Archive of Our Own

“Might lose you for a sec,” You warn the man on the phone. “Cell service in the dorm hallway is terrible. I think it’s something to do with the roof.”

The man in question is Papa Emeritus III, current head of the Church of Ghost. An insufferable, pompous, narcissistic asshole and one of your favorite people. He brushes it off, insisting that it’s tutto bene, non un problema. You can practically see him waving his hand dismissively; He always was one for gesturing. It gets the point across when my English does not, he’d said once. You silently twist and turn through the hallways of your dorm until eventually, you find your destination.

“Alright, we should be good now. You said your brother has been bothering you?” Terzo gives an annoyed laugh.

‘Bothering,’ He seethes. ‘is too light a word. What he is doing is pissing me off. Belittling me in front of the clergy, talking down about me to Sister Imperator. He thinks I was un errore; a bad choice to succeed him. It’s beginning to grate on my nerves, ragazza.’

“He’s your older brother, Papa. It’s his job to make you miserable.” The laundry room is mostly empty save for one other girl. She’s tucked into the corner of the room, spot treating a shirt that’s far too big to be anything but her boyfriend’s. Her tongue is stuck between her teeth in concentration. You readjust your basket against your hip. Surge through the doorway to the first empty washer you see - it’s always a fight to find one when you share eight washers between four floors of people - and begin tossing items into it. “Have you tried lukewarm responses?”

‘Ho provato…What the fuck does that even mean?’ Oof. Wrong question. Terzo rambles on about how he’s tried everything and he’s probably tried that too, even if he doesn’t know what it means, and you’ve been through this enough to know he won’t stop until he’s said his piece, so you let him carry on uninterrupted. Phone tucked comfortably between your cheek and your shoulder, you finish stuffing laundry into the washer. Sheets and pillowcases first, followed by a comforter, followed by a tide pod. Frankly? This conversation is making you debate eating said tide pod. You know you’d regret it, though. You’d have to face Santhanas and admit you killed yourself because of his most important follower. It would be a whole ordeal. Yes, you think, Much better to resist the urge. The girl across the room catches your eye.

Dads, she mouths with a humorous shake of her head. You smile and shrug as if to say, What are we going to do with them?

‘Ragazza?’

“I’m here.” You insist, standing from your position on the floor. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Terzo grumbles. 'I was saying that his job is to advise me, not to make me angry and call me names.'

You press your back to the washer and grip the edge with your hands. It rattles and shakes under your touch, fulfilling its job of cleaning your linens. Unlike Terzo, who calls you to do his job. It’s beginning to feel like this conversation is going in circles. You sigh through your nose. Love him as you do, you wish he’d take a little more responsibility.

“Papa, what exactly do you want me to do?” You ask pointedly. The line falls eerily silent. You wait and wait, wondering what the fuck is happening, Terzo is never this quiet, seriously why isn’t he saying anything? until it hits you. “Oh, absolutely not. I’m not going to talk to His Former Dark Excellence II about this, that is your burden to bear-”

‘-y/n, please!’

“No! No way.” You hiss. “I’m thankful I’m a volunteer, Papa, because you couldn’t pay me enough to step up. He’s your brother. You tell him to stop.”

‘He doesn’t listen to me! And besides, he likes you so much better.’

“Yeah, because I respect him.”

‘Exactly. So respectfully be telling him to let me do my fucking job, eh?’

Your lips press into a thin line. It’s like you said before: No way. You’re not going to do it. Terzo always wins and you get the short end of the stick, having to listen to him bitch about his brothers and his brothers bitch about him, and both parties insisting you relay something mean to the other. Well, not this time. Today marks the day you finally stick up for the little guy: yourself. If Terzo wants Secondo to stop bullying him, he can tell Secondo that. You’re staying out of it.

Terzo clears his throat awkwardly. ‘I’m not hearing a yes…?’ You harumph. ‘What if I said he’s been talking about missing you? He was going to call you anyways.’

You remain stubbornly silent for a moment, but the intent is starting to drain. Secondo misses you? He hasn’t called in weeks. It was obvious he was trying to make the transition from seeing you regularly to not at all less painful (you could read him just as well as he could you) but he didn’t take into account how much not hearing from him hurt you. Your options are weighed and the scale has been tipped; You give in.

“Christ. You suck, you know that? Fine, I’ll talk to him for you.” A loud giddy sound comes through the speaker, quickly followed by a slew of Italian phrases - grazie, grazie, ti devo un favore, cara - of which you only understand bits and pieces. Maybe he intends that. He used to say things in Italian to trick you into doing things for him so you certainly wouldn’t put it past him. Not that it matters - you’re too peeved for any other emotion to pass through your system. Terzo draws your attention back.

‘Call me back after you talk to him, si? I am wanting to know how it goes.’

“Whatever.” You mutter. He blows you a kiss through the phone with an obnoxious mwah! before the line clicks and buzzes, signaling the end of the call. You pull your phone away from your ear. Your neck cracks as you straighten out.

God, you didn’t wanna do this. Not that you disliked Secondo - obviously you didn’t, he was your favorite of the three men - but listening to him rant and rave about…well, anything, was boring. Not to mention going in knowing you would be scolded for starting the conversation. You rub the bridge of your nose with one hand and wrap the other around your waist.

“Sounds like you have your hands full.” Says your laundry room friend. Now that you’ve had a chance to look her over fully, you recognize her: She’s an RA from the third floor. “Not that I was eavesdropping or anything! But uh, your dad sounds pretty stubborn. Good luck figuring it out, yeah?”

You smile. “Sure, thanks. Good luck with your shirt. Maybe try cold water?”

She returns the gesture. Gives a bob of her head, waves the shirt in a form of goodbye, and heads towards the elevator. You glance at the timer on the washer: 20 minutes. No point in staying here. You scoop up your basket and give the top of the metal machine a final pat.

“At least I can depend on you to do your job.” You tell it. The washer rumbles back. “Hm. Alright, I’ll be back later. I have to go make another call.” Said more to yourself this time - you’re not completely crazy, you know the washer doesn’t understand English, but saying out loud is its own kind of soothing. You pull up Secondo’s contact as you walk away, thumb hovering over the call button. I can use laundry as an excuse if this goes south, you think. The phone rings, rings, rings until finally, someone picks up.

‘Si?’ The voice asks. It reeks of exhaustion and annoyance, something that doesn’t shock you. Secondo hates technology. Yet another reason this conversation would've been better had in person. You take a deep breath and force yourself to smile. Maybe if you smile, you’ll sound like you’re not leading into a conversation that will upset him. Like you're calling for a casual chat instead. The voice repeats and you realize you have to respond quickly if you want him to stay on the phone, so you force the words through your teeth. Demand that they sound cheerful. You speak and you pray to the Olde One that Secondo doesn’t see through your façade as he often does.