled heartily, but the underlying tone rang out as hollow, “I told you not to lie to me.” 

Pericolo planted his hands firmly beside Prosciutto’s head, leaning over to knock their foreheads together. 

A normally affectionate gesture turned Prosciutto’s hands clammy, and a light sheen of sweat beaded on his collar and palms. He could tell Pericolo was challenging him, and he was afraid of what would arise from lying one too many times. His docile and simple demeanor was off-putting, and one could forget that Pericolo was a capo for a reason. He’d felt his heavy piece, tucked away in the lining of his small, green jacket, upon multiple occasions. 

“I’m concerned now because…” Prosciutto could hardly muster the strength to look him in the eyes, “Risotto knows. It’s made the possible dangers of our relationship all the more… real. All the troubles seemed so far away, but now, if word spreads, and if Risotto doesn’t keep his mouth shut...” he trailed off, sighing deeply.

Pericolo didn’t say anything for a long moment, the sticky, thin skin of his forehead plastered to Prosciutto’s own, and he slowly peeled himself away, sitting back in Prosciutto’s lap to stare at the blond beneath him.

“How’d he find out?”

Prosciutto’s lips pursed in a thin line, “He overheard a conversation we had- the other day. Over the phone. He didn’t catch what you said but my words were enough for him to put two and two together.”

Pericolo reached forward, his broad hand plucking the cigarette from Prosciutto’s lips. Prosciutto expected him to take a huff, but he just held it between his fingers, letting the crumbling ash drip onto the sheets. 

“Would you like him dead?”

Prosciutto laughed, but it was a harsh, mirthless sound, something of sheer bewilderment and horror, “I’m sorry?”

Pericolo smiled, his dry lips pulling taut over crooked teeth, “The choice is yours.”

Prosciutto vehemently shook his head, “That’s out of the question. Risotto is my leader.”

“And where do your loyalties lie? With him, with Passione, or-”

Pericolo snuffed out the cigarette, reaching across Prosciutto’s body to toss the stick in the ashtray. 

“With me?” 

Prosciutto didn’t know what to say. 

He wasn’t sure what Pericolo wanted to hear. Perhaps, he wanted to hear his loyalty sworn to him and him alone, but portraying yourself as unloyal to Passione wasn’t the best look for him. He couldn’t imagine the consequences of telling a Capo such a thing, as it was evident Pericolo had a great deal of dedication towards the organization. Such a thing could spell doom for him or his team- regardless of their relationship. 

“My loyalty lies with Passione,” Prosciutto spoke, feigning confidence.

Pericolo hummed, leaning himself against the headboard. He lolled his head in Prosciutto’s direction, and the blond couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not.

“I see. In that case-” Pericolo leaned over him, “Wouldn’t our relationship be a betrayal of the very organization you claim your loyalty towards?”

He got him. 

There was no right answer, for anything he said would have an unfortunate outcome. 

“I’ve never seen you speechless before,” Pericolo chuckled, pressing a kiss to his temple. His scraggly mustache irritated his skin, and the sensation seemed compounded when the man whispered in his ear, voice crackled with age, “Who is it you really care for?”

“What about you, huh?” Prosciutto shot back, lashing out. He felt trapped, suffocated from all directions and unable to move, “Who are you loyal to? It can’t be to Passione either, since you’re with me.”

Pericolo pulled back, gazing at Prosciutto in mild surprise, “That’s a good question,” he said, whimsically. He grew quiet then, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, “I don’t know.”

Prosciutto let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, the air slowly seeping from between his teeth in a soft whistle.

“What?” 

“I’m not sure myself.”

Prosciutto laughed, a more genuine and full sound that made his chest shake, “ Christ- and you’re grilling me about this? Who do you think you are?” 

Pericolo’s back remained facing him, and Prosciutto couldn’t scrutinize his reaction. He seemed tense, the muscles tightening in his shoulders and arms.

“I think you’ve helped me realize something, Prosciutto,” he responded, gaze fixated on the wall, “I’ve been using you for something I should’ve let die a long time ago…” he trailed off, voice falling quickly and flat against the hollowed room that stretched for miles around them. Prosciutto felt tempted to touch him then, his thin fingers running along the exposed shoulders present before him. The skin was delicate- dry and rough where his hand traced along the sun-kissed marks and blemishes- browned dots and constellations spattering his form.

“I was attracted to you because you remind me, in both your looks and character, of someone I once knew- someone that’s long since left this world,” Pericolo began, “I met him after I joined Passione. We were on a team together, and we grew immensely close. We were still both street thugs, selling drugs for the organization, when he was shot during a deal gone sour. He died in my arms.”

Prosciutto’s hand fell.

“When I met you for the first time, I knew, right away, you were just like him. I wanted to experience that again. I wanted to pretend I was back there with him…”

He turned around then, eyes glassy and red. Prosciutto knew he wouldn’t cry, but the man choked up, and Prosciutto was left to watch as he gripped at his own chest, “I don’t love you. I just love him.”

Prosciutto’s breath hitched. He turned away, unable to meet his gaze as his own heart seized in something painful, a physical, dull ache that ate away at his flesh.

“Yet you accused me of lying, of not being myself? You’ve been lying this whole time-”

“No,” Pericolo suddenly reached out, tightly grasping Prosciutto’s wrist, “It wasn’t all a lie.”

“But you-”

“I just didn’t realize what was happening myself.”

“Then you were lying to yourself,” Prosciutto affirmed, wrenching his arm from Pericolo’s hold. The man’s face sagged, turning away, and Prosciutto scoffed.

“You said you’d take me to the Mall Of America with you. You said we’d go together one day.”

When Pericolo didn’t respond, Prosciutto ‘tsked,’ grinding his teeth.

“I see,” he said cooly, after getting a grip on himself. His voice came out even, unnervingly stable despite his pounding blood and sweat soaked temple.

Prosciutto got up, slipping on his clothes and trekking to the door. He didn’t bother looking back, not wanting to see what expression the man was making, for it didn’t matter anymore. 

“Don’t contact me again unless it’s for work and work alone,” he stated, quick to shut the bedroom door and walk away. He’d never admit it, not even to himself, but he was hoping that Pericolo would race after him, that he’d stop him before he reached the front door, that he’d apologize, and promise to make them work somehow. He hesitated, hand resting on the knob, waiting, listening for footsteps, but none came. 

He let his feet drag, shoes scraping the hard ground as he shut himself away, leaving Pericolo’s abode for the last time. No rain accompanied his trek home- no bitter wind or miserable chill cemented his misery, instead, a soft summer breeze and warm sun mocked his very existence, reminding him that such troubles were meaningless to the world. The sky didn’t weep for him as he wished it would, and the passing children mindlessly played as they always would, giggling and cheering and shoving one another. It was then that Prosciutto realized just how alone he was, and always had been, for witnessing such a nostalgic and quaint scene left him recalling days spent alone, avoiding the others and isolating himself since his youth.

But for what reason? For what reason did such a purposeful loneliness follow him? He removed himself from the very thing he’d always craved, and the one time he accepted it with open arms and a vulnerable heart, it rejected him. The one time he allowed himself to love, to truly love and be loved, to accept his own mortality through embracing the very man that embodied it- he was left alone. He was left alone once more.

“Nothing changes,” he said. No one glanced in his direction. The children continued playing. The ocean’s breeze sliced through the sky, carving a steady path towards the infinite and unending, and Prosciutto’s arm outstretched, grasping at something he couldn’t quite reach, something unfathomable but visible all the same, something so close but ultimately, unattainable, for he opened his hands and was met with nothing but his own skin- staring back at him with blued veins and creased earth.

“Nothing…” Prosciutto whispered, and he wandered aimlessly, landing on bleached sand that caked his shoes, and the waning sun dipped beneath the horizon. A bitter chill scraped his skin with a sharp burn, but that sensation was near meaningless, vacant when compared to the deep ache in his chest. A weight had settled there- something oppressive and stoney that sunk like lead, seeping through to the bone and deeper still. 

He must’ve walked for hours, but it barely seemed so as time vanished altogether, and the sky melted with the ocean, the line blurring between the water’s end and the sun’s beginning, meshing into something indiscernible and unknown, and he walked forward, following the light’s ending as his feet touched the water, the salt lapping at his ankles and drenching his clothing. He sunk to his knees, falling amongst the kelp and seaweed that clung to his limbs and dragged him under, sinking deeper and deeper into a blissful emptiness.