Archive of Our Own ^beta

In Passione, Risotto Nero was a highly respected individual, both for his fighting capabilities but also for his seemingly unwavering ability to command others. He believes that his stature has influenced both these aspects of himself, though he is certain that he can improve. However, to those he commands, La Squadra Esecuzioni , his demeanor is considered nearly omnipotent. Looking up to his commands with a combination of fear and respect, their loyalty is unwavering; in part due to his overwhelming stature. Although each member can agree that his intense, large demeanor is a large factor in their respect, they were also captivated by another large aspect of their Capo. Although Risotto is mostly unaware of this fact, he cannot help but wonder if their inability to look him in the eye as he directs them was the result of his personality or something else.

At first, he’d thought to ignore the ruckus from down the hall, rolling over in bed with a pillow over his head. But it’d persisted, stubbornly ignoring Formaggio’s silent pleas to disappear. It was enough for him to sit up, check the time, and try his best to go back to sleep. Of course, to no real avail. Muffled music and what he thought was…murmuring? He was too tired to make much of the noise. His resolve to ignore the noise and go back to sleep hadn’t lasted very long, and in less than twenty minutes he was storming down the hallway, his pillow in hand. He wholly expected some moron like Illuso or Melone to be purposefully fucking with him. So when he came to the door of his Capo, he was more than a bit confused. He stood there, staring at the door, listening to the muffled noise. What the fuck was he hearing?

He crept over to the door, trying to make as little noise as possible, despite any movements being drowned out by the noise beyond the door. He took a glance at the surrounding doors before realizing that he was now standing in front of Risotto’s room. Now more confused than ever, he pressed his ear to the door ever so slightly, both confused and concerned with hearing more noise from within the room than he ever had during his time with the team. Concentrating more closely on the noise, he could make out a faint soundtrack of some stereotypical pop group. Not that he bothered with that sort of music. Especially now, when there were far more…interesting noises coming from within the room. He was quickly able to determine that the thumping noise sounded a lot like jumping. He was sure of it. But why the hell would Risotto be jumping around like that this late at night. Some secret workout routine? However, any thoughts of a traditional explanation were quickly vanished when he realized what his Capo had been murmuring to himself in the same monotone voice he always used.

“...I’d get me the biggest ones I could find. Do that dance. I must, I must. I must increase my bust.”

Formaggio clamps a hand over his mouth in silent panic in a desperate ploy to keep himself from laughing. There was no chance in hell he was going to be the one to interrupt Risotto’s…workout? He hurries back to his room as quickly as possible, the thumps from beyond the door doing more than enough work to mask his hurried footsteps. Once inside the safety of his room, he stands with his back to the wall, trying to breathe slowly enough to control the inevitable laugh to come. Who the hell could he tell? Who was going to believe him? 

He trudges over to his bed, hunched over and trembling in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter building up within him. He settles for lying down on his bed face-first, burying his face in his pillow and laughing until he could hardly breathe. Feeling slightly less overwhelmed, he turns over and attempts to get cozy once again underneath the warm blanket, sighing softly as he closed his eyes with his exhaustion starting to lull him to sleep. However, right as he began to fall asleep again, a particularly loud thump from the hall made him jolt awake. Fuck. He looked at the clock, which now read 4:55, and groaned. How much longer was he going to keep this up? He knew he should be awake and out of his room by 9 at the latest, but how the hell was he going to get any sleep with Risotto jumping around his room like a goddamn cheerleader? He rolled onto his side, burying his face into his pillow with the hope that he’d be able to get some sleep before his alarm went off.

Unfortunately, he was not so lucky. Groaning as he hit his alarm in an effort to turn it off, he silently cursed himself before stumbling out of his room and down the hall, where he immediately ran into Illuso. Perfect. Just the guy he needed to see, if he would even believe him.

“You look like shit.”

Maybe it was Illuso’s tone, or maybe it was the lack of sleep talking, but good God, did he look ever so punchable? “I look better than you, asshole.” he settles himself at their lopsided tabletop, rubbing his eyes. 

“See? This is what a lack of beauty sleep does to a man,” his tone is almost pitiful, but Formaggio knows it’s anything but. He sits across the table, lacing his fingers together, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What? Were you up all night?” 

“Yeah, actually, and what do you care?” he huffs in Illuso’s direction. God, today was going to be a long day if it was going to be filled with teasing like this. 

“I don’t,” Illuso says purposefully, leaning forward. “But I’ll never miss an opportunity to make fun of you. This morning seems like just the time.”

“Good morning.” the tell-tale gruff voice of their Capo interrupts their conversation. Formaggio steels himself from flinching away at the unexpected voice. 

“Good morning,” Illuso smiles. “Although, it doesn’t seem like Formaggio is having a nice morning.”

Formaggio can practically feel the sweat building on his skin under Risotto’s scrutinizing gaze. “That’s unfortunate. You should get more rest.” is all he offers, before taking his mug and leaving the kitchen. 

Formaggio releases a long breath, rubbing his eyes again. “Fuck.”

“What’s that about?” Illuso kicks his ankle beneath the table, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“Fuck off.”

“You tell me what that was about, and I’ll consider it.” 

Formaggio inwardly groans, turning away from Illuso’s prying gaze. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone.”

“That’s not part of the deal.”

“Whatever. Listen,” he casts an uneasy glance over Illuso’s shoulder, making sure the hallway behind him is decisively empty. “Last night, I heard some noises, they woke me up. So…like any normal person I went to check them out. It was coming from his room,” he gestures vaguely towards the hallway. 

“Right. What kind of noises?”

“Like…like jumping? And there was…” he clears his throat, stifling a giggle. “There was this music playing…and it sort of sounded like he was singing along to it.”

“And?” Illuso prompts. “What were the lyrics?”

Formaggio pinches his lips shut, shaking his head. “Dude, I don’t know how you didn’t hear it, it was loud as fuck. I can’t say that aloud.”

“Then you’re just trying to fuck with me.” Illuso laughs. “Okay, good one.”

“I’m not joking. Swear.”

“Uh-huh.” Illuso rolls his eyes, leaning back. “Capo dancing and singing to himself? You’re ridiculous.”

“Listen to me.” He grabs Iluso’s shoulders. “Why would I lie to you about this? Look at me. Look me in the fucking eyes, Illuso. He was fucking dancing and all that shit! How the hell did you not hear him? Do you know how fucking…” He motions with his hands. “...Big, he is? He’s loud! Loud as fuck! He’s in there performing some fucking cheerleading routine and you didn’t hear shit?” 

He lets go of Illuso, staring at him in annoyance. “His door was shaking, Illuso. I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” 

Aggravated, he turns around and sees Risotto coming down the hallway again, and promptly feels his soul leave his body.

“Are you going to come have breakfast with the rest of us or is there something I need to know about?” He raises one of his eyebrows slightly, and Formaggio can only attempt to stutter out an excuse while simultaneously praying that Illuso won’t say anything stupid.

Of course, he is, once again, unlucky. He turns to Illuso with a pleading look as Risotto walks past them. His pleas go ignored, as Illuso calls out to him again. “Hey, and Capo?” He side-eyes Formaggio with a grin. “How did you sleep? How was your night?”

Formaggio takes a moment to decide whether or not he should strangle Illuso where he stands, when he sees that Risotto has once again turned around to walk towards his room. “It was uneventful. Now go eat. I forgot to put something away in here.”

What a normal response. He curses Illuso under his breath before agreeing with his Capo, watching him saunter into his room and promptly shut the door behind him. Just what the fuck was he even hiding in there? Did it have anything to do with the night before?

Deciding to retain what little sanity he has left at this point, he half-heartedly tells Illuso to go fuck himself before heading into the dining room for some breakfast. At least a little bit of food would make him feel better.

Although the usual banter of his teammates would normally be a welcome occurrence, the lack of sleep combined with his confusion towards Risotto’s behavior made the atmosphere much more suffocating than usual. Maybe he’d finally get lucky and be able to get away with eating and sneaking away to his room for a nap.

His night had started like many before, his quiet nightly routine, avoiding the other members of the team like the plague as he got ready for bed. Nothing had been out of the norm, besides Formaggio’s attitude throughout the day, he supposes. He’d lain down, and fallen asleep without any issue, just like he’d expected. 

Until he was no longer asleep, glaring up at the ceiling, fighting the urge to roll out of bed and strangle Formaggio where he stood. Because he knew, he just knew, that whatever this god awful noise was, was most certainly Formaggio’s doing. Call it a prank, whatever, but its entertainment was rapidly fading. It feels like a small eternity before he yanks his blankets off of him, and storms out of his room. He pauses only briefly to stare at Risotto’s door just a bit down the hallway. It was most certainly the source of the noise, but he wasn’t going to barge into his Capo’s room first. Oh, oh no. He was going straight to Formaggio. He doesn’t bother with the courtesy of knocking, instead stepping into the room, seething. 

“Idiot!” he jabs a finger into Formaggio’s chest. “What the hell is the point of keeping me awake now? Huh? What sense does it make to make my night a living hell? Because I didn’t believe your lie?” 

Formaggio blearily blinks up at him, frowning. “Huh?”

“I don’t know what you and Risotto are doing, but cut it out. I’m trying to fucking sleep.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Formaggio shoves his finger away with a yawn. “You’re the one that’s interrupting my sleep. Asshole.”

“Get your ass up.” Illuso grabs his arm, tugging him from the comfort of his bed. Formaggio groans in tired protest, and not much else. He tumbles to the ground with a muffled groan, before standing up. 

“What do you want?”

Illuso scowls, gripping his arm, and practically dragging Formaggio out of his room, towards Risotto’s door. 

“This! Cut this off! I don’t care, I’ll apologize if I have to, but I’m not staying up all night listening to noise!” 

Formaggio stares at the door, his tired eyes now wide. 

“See?” he shrugs Illuso’s grip off of him. “I’m not a lunatic!” he hisses, jabbing a finger at the door. “He’s doing it again! I swear!” 

“You’re fucking delusional.”

“You’re hearing it too!” Formaggio throws his hands up in defeat. “I’m not fucking with you, dude, swear. Just, I don’t know. Peek in there, see what the fuck is going on yourself! I’m not doing anything, not pulling any strings.”

Illuso crosses his arms, still frowning. “You’re being deadass?”

“ So deadass right now.” Formaggio drops his voice, staring at him. 

Illuso rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically. “Whatever.”

He glances back at him, very obviously annoyed by the lengths that Risotto and Formaggio had gone to annoy him. At this early in the morning? He needed his fucking sleep. Formaggio, he expected this behavior from, but he was honestly rather surprised by the fact that he had managed to rope their Capo into whatever elaborate bullshit he was planning.

He promptly flicks Formaggio in the arm.

“Fuck! What was that for?”

“Being an asshole. Waking me up. Wasting my time. Do you want me to go on?”

“Listen man, if you look in there, and you are satisfied with what you see, I’ll make it up to you, happy?”

“Fine. But I expect compensation for this.”

“What compensation? Stop dicking around and just fucking go in there!”

Illuso rolls his eyes again, so dramatically that they might as well have popped out of his head. He summons Man in the Mirror, sighs, and steps into the mirror world.

He grumbles to himself again, pissed off with how much time this is wasting. He peered through Risotto’s mirror, hanging adjacent to where he was…performing.

“Wait a minute.”

He looks at Risotto: his fearsome, intimidating, overwhelming Capo, and promptly has to clasp his hand over his mouth to prevent himself from yelling out in shock. He can hardly look away as he sees Risotto prancing around the room just like Formaggio had said. The worst part was, he looked completely serious. He steeled his nerves a little bit, and began to focus on what he was saying. In the same monotone voice that he was so used to hearing orders given in, he was singing. Risotto? Singing? He scoffed quietly. This whole thing was ridiculous.

Just as he was about to retreat back outside Risotto’s door, Risotto began to chant more clearly.

“...Do that dance. I must, I must. I must increase my bust.”

He felt his face heating up in a combination of confusion and embarrassment. Holy shit. He immediately understood why Formaggio was so reluctant to tell him what Risotto had been singing about. He shook his head slightly. As the realization set in, he began to consider what he was watching. His Capo, a big, intimidating man, dancing around his room with enough force to be heard down the hall, singing about his tits and making them bigger. 

He stared at Risotto for a few more moments, before he became burdened by the same urge to burst out laughing. He promptly retreated into the mirror world, gasping for breath in between sporadic laughter. He returned to Formaggio, looking at him frantically before making vague gestures to the door. Dragging Formaggio back to his room, he sat on his bed and gave a soft sigh. 

The two maintained eye contact for a few moments, before being interrupted by Formaggio.

Dropping his voice obnoxiously deep, he began marching around his room. “I must, I must. I must increase my bust.” He maintained the act a few more times before falling to his knees in suppressed laughter, followed by Illuso, who had been struggling to breathe for the entirety of the interaction.

After what felt like hours, the two finally composed themselves, not having gotten any more sleep that night. Illuso glanced at the clock on his wall, which read as 6 in the morning. He groaned, and fell onto his bed. He glanced at Formaggio, who was still sitting on the floor. He began to laugh, once again.

“Just what the fuck was that?”

His morning started with a throbbing headache. When he rolled over, shifting into consciousness, the sun had hit his closed eyes, making him regret waking up. Something about the way the sunlight bled through his blinds, directly onto his eyes, told him today was going to fucking suck. As if the damned sun wasn’t enough, his lenses were smudged, and he had to sit at the edge of his bed blindly wiping at them until he could pretend to see properly. He dragged himself out of his room, desperate for at least something to drink, if breakfast wasn’t ready. 

Melone’s arm feels like it weighs half a ton when he drops it over Ghiaccio’s shoulders, grinning like a lunatic. “Good morning.” he beams. 

“Fuck off.” he hardly bothers mumbling a coherent sentence, weakly pushing Melone’s arm away. Melone laughs, relenting. He follows Melone towards the kitchen and dining room, the majority of the team is already up, with the exception of Pesci, and Risotto. He rubs his eyes, wishing that he’d gotten maybe an hour more of sleep. He barely registers the chipper conversation around him, and instead, only catches the seemingly mischievous expressions of the most troublesome members of the team. 

He scowls back at both Formaggio and Illuso, catching the frowns thrown directly back at him. 

“I haven’t even said anything and you two are already plotting.” Ghiaccio mutters, crossing his arms.

“Not everything is about you.” Illuso raises his chin, taking his seat. Now that he was a bit closer…Ghiaccio supposed he could see the dark circles beneath their eyes. It wasn’t new, per se, at least not for Formaggio. He was known to pull one or two all nighters on occasion. Illuso, however, was notorious for valuing his beauty sleep, so the sight was a bit odd to say the least.

“Man, neither of us slept well, can you take a break from being a dick for the day?” Formaggio yawns at him.

“Me?” Good lord was he really going to have to put up with this today? He crosses his arms, scowling. “If anything, you two are the local dicks, it’s not my fault you’re both horrendously obnoxious.”

“Shut. Up.” Illuso waves a hand at Ghiaccio, as if it’d sew his lips shut. Ghiaccio couldn’t scowl harder if he actively tried. 

“Why didn’t you two sleep well anyway? Huh?” he prods sourly. 

“You wouldn’t believe either of us if we swore on our lives.” Formaggio sighs wistfully. “Is breakfast ready?”

“Answer the goddamn question.” 

“Neither of us are obligated to.” Illuso huffs. “Why don’t you get me a cup of coffee and stop barking at me?”

Ghiaccio purses his lips, glaring at him. The glare, coupled with the pressure in his head, made it feel like his eyes might just roll out onto the table and melt on spot. 

He could really go for another hour of sleep. 

“Hey, hey, guys,” Melone slides into the seat beside Ghiaccio, his hands full with plates. “Take a chill pill, what’s the fuss?” he smiles. 

“Ghiaccio looks like he’s about to piss himself.” Formaggio snickers, only half hiding his grin behind his hand. 

“Fuck you!” Ghiaccio hisses. 

Melone, looking smug as always, gives Ghiaccio a pat on the shoulder. “No need to be so fussy this early in the morning.” His grin widens as Ghiaccio feels an all too familiar rage building within him. “Come on, after all this time I spent helping with breakfast, I really think you should calm down and eat.”

“Calm down? Calm down! I am perfectly calm! Those little shits won’t tell me what the fuck they’re doing, and they’re being all smug about it, too!” Looking over, he’s met with Formaggio and Illuso, each looking back at him with cheshire grins.

“You know what! Fuck breakfast!” He seethes, glaring at Formaggio and Illuso again, whose grins have only grown wider.

Melone, helpful as per usual, chimes in again. “Don’t fuck breakfast, I spent a lot of time on it!”

Ghiaccio growls out more incomprehensible speech before storming off to his room, slamming the door behind him. Melone laughs a little before sighing, walking a cup of ice water and his plate to the door of Ghiaccio’s room. Hearing muffled shouts of frustration, he decides not to try to open the door, and opts to set the plate and the cup on the floor before knocking lightly on the door and walking away. As he does, he sees the door open a crack out of the corner of his eye, as Ghiaccio’s hand shoots out from the door and grabs both items, spilling a little water on the floor as he does so.

Just as Ghiaccio closes the door one final time, Risotto enters the dining room. Immediately, the chatter between Illuso and Formaggio stops as they stare at him, trying to conceal their laughter.

Risotto decidedly does not notice this.

“I take it he stormed off again?”
The door to Ghiaccio’s room opens as he shouts a quick “No!” before promptly slamming it closed again.

Breakfast is otherwise uneventful, with the occasional griping from Formaggio and Illuso. After everything is cleaned up, Risotto gives the team a small briefing on potential hits for the upcoming week. When they are dismissed, Formaggio and Illuso immediately try to return to their respective rooms, desperate for any extra sleep they can get. 

Once again, they are unlucky.

As soon as they enter the hallway leading to their rooms, they are immediately cornered by Ghiaccio, who has calmed down ever so slightly from before.

“You missed the briefing.”
“I don’t care about that! What the hell is up with you two!”

Formaggio and Illuso share a look, before sheepishly glancing back at Ghiaccio. 

Formaggio decides to be the bearer of bad news.

“Listen, man. I’m not gonna bother with the details here. You aren’t going to believe either of us, and we don’t need you yelling about it to everyone else in the team.”
This immediately causes Ghiaccio to become enraged again, yelling about not being seen as trustworthy even though “It doesn’t matter! We’re all apart of the same team so I doubt you have any reason to be secretive beyond some stupid bullshit that doesn’t even involve me!”

Illuso interjects. “Cut the shit before you explode, dude. Just…” He trails off, unsure of where to take the conversation. “Keep an ear out tonight for anything unusual.”

Before Ghiaccio can continue his interrogation, Formaggio and Illuso rush past him into their respective rooms, falling asleep almost instantly.

The mere thought of partaking in whatever the hell these sleep deprived maniacs were doing makes his skin crawl unhappily. There was not a chance in hell he was going to waste his night fulfilling their idiotic request. He scoffed. Once again, the thought of catching a few more minutes of sleep crosses his mind, but he figures that as long as he’s up and moving around, he might as well grab something to drink. 

As soon as he turns the corner, almost running face first into Melone, he changes his mind. 

“Sorry,” Melone says, a wide grin on his lips. “I was eavesdropping.”

“Of course you were.” he rolls his eyes, spinning on his heel, back towards his room. 

The day passes slowly, as if night is being stalled by some cosmic entity. Everytime he checks his phone, no more than an hour has passed, and he’s not gotten even a wink more of rest. 

When the daylight finally begins to fade, he has high hopes that his exhaustion carried throughout the day will bless him with an uneventful night, and lots of good sleep. 

And yet, he stares at his bedroom walls, somehow incapable of finding rest. Another trick of Formaggio and Illuso? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. He sighs to himself, not feeling like he’s expressed nearly half of the frustration he was really feeling. Ghiaccio tries his hand at distracting himself with the games on his phone, the volume not quite muted. But his attention keeps jumping, his eyes drawn away from his screen until he decides to give up. 

He pushes the phone away, ready to give sleep yet another chance. 

It felt like a small miracle, the way his consciousness had begun to go fuzzy, his eyelids closed, the way he was sprawled just right on his uncomfortable mattress. 

And that was when he felt what he could only describe as faint vibrations making their way through the floor. He jerked awake, the gentle fingers of sleep escaping him. He sits up, fully frustrated now, and shoves his glasses onto his face with an aggravated groan. It didn’t matter, a couple extra hours of lost sleep wouldn’t amount to much, he could just keep tomorrow at a low energy. 

He steps out of his room, marching down the hallway with a determined frown on his face. He couldn’t care less about the origin of the noise, he understood that in a place with paper thin walls he would have the misfortune of hearing things he would rather not sometimes, so when he steps out, his only real goal was to reach the kitchen quietly, and head back to bed.

Ghiaccio can’t help but stop halfway through his trek. Music, thumping, whatever. Something he could expect from just about anyone in the team. Anyone, excluding Risotto. Sure, he was certain Risotto enjoyed his own kind of music, but he’d always figured he was…maybe more of a headphones kind of guy? Not someone who plays music this loud, this late at night. 

He stays stationary long enough to confirm that Risotto’s room was, in fact, the source of the noise, and if he got just a bit closer, he was sure he could figure out what the hell he was listening to so late. 

Previous frustration temporarily forgotten, he steps closer, a cautious hand resting on Risotto’s door. He doesn’t have to get much closer to hear the unbelievable mantra he’s positive Risotto is repeating.

Bust? 

No, that couldn’t be right, could it? Could he be mishearing? He stays silent, straining his ears to hear any other version of the word, something that rhymes with bust, something that sounds a little too much like it. But it’s all he can hear. Bust? Really? 

His face feels hot at the realization of what the hell he’s hearing. Certainly…not in that manner, right? Maybe in the context of shoulders and up. Decisively not chest related in the slightest. 

For the love of whatever God existed, he needed to unhear, and unimagine everything running rampant in his exhausted mind. He practically sprints away from the room, his eyes focused on the ground beneath his feet, doing his best to tune out the well timed vibrations making their way through the floor. Singing and God, was he dancing? What the hell was he doing? As curious as Ghiacio was, he also hoped he’d never have the misfortune of actually finding out. When he pulls his blankets back around his shoulders, sleepless eyes staring at the ceiling, he can’t help but ponder what tomorrow will bring. How was he going to look Risotto in the fucking face after this? How was he going to sleep, the endless possibilities circulating through his head. Just how long was Risotto going to keep this up? Was this an all night activity? God, he hoped not. 

Apparently, it was an all night activity.

With each minute seemingly dragging on for hours, Ghiaccio gritted his teeth in annoyance. He couldn’t believe this. He had quickly gone from surprised to upset with the dawning realization that Risotto was not likely to stop anytime soon. He considers just shoving his fingers in his ears in an attempt to sleep before immediately discarding the idea, embarrassed by the mental image of trying to fall asleep in such an awkward position.

God. This fucking sucked. He was dreading tomorrow, knowing very well that he would not have the energy to put up with anyone’s bullshit. Especially Melone. How the fuck did he manage to stay so energetic so fucking often? He’d immediately point it out if he noticed that Ghiaccio seemed more tired than usual. While he would normally be able to deflect most of Melone’s questioning, he doubted that he would be able to sufficiently explain what he had overheard. 

Thinking back to the previous morning, he cringes, suddenly remembering how tired Formaggio and Illuso had looked, along with their weird scheming. 

Oh.

That was what they were talking about.

Ghiaccio angrily shoves his face into his pillow, thinking about the idiocy of the whole situation. Should he bother talking to either of them about it? He briefly considers the possibility of doing so before deciding that it would be a future problem. What would he even say? “Oh, by the way, our super scary Capo likes singing about his tits?” Or bust. Whatever. This was stupid.

Realizing that attempting to get any more sleep for the night would be futile, Ghiaccio settles for shoving his pillow to cover his ears. He forces himself to keep his eyes closed, if nothing else than to pass the time before morning. 

After what felt like an eternity, the music and thumping eventually faded. Ghiaccio allowed himself to relax a bit, breathing a sigh of relief before promptly being interrupted by his alarm going off. 

Ignoring the urge to throw his phone onto the nearby wall, he blindly smacks at it in an attempt to hit snooze. Instead, the phone falls onto the floor, still ringing just as loudly. He grabs around his nightstand blindly, trying to put his glasses on before reaching for his phone. Instead, his glasses are also knocked to the floor in the process, and it takes Ghiaccio’s use of his minimal self-control to not scream in frustration.

He attempts to slump out of bed, slightly hindered in motion by his exhaustion. He grabs around for his glasses and his phone, which is still ringing. Victorious, he decides to head to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face, hoping that it would make him look slightly more awake for breakfast. 

Looking in the mirror, the dark circles underneath his eyes are the first thing he notices. Ew. In contrast to his skin, which is much more pale this morning, his dark circles almost make it look as though he has smudged eyeliner underneath his eyes. Not wanting to look too much like a feral raccoon, Ghiaccio spends the next few minutes splashing cold water onto his face, lightly smacking his cheeks in an effort to bring some color back into them.

He stepped back and looked in the mirror again, mildly satisfied with his work. Sure, the dark circles were still very much present, but at least he looks slightly more alive for breakfast. After a few more minutes of studying his reflection, he is confident that no one will notice how tired he is. Not even Melone.

“Wow! You look sick. Did you not sleep very well?”

Damn it. Ghiaccio can only stare coldly at Melone as he swings his arm over his shoulder, wanting to be back in his room and blissfully unconscious. 

“Has it ever occurred to you that hardly anyone is ever this chipper this early in the fucking morning?”

“Well. you know what they say,” He nudges Ghiaccio in the shoulder. “The early bird gets the worm!”

Ghiaccio grits his teeth in annoyance, turning to Melone with a harsh expression.

“Who the fuck cares! It’s too early for this! What are you even trying to fucking say, huh? ‘The early bird gets the worm’ We aren’t birds, Melone! Why the hell would you want a stupid fucking worm anyway! Why would anyone wake up early for a worm! That’s a stupid thing to wake up for! There’s no reason for me to wake up this early when I’m already tired as shit if all I’m gonna get is a fucking worm! What would I even do with it? I don’t want a fucking worm!”

“So you are tired, then?”

“Get fucked.”

Melone’s relentless teasing stops, if only for the remainder of the short walk towards the kitchen. Ghiaccio had even begun to think, maybe, that was the extent of it. He wouldn’t have to put up with any reminders of last night, or teasing about his pale complexion. 

Of course, he’d apparently pissed the universe off recently, because the next person to join them is none other than Formaggio, looking no better than he had yesterday. 

His tired gaze stays on Ghiaccio for an uncomfortably long time. “Sleep well?” 

“Fuck you.” Ghiaccio frowns. 

“I don’t think I got any more sleep than you did, cut the attitude man.” he takes his seat at the table, slumping in his chair. “I’m so exhausted.”

“Is there a bug or something going around? Why are you guys all so lethargic?” Melone prods, nudging Ghiaccio. “I feel great.”

“Yeah?” Formaggio scoffs. 

“Is there something I’m missing out on?” 

“No.” Ghiaccio says sharply, waving him away. “I’m not in the mood to put up with questions, drop it.”

“I could be asking Formaggio. Had you considered that?” Melone raises his eyebrows with a pleased smile. 

Formaggio shares an uncomfortable look with Ghiaccio. “Well…I dunno about Ghiaccio but I’ve had this awful pain in my back the past couple nights, keeps me up.” he shrugs. “It sucks. Maybe I am getting sick, I feel pretty worn down…do I get the leftovers if I do end up getting sick?” 

“Ah,” Melone chuckles. “Absolutely not. You’d be lucky if there’s any leftovers in the first place, and I don’t think anyone would be all too pleased to find you digging in food being sick.” he grins. 

“Darn.” Formaggio sighs. “Too bad.”

“Right. Oh, Illuso.” Melone raises a hand. “Good morning.”

Ghiaccio thinks he feels something like pity, watching the way Illuso stumbles into the dining room. He looks hungover. He grumbles something beneath his breath in Melone’s direction, making a beeline for the kitchen. 

Melone glances down at Ghiaccio and Formaggio’s sleepless expressions, his lips pursed. “A contagious bug, maybe.” he says, and much to Ghiaccio’s relief, does not question any further.

Prosciutto considers himself a fairly patient man in most scenarios. He can put up with a lot, he does put up with a lot. Between all of his responsibilities as an adult, on top of living with a group of idiotic men, he thinks his disposition is fairly generous most of the time. There are inevitable times when his patience runs thin, and he finds it difficult to endure the childish bickering between the others. 

Such is the beauty of human nature. Or something like that. 

He’d expected a quiet morning, the past couple mornings have been quieter than usual, and he was relishing the slight change in pace, not hearing shouting from across the house. 

It starts when he hears Ghiaccio almost screaming at Melone about early birds and worms, that was really the extent of what he’d heard. He assumed it was just another instance of Ghiaccio’s poor understanding of metaphors. 

Then bickering from the dining room, a little too loud for his liking. When Prosciutto made it to the kitchen for his cup of espresso, Illuso, Ghiaccio, and Formaggio were at the table, Melone was staring aimlessly into the fridge.

He only receives a half assed greeting from Melone, which he elects to ignore, as he moves to fix his drink.

“Prosciutto, I’ve got a question for you.” Melone shuts the fridge, a bottle of creamer in his hand. 

Prosciutto hums quietly, prompting him. 

“Have you had any trouble sleeping?” 

“In general?” Prosciutto pours water into the coffee machine.

“Recently.”

He hardly has to consider it. “Not in the slightest. Why?”

“Just curious.” Melone sets the creamer on the counter, pushing it towards him. “Thanks.”

“Is that what the issue is with those three?” He eyes the disgruntled figures of Formaggio, Illuso, and Ghiaccio.

“I’m not sure.” Melone taps his chin thoughtfully. “I think they’re hiding something. Maybe you should ask.” he shrugs, slipping out of the kitchen, towards the living room. 

As if he would waste his morning. He puts the creamer back in the fridge, having unopened it. It didn’t need to sit on the counter while he fixed his breakfast. The occasional bursts from Ghiaccio make his fingers tap the counter irritably, and the snarky remarks that are just a little too loud from Illuso make him keep his eyes on the coffee pot, watching the slow drip. It’s ultimately from Formaggio slamming his fist on the table in excitement that makes him turn towards them. 

“For grown men, you three are acting an awful lot like children this morning. Is there no way you could keep it down?” he prompts, crossing his arms. 

Ghiaccio tosses him a sour look. “For someone in their thirties, you act an awful lot like an old man on his deathbed.” Illuso shoots back. “Why don’t you keep your complaints to yourself?”

Prosciutto decides fairly quickly that today is not going to be a good day. “If I were on my deathbed, I’d not be wasting my precious breath with morons such as yourselves.”

“Then why bother now?” Illuso mimics his stance, crossing his arms too. 

“Because, apparently, I’ve got the time and breath to waste. It’s better than listening to you three bicker endlessly in silence.” 

There is no comeback, the three of them noticeably tensing when Risotto steps into the room. 

“Good morning.” 

Prosciutto eyes the three suspiciously, noting the way all three of them watch Risotto silently. As if they’re expecting…something. 

“Good morning.” he offers back, when no one else does. “I think this is my last week here, Risotto, I simply can’t put up with these idiots.” he gestures to them. 

“This is the fifth time you’ve mentioned it,” Risotto shakes his head. “I think you like them.”

“I beg to differ.” he moves out of Risotto’s way, casting another glance at the table. All three have averted their gaze, sharing silent looks among themselves. He frowns when he sees Illuso slip away, towards the body length mirror just a few feet away. What were they doing?

“Are you guys resting well?” Risotto asks, his back still turned to the table. “You three look tired.”

“Bad back, I think a pulled muscle is keeping me up.” Formaggio’s excuse is flimsy. 

“Uh…I just couldn’t sleep.” Ghiaccio mutters. 

Prosciutto turns his gaze back to the mirror, Illuso stepping out of it, something clutched in his hands. He decides to keep quiet, at least until Risotto is out of the room. Whatever has them acting strangely must have to do with him. And whatever Illuso has, they must not want Risotto to know about, for whatever reason. 

He distantly registers Risotto offering quiet words of advice for better rest. Prosciutto mutely observes how Illuso hurriedly pushes the mystery item below the tabletop as Risotto passes, the three of them nodding at his words.

He pretends not to notice Illuso frantically showing Formaggio and Ghiaccio the item in silent excitement. Formaggio’s immediate response is hushed laughter, and he notes that Ghiaccio’s expression has soured significantly.

Originally, if it had just been Formaggio and Illuso, Prosciutto would have assumed it was another one of their moronic pranks. However, with Ghiaccio involved, he can’t help but wonder if there was something serious going on that he was purposefully being left out of. The three hardly managed to collaborate as it was in regard to missions, so the thought of them interacting of their own free will was confusing to say the least.

The hushed whispers of the three capture his attention once more, and he shoots Melone a glance in an attempt to determine if he knew what was going on. Seeing him lounging on the couch, absorbed by his laptop, he has little hope of telling just what he was thinking.

Defeated, he chooses to ignore Melone’s presence, trying to listen in on their subtle conversation.

“I’m telling you guys, this is it!” Illuso all but throws the item, which Prosciutto can now see is a disc, at Formaggio’s face. 

“Affirmations?” He snickers, holding it closer to his face while squinting at it. “Aren’t those things you say if you want them to happen?”

"Yeah, definitely. Which means that this definitely isn’t some weird exercise thing. I didn’t know he was into this stuff.” 

He’s cut off by Ghiaccio huffing in annoyance, ripping the disc out of Formaggio’s hands. “Why would he even need this shit! Have you seen him! He doesn’t need it!”
Illuso responds to this by making a joke about Ghiaccio’s sexuality, causing him to launch another tirade about how stupid the whole situation was. It also sounded like a lot of deflecting, but Prosciutto had more important things to think about.

More importantly, the fact that whatever they were talking about most definitely involved Risotto. He doubted that they would be so secretive about the matter if it were any other member of the team, which further cemented the idea that something weird would happen. He gets up with the intention of confronting the trio, but is interrupted by his phone buzzing. Squinting at the text he’s received, he can immediately tell that it was from Pesci.

Oh, right. He promised him they would hang out today.

Prosciutto looked back at the three, still arguing about Ghiaccio’s previous statement, and sighed. Whatever it was, he could either ask them or Risotto tomorrow. He doubted anything serious was truly going on. It could always wait another day. 

He walked out the door, taking one final glance behind him, before leaving the base for the day. He had much more important things to worry about than the squabblings of his teammates. At least he would be able to enjoy himself, always finding interest in exploring the many intricacies of Naples. He had no doubts that it would be a long, though still enjoyable, day. Pesci would undoubtedly want to fit in as many activities as he could for the day, not that he could blame him. It had been a long while since the two had interacted outside of a mission, and as bothersome as Pesci could be sometimes, Prosciutto couldn’t say that he hated his company.

Regardless, the day was sure to take a lot out of him. Walking around in the heat all day always drained him in a way that was hard to describe, so he could only assume that he would be exhausted once he returned to the base. At least he would be able to get a lot of rest that night, being able to sleep in due to a lull in missions. 

Prosciutto considers himself as not being quick to anger in most circumstances. Especially compared to his much more… excitable teammates. However, there are many things that are quick to set him off, with having his precious sleep disturbed being one of them. 

He finds himself particularly cross, having been woken up in the middle of the night by some thumping and music outside his room. He grumbles to himself, thinking that this must have something to do with the other members of the team, and turns over, attempting to simply ignore the noise. His efforts are in vain, as he continues to focus on the noise despite his best efforts not to. 

Getting increasingly aggravated, he staggers out of bed, slowly making his way towards his bedroom door.

Opening it, he can immediately recognize that the noise is coming from down the hall, more specifically, from Risotto’s room. His anger is temporarily quelled by confusion as he slowly stumbles towards the door, gently pressing his ear to it in an attempt to determine what the noise was. Even in his sleep-deprived state, he could quickly discern two things.

Risotto was dancing…and singing? If it could even be called that.

He stays there for a few more minutes, trying to think of why he would be singing about something so downright raunchy, especially this late at night. He began to consider the situation of his other teammates, slowly realizing that this was most likely what they had been arguing about earlier. Recalling the discussion of the disc that he had overheard, he couldn’t help but wonder why Risotto would choose that sort of music for affirmations, of all things. 

Prosciutto recounts each and every instance where he has looked up to his Capo. Seeing his…bust in its ill-contained glory. At this point, he begins to wonder if it would be more accurate to call them tits. His mind wanders further, thinking of the way they look with chest straps constraining them, only capable of keeping his nipples covered. The outfit serves no combative or advantageous purpose in any way, although he certainly doesn’t mind the view. Although he knows that his own outfit isn’t so reserved, he couldn’t imagine walking around with his tits… chest out like that. He understands that he shouldn’t be thinking about his Capo in such a derogatory manner, but even he can hardly help himself at the sight. He wonders if the reason why he even wears chest straps is because he has sensitive nipples. It would slightly explain the lack of coverage everywhere else. Maybe this was his way of looking ever so slightly sensible even with the rest of his chest sticking out. Although, he couldn’t help but think of how much more fun it would be if the former explanation were the case. Sure, there was somewhat of a height contrast between the two of them, but logically he would have little trouble sucking on his tits given how fucking prominent they were. He wondered if Risotto had nipple piercings, and if it would change the feeling of wrapping his tongue around them. Getting further lost in these thoughts, he began to consider their firmness if he were to be so bold as to touch them. He becomes increasingly flustered with the thought as he wonders if their size correlates to their firmness as well. His fingers twitch, thinking about massaging them while simultaneously sucking on his tits. God, how the hell were his tits so fucking massive? He could hardly believe it. Almost every conversation with his Capo was near torture due to their overwhelming presence. How the hell was he supposed to look Risotto in the eye when he had much bigger distractions right there ? It wasn’t his fault, really. How was he not supposed to look at them when they were nearly all he had to look at?

He unconsciously licks his lips.

When he had first started working under Risotto, his massive…demeanor was one of the first things he had noticed. Especially with their difference in height, it made it very difficult for him to hold a conversation while trying not to focus on them too much. Although, they’re clearly a point of pride for him, given this little routine of his. Surely he must’ve known the effect they had on people, with how often he paraded around with them on display. Even though his “methods” were certainly odd, he can’t say that he hates looking at the results…

He sure wasn’t going to complain about it. At least, if it didn’t keep waking him up in the middle of the night. 

Shaking his head in a vain attempt to stop thinking about his Capo in such a derogatory manner, he turns his back to the door to begin walking back to his room, only to notice that the three stooges have apparently been watching him for God knows how long. 

He approaches them slowly, in a constrained voice asking how long they had been standing there.

It’s quiet between them, if only for a moment, when Formaggio finally answers. “Long enough, dude. You got a thing for that or something? You look ready to pass out. Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look that flustered before.”

It takes most of his self restraint to not start yelling at him, instead taking a quick glance back at the door to make sure that Risotto was still ‘preoccupied’. Bringing a hand to his face, he let out a small groan as he realized that if this was something that happened every night, then he could kiss his beauty sleep goodbye. 

“Does he know that we know?” His voice is sharp, trying to cover up the embarrassment from Formaggio’s accusations. 

“No, apparently we all know that he does it except for…him.”

Ghiaccio is quick to interject. “Also Melone.”

“How the hell is Melone the only one left that doesn’t know? This would seem…on brand for him to know about.”

“What do you think I am, his fucking babysitter? I´ve got better things to do than follow him around all day.”

Unfortunately, Melone seemed to be the best at sensing trouble, for mostly the wrong reasons.

“I´d like to think that you enjoy being around me, Ghia~. We both know I make your day a lot more interesting. What would you do without me keeping you company, hm? Sit in bed all day? Get into those silly little arguments online???”

He scoffs. “What I do on Reddit is none of your business, smartass.”

“It becomes my business when you’re always asking me how to spell this or that,” Melone replies smugly. Ghiaccio bristles at his tone, jabbing a finger into his chest. 

“It was once! And ‘embarrassed’ is a really hard word to spell!” he practically shouts, his face red. 

“Of course,” Melone takes his wrist, fake sympathy laced in his voice. “No need to be… embarrassed .” Ghiaccio’s jaw drops, a string of incoherent words falling from his mouth.

Prosciutto’s building annoyance at their bickering is abruptly ended, replaced by immediate panic, when he hears the music behind the door pause. In place of the music, he can hear Risotto fumbling, muttering beneath his breath. He only manages to lock eyes with Illuso, before the door behind him opens. 

The group freezes in place, their heads turning to look at Risotto. He keeps his door only slightly ajar, undoubtedly hiding the state of his room by blocking their view with his massive physique. 

“Um…good…good morning.” he clears his throat, staring down at them. 

Prosciutto can’t help but notice the flush on his face, and the sweat that’d collected on his forehead. He also can’t help but notice how Risotto’s pajamas are twisted, and his shirt is on inside out, as if tossed on in a rush. He purses his lips, curiosity making his imagination run wild. If his Capo wasn’t wearing pajamas during…whatever it was that he was doing, what did he wear? 

“Good morning.” he says, when no one else speaks up. 

“Is there…a problem?” Risotto frowns, tugging at the collar of his shirt. The confidence and intimidation that typically oozes from every pore is seemingly replaced with uneasiness, and he refuses to look at any one of them in the eye. 

“No, of course not,” he says quickly.

At the same time, he’s mortified to hear Melone’s sly voice, “Actually, yes,” 

Risotto’s eyes narrow suspiciously. 

Lord above, he needed the strength to keep himself from strangling Melone. The idiot’s insistence on making trouble for everyone was going to kill Prosciutto, if Prosciutto didn’t kill him first. 

“What is it?” 

“We were all woken by some…noise.” Melone tries, a shit eating grin on his face. “It sounded like you were pretty busy, Capo. We were gonna knock, and make sure you were okay.”

“Of course I am. It’s two in the morning. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just a lot of thumping and whatnot.”

Risotto presses his lips into a thin line, and Prosciutto isn’t sure if he imagined the sudden increase of sweat across his forehead. “I was busy.”

“Doing what?” Melone challenges.

“Actually,” Prosciutto clears his throat, casting a glare behind him. “It’s none of our business.”

“Uh…no…actually I want to know too.” Illuso says slowly. 

“Me too.” Formaggio agrees quickly, nodding. 

Prosciutto wasn’t going to die out on a job, he was going to die, right here, in the hallway of their home. Either from embarrassment, anger, or the weight of Risotto’s stare. It didn’t matter that Ghiaccio hadn’t chimed in, agreeing with the other three morons, he hated all four of them. 

“I was…” Risotto trails off, the word he wanted seemingly escaping him. 

“Exercising?” Prosciutto offers lamely, after a long stretch of tense silence. 

“Exercising.” Risotto agrees, with a little too much enthusiasm for it to be true. 

“With music?” Melone tilts his head, forcing an innocent smile. “I think the song had something to do with busts?” 

Risotto’s face pales. “I…”

“Just tell us!” Ghiaccio finally hisses, crossing his arms. “I’m fucking tired, and you’ve kept us up all night.”

“I can tell them.” Melone offers. 

Risotto winces, and shrugs. “Affirmations.” he finally says, with a defeated shrug. 

“Affirmations,” Illuso and Formaggio echo, barely containing their giggles. 

Prosciutto frowns, recalling the disc that the two had gotten their hands on earlier. “Why?” he finally asks, looking up at Risotto. He wasn’t complaining, but what on earth made his Capo think that he needed…affirmations? “You…” he clears his throat. “You look fine as is.”

“Melone suggested it.” Risotto purses his lips, twisting his hands together, uncomfortably. “A while ago.”

“So this bastard did know!” Formaggio turns to Melone, scowling. 

“Asshole.” Illuso huffs. “What the hell, man?”

“What?” Melone shrugs. “I thought you said it was none of your business.” he glances at Prosciutto, with raised eyebrows. “You know?”

“Fuck you.” Ghiaccio growls. “You knew we’ve been staying awake because of all this, and didn’t bother to tell us shit? Fuck you, and fuck your stupid face. Dumbass. I hate you.”

“What! You figured it out without me!” Melone says, exasperated. “Besides, Risotto was being private about it.”

“Private my ass.” Ghiaccio grumbles. 

“I’ve been keeping you up?” Risotto frowns, guilt forcing him to finally look at them. 

“Yeah.” Illuso sighs. “A few nights, now.”

“Sorry.” Risotto offers.

“I’m confused. What the hell made this conversation come up between the two of you?” Prosciutto glares at Melone. He couldn’t imagine the audacity Melone would need to suggest that their Capo’s tits needed to be made larger through affirmations. 

“I mentioned it helps with confidence!” Melone grins. 

“I saw a card about it. At a shop.” Risotto adds.

Prosciutto pinches the bridge of his nose. And he was sure that Melone didn’t explain that confidence did not stem from tits. Or that affirmations, in his experience, were used for improving a mental outlook, rather than a physical aspect. 

“So…” Formaggio clears his throat. 

“I think we can go to bed now.” Prosciutto interrupts. Anything to be away from these idiots. Anything to get just a couple hours of sleep. 

“Actually,” Melone raises a finger. “Risotto, would you mind us joining in on your routine for a couple minutes? It would really help in expelling all of this anxious energy!” 

Risotto mulls it over silently, but finally slowly nods. “I guess…it would help everyone sleep…” he mutters. 

“You’re joking.” Prosciutto gapes. 

“Nope.” Melone sticks his tongue out at him. “Go to bed, old man.” Risotto opens the door a little wider to let them filter into his room. 

There was no way in hell that Prosciutto was going to pass up a chance to be in Risotto’s room, or watch whatever ridiculous routine Risotto had orchestrated for himself. He makes a face at Melone, following them in. Risotto busies himself by fixing his mirror so that it faced the five of them, excluding Prosciutto, who stood in the corner with his arms crossed. 

“The best part is the music,” Risotto says lightly, touching the radio on his dresser. “Just…do whatever, I guess.” 

The upbeat music restarts, while Prosciutto surveys the room. He squints, his eyes catching on fabric, peeking from beneath Risotto’s bed. He glances at the other five, who are more or less jumping in place while the music builds up, and slips behind them. His mouth falls open in shock. The smooth fabric is a uniform, and from the short sleeves, deep neckline, and embarrassingly short skirt, it looks something like a cheerleading uniform. He couldn’t fathom Risotto squeezing himself into something like this. Was this what he wore for his affirmations? Every night? And he’d never seen it before? He blinks rapidly, shoving it beneath the bed again, and turning his wide gaze back to Risotto, whose gaze is stubbornly fixed forward, despite his red cheeks. 

And somehow, the discovery of Risotto’s attire is nothing compared to the routine Risotto has put together. Prosciutto stares, the entire time. Everything about the scene is unbelievable. Aside from the way Risotto’s pajamas hug his unfairly sized body, and the way his crumpled shirt occasionally rises far enough for Prosciutto to get a little more than just a glimpse of his body, the way he moves, generally speaking, is almost graceful. More specifically, the way he spins on his toes at the end of every chorus. 

Prosciutto’s staring is only slightly encouraged by the fact that every other person is also staring at Risotto, either out of the corner of their eye, or just like he is, wide eyed. 

God, what Prosciutto wouldn’t give to see the entire routine in that stupid outfit he’d seen. 

Pesci sips hot chocolate at the table, straining to watch the television from his seat. He’d been yelled at by Prosciutto a couple weeks ago for spilling milk on the couch, so he was trying to keep himself from drinking in the living room right now. He figured if he could get one of those cups with a lid and a straw, it wouldn’t be so much of a problem, so he was saving up for now. He almost considered waking the others up, mainly because he would absolutely love to have some more of Prosciutto’s cooking for breakfast, but he refrained. He’d been yelled at waking others up too. He took Prosciutto’s scoldings to heart, and remembered the importance of boundaries that Prosciutto had stressed before. He would let them sleep, even though he was pretty sure they were supposed to have a meeting earlier this morning, and that Prosciutto was supposed to go grocery shopping before noon. 

He takes another sip of his drink, smiling to himself. He was glad everyone was finally getting sleep, everyone had seemed a little more tired than usual, Prosciutto especially. When he finishes his drink, he sits, swinging his legs slowly, considering another cup. When no one else joins him in the kitchen, he gets up to make a new cup, and makes a slice of toast. He couldn’t cook much, but he was pretty sure his toast was okay. Prosciutto had told him as much himself. 

Pesci sits back down, silently wishing he could change the channel. His morning show had ended, and now it was back to local news. 

“Good morning.” Capo’s voice startles him from his thoughts. He looks up with a smile. 

“Good morning! Sorry, there’s no coffee, no one else is up yet.”

“That’s okay.” Risotto sighs, grabbing a piece of bread, and sitting across from Pesci with a grumble. 

“Did everyone mean to miss this morning’s meeting?” 

Risotto pauses, and slowly nods. “It was…uh…canceled.” 

“Oh. Because everyone was so tired?” 

Risotto nods. He agrees quietly. That made plenty of sense. In the next hour, the others began trickling into the kitchen. Pesci was happy to see the dark circles that’d been plaguing everyone’s eyes had dissipated, even if everyone seemed a little more sluggish than usual. He was certain it was just the lingering drowsiness. He found that sleeping in could do that to someone. Prosciutto had scolded him for it before. 

“Good morning!” he says when the last person, Formaggio, enters the kitchen. A chorus of grumbles greet him, which is already better than the usual silence he gets in response. 

“Pesci, did you make coffee?” Prosciutto stares down at the obviously clean, and empty coffee maker. 

“No.” he admits, sullenly. Prosciutto sighs, and nods his head. 

“It’s fine. Good morning.” 

Pesci brightens, and looks at Risotto. It really did seem like the extra sleep had done everyone good. 

“Why’s everyone so tired?” he finally asks when he sets his empty cup in the sink. He glances at the others, despite having been up and moving for a while now, they all seemed so exhausted. If this kept up, it could be a medical issue worth mentioning. There is another chorus of groans from the others around him. 

“Don’t ask.” Illuso groans, flopping an arm over his eyes. 

Maybe they all needed a couple more hours of rest. Pesci could handle shopping himself, then, and let Prosciutto rest too. He lingers by the door, watching the others with a smile. “Okay. Don’t forget guys, it’s game night!” he calls, as he opens the door to leave. 

The exhausted groans translate to tired excitement, to him. He would have to make sure to get snacks for everyone, for tonight.