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Mista was living in your house. Mista was living together with you, his crush, in your house.
Okay, so maybe that was fudging a little. After getting orders to remove a team of stand users in Bologna for attempting to steal from the boss by smuggling already-stolen art, you’d offered the use of your (not insignificant) home in town as a base. So it was more like he and the rest of his fellow Passiones were staying with you as they combed the city.
He felt a lot less warm inside when he put it that way though.
Still, as Mista stepped out of your shower that you had presumably been naked in before onto your bathmat in your bathroom, it was easy to forget that the rest of the team was under the same roof.
This situation could use some improvements, though. Of course he was a big fan of you joining him in the shower, but there was an order to these things.
First off, it’d be nice if you paid him a little more attention. Sure, you were always ready with a smile for him, and could talk with him endlessly about your favorite food and wine until you were both drooling and had to go eat that instant regardless of the time. Lately he’d even realized you casually waited to take your slice of cake till there were four left to spare him. When he was together with you, it was too easy to forget about the toils of daily life in Passione—but it wasn’t like he was the only one you got on well with. He was particularly worried about one time he’d seen you huddled with Buccellati, chatting about films. Buccellati had looked practically… pleasant. What was with that?
…He was not going to think about Buccellati right now.
But there had to be something he could do to draw your eye in a more significant way. Mulling it over, Mista haphazardly rubbed his short hair with a towel and then wrapped it around his waist, turning to go. On the way, he gave a cursory glance to the full-length mirror near the door—and then paused. Wait a minute. Here is the perfect opportunity! He had a nice body; surely you had to notice his potential as a lover if he was half-naked, right? Not to mention that for whatever reason you tended to stand closer than normal when he was freshly showered—maybe it made his skin look better or something? And your room was right between here and his room… it was definitely worth a shot.
After taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, he carefully shimmied the towel down below the jut of his hipbones and tucked the end in. Yeah, that’s it. A smile stretching his lips, he set off down the hall.
Your room was at the end of the corridor before the stairs down to his floor. (Come to think of it, wasn’t Buccellati on this floor?—No, no more of that.) Luckily for him, you tended to keep your door open during the day, and that held true now. He wasn’t sure he could’ve come up with a reason to open it that wasn’t ridiculous.
As he approached, you came into view through the doorframe, sitting on the window sill with legs pulled up. A book was propped on your thighs but forgotten as you stared out the open window into the bright street outside. Mista cleared his throat to get your attention in hopefully the most subtle way possible.
You started slightly and swung your head around. Mista leaned in the door, wondering if he imagined the way your gaze snapped on to him. “Hey, you’re here,” he said, attempting to ignore the sweat that suddenly seemed to be streaming down his back.
“Here I am,” you replied, but you had absolutely no clue what was coming out of your mouth. After your eyes nearly popped out on being greeted by the tableau featuring towel-clad Mista, the very Mista you’d been hiding feelings for, you were focusing your entire being on appearing as normal as possible. Was it safe to believe your eyes? Was this a delusion from the summer sun? Is this a come-on?!
You didn’t know what you’d done to deserve it, but as Mista leaned on your doorframe, white towel scandalously low on his hips and one elbow propped up like he was some kind of contrapposto exhibitionist, you mentally sent thanks to anything that would listen for this gift. His still-dripping-wet actual bare skin, probably smelling like your very own soap (and you may have pulled out the floweriest scent you could find as a private joke when the Passiones came), was right there and was seriously testing your self-control. You desperately tried to keep your eyes from zeroing in on his…sex pistol outlined through the towel thanks to the s-curve of his spine pressing it forward and at the same time silently but bitterly cursed yourself for buying towels that were so excessively thick and fluffy. Can I use ESP to make his towel fall off?
Slowly regaining the ability to breathe again, you attempted to return to the moment. “You have a nice… shower?” you asked, face carefully blank. Is it okay if I say I want to fuck you in the hall right now?
“U-uh, yeah,” Mista said. Far from jumping him, your complete lack of reaction was making him feel uncertain. This was not at all like he imagined; time to bail. But maybe he could salvage an opportunity to try again before he did. “Well… would you like to get lunch out after this? I think we have some time before we hear from the boss again…”
“Sure! Yes. Let’s do that,” you said, managing to rearrange your face to a reasonably happy expression. “There’s a great place about 15 minutes’ walk away.” You were gradually adjusting to the shock of half-nude Mista. It probably doesn’t mean anything. He’s probably like this with everyone.
He mirrored your awkward smile, ready to return to his room to form a new and more successful strategy. Turning away, his hip brushed past the doorframe, and as it did the towel snagged on a splinter or the slick water on his skin caused it to slide or something happened, because when he was almost facing away from you the towel fulfilled your wildest expectations and came untucked. You had started to pick up your book again, but at the movement your eyes locked on as the towel slipped down, revealing the curve of his ass bit by bit, the widening trail of thick dark hair on his stomach just barely visible around his hip suddenly giving way to skin that was caffè latte rather than macchiato—
—But mafioso/stand user Guido Mista didn’t get where he was for nothing, and with reflexes so fast you’d be impressed at any other time grabbed the towel and wrapped it back around himself before he could even think. Suddenly, his entire face felt unbearably hot. Without another word, he left, but as he walked away he couldn’t help glancing back at you.
Your face was even redder than his felt, eyes wide and glued to his lower half, book fallen back into your lap but hands still frozen in midair.
Maybe his plan to seduce you was a bust (or so he thought), but it looks like you definitely noticed him after all.