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Squalo has never been above using drastic and unconventional solutions in his appearance. It is not for nothing that he braids several pigtails on his head every morning, which seem ridiculous in the eyes of people.
Even his stand directly adopted all his insides, expressing it in a rather ironic form of a metal spiked shark.
His rebellious look could not help but become a part of his life, when from a young age he was pushed away from the place that seemed to be called his home.
Who would have thought that in the end, his own brother, with whom they always quarreled and had conflicts, would become a guide to the world that you can build yourself, without listening to anyone.
He never revealed how much he managed to build his life. For many reasons.
And he was more than satisfied with everything.
Squalo never cared about what others thought of him, especially when the next moment those people began to fear him.
To be honest, this situation changed with the arrival of Tiziano in his life.
Having a friend who was your complete opposite was something inspiring and at the same time an oppressive punishment.
But not through Tiziano's fault!
He was perfect in everything. His gaze, penetrating to the depths of the soul, the exquisite shape of the eyes, the aristocratic shape of nose, glowing skin, sparkling in the hot Italian sun, strong but neat physique, this plump lips, closing in irritation and opening in a rare smile, and his velvety deep voice, giving you goosebumps... This man was the embodiment of elegance.
Like an expensive, aged wine that no one, even the wealthiest person in Italy, can afford.
No.
In the whole world.
And here he is, Squalo, completely destroying this image with his mere presence.
He couldn't even imagine what he was thinking when he invited Tiziano to a concert of his favorite band last week.
And he was about to withdraw his offer when he saw the confused eyes, but it was too late when he happily agreed.
Of course, how else could he answer when Squalo had never refused him anything?
How could a person of such status want to be among the drunken, rude dregs of society, in whom Squalo had once found a response.
All week Tiziano hadn't mentioned it in any way and had even avoided talking about it, which had left Squalo feeling restless.
He had been sitting on the grass on a small slope for about an hour, while people were chatting around him, looking for and taking places somewhere below or above for a better view or... on the contrary, less accessible.
Some were already staggering around drunk, some were planning to have a good time in front of everyone, everyone who caught Squalo's eye with a satisfied face only got on his nerves more and more with each passing minute.
Not to mention the couples.
Those damn teenagers...
He was restlessly fiddling and twisting his phone in his hand in every possible way, waiting for at least some kind of message or call from Tiziano.
The only thing Tiziano said was that he would be a few minutes late.
But more than an hour had already passed, and Squalo was ready to kill the next person who would pass by with another annoying, satisfied smile.
With a roar, he jumps up from his place like a hare in spring and throws the phone on the ground with all his might, causing it to bounce up a couple of times.
– FUCK.
He cursed out loud, not so much at those around him for daring to have a good time in front of him, but at himself for how he had even come up with the crazy idea that someone like Tiziano wanted to come and waste time in a dirty, noisy, and unsafe place in all directions.
Not that he couldn't protect him, of course!
Straightening up, hitting his head with his wrist, he looks up and freezes, tripping over his own feet as he almost comes face to face with Tiziano, who has caught him off guard.
– Yes. Sorry. I couldn't tie my laces.
Squalo's eyebrows have changed position three times, arching in different directions, and his lips can't find the shape to express thoughts through words, the gears in his head almost starting to smoke from the lack of thoughts and at the same time the huge number of them, until the gray matter finally tells him to look down.
At first his eyes catch on the black combat boots, obviously well-groomed, probably new, white laces, which really show at what exact moment Tiziano despaired.
On the way down, he noticed a black T-shirt with the name of a rock band that Squalo, to his shame, didn't know. He would say that he was happy to hear about it from Tiziano, but something tells him that perhaps both of them don't know anything about it.
On his shoulders hung a white leather jacket, emphasizing the figure of an inverted triangle, with several spikes along the sleeves and back.
White, slightly loose pants with several stripes completed this image.
– I would really like to tell you how strong my erection is right now..
– Squalo.
Tiziano frowns, eyebrows lowered in tension at yet another ridiculous joke, until he is met with a smile from Squalo, who is trying hard to suppress it.
– But all your efforts to tie your laces were in vain.
Tiziano's thin golden eyes narrowed in confusion and looked down at the black boots in bewilderment, first trying to understand why all his efforts, with which he fought with these laces for life and death, were wasted.
– Well, you know, it so happened that the color of the laces depends very much on your views on the world.
Tiziano instantly, albeit just a little, tensed up, raising his gaze back to Squalo.
– What do they mean..?
Squalo takes a step closer, almost touching noses. His hands fall just below Tiziano's shoulders, creating an atmosphere of isolation from the rest of the world, unity and some safety, thereby only escalating the situation even more.
– You’re telling everyone right now that you are a Nazi.
Squalo, with a sharp pain in his throat, swallows his own smile at the sight of Tiziano's suddenly widened eyes.
The golden eyes looked at him, either confused, or irritated, or desperate, the pupils slightly but noticeably narrowed and then widened again.
When suddenly Tiziano raised his hands slightly above chest level and simultaneously emphasized his face, obviously indicating with his whole appearance the absurdity of this situation, given the color of his skin.
– Squalo-
– I know. This is even worse.
– Perfect.
Tiziano rolls his eyes with a heavy sigh, waves his hand dismissively and turns away, having lost all sense of his efforts and the whole reason for being here.
However, Squalo apparently wasn't particularly upset. He jumps up and takes his hand, laughing, but not too loudly so as not to draw attention to them.
– Don't worry so much.
He tugs lightly on his wrist, preventing him from leaving. Not hard, just enough force to encourage him to turn around.
– Let's get you cleaned up before we get our asses kicked somewhere in the corner.
Even if it was more of a joke, Squalo would be lying if he said it really couldn't happen. And if not now, then later, when all these pubescent ulcers get drunk and stop seeing any boundaries.
But that doesn't mean he'll let that happen! In fact, he'll wring the neck of anyone who dares to even glance sideways at them.
Tiziano just moans in frustration, obediently and without resistance following Squalo, who gently pulls him by the hand, like a small child who doesn't want to go eat, to a more secluded place.
He led them to a lonely bench somewhere in the trees behind the food and drink stalls, nearby they could hear voices, laughter and sometimes strange, obscene conversations.
Tiziano sat, dejectedly leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. With a downcast look, he watched as Squalo settled down in front of him on one knee and calmly, even with some enthusiasm, taking off the white laces from his shoes and lacing them up with the usual neutral in all respects black ones.
– Now I'm ashamed.
Squalo's eyebrow didn't seem to react much to the low, barely audible voice from somewhere above, continuing his meticulous routine and even softening his gaze.
– For what? You didn't know.
A slight smile flickered across his freckled face, with which blue eyes slowly darted through the red curls towards the faded golden ones.
– Your attention means a lot to me. The very fact that you agreed at all.
Tiziano sighs distantly, not particularly encouraged by these words. Of course, it was a relief that Squalo was not angry or disappointed, even pleased.
But it seemed too insignificant to really merit a positive assessment.
He just came.
They always go everywhere together.
How could this particular time be any different?
Tiziano, propping up his head, heavy with thoughts, wanders his eyes over his fingers, fingering the laces, how the striped fabric of his pants is stretched over his bent knee, and suddenly catches on the blue laces.
– White - Nazism. Black - neutral...
In response to the beginning of his quiet reasoning, Squalo hummed in confirmation, while tightening the laces so that the boot doesn't hang loose on his foot, but also doesn't cause discomfort while walking.
– And what about blue ones?
Squalo hesitates for a second, as if he had never been proud of the right to wear these laces before, before continuing to tie the second shoe at the same pace.
But he is in no hurry to answer, as if the man opposite him could even theoretically condemn him.
– Well... let's say..
He makes a casual but strong bow from the remaining length of the laces, then finally slowly looks up at Tiziano with a mischievous grin.
– I have never been able to resolve conflicts peacefully.
This answer, however, clearly doesn't impress Tiziano. He frowns thoughtfully, looking at the smug, but momentarily trembling blue eyes, and raises an eyebrow questioningly, as if this was information he didn't already know.
– Great, Squalo, I wouldn't mind some specifics.
He hums hesitantly in response, slowly looking around as he considers how best to present this.
Squalo moves his hands from boots up Tiziano's slender, strong legs before hooking his fingers under his knee. Pulling closer, he leans forward meaningfully, still grinning intriguingly, thus stimulating Tiziano's interest to push him to do the same, leaning forward.
– I killed a policeman. And more than one.
Squalo catches Tiziano's ingratiatingly arched eyebrow.
– Sale has those too.
– And you decided to tell me about this only after all these years?
Squalo involuntarily looked away, not fully understanding what kind of this question was.
– I couldn't find the right moment.
– Then I won't let you go to sleep until you tell me everything in the smallest details.
Each word, which Tiziano emphasized with his purring velvety voice, caused several waves of goosebumps, with which Squalo gently, but forced himself to nod.
It was hard to deny that he was intrigued by this idea. At the very least because it meant the possibility of spending the night together again.
– In the smallest.
He warmly greets the slight smile that Tiziano spreads into, like a cat. The sparkle of interest shimmering in his golden eyes warms his soul and mind.
And he is indescribably gracious that the topic was changed for him until the moment when he began to think about how he wanted to kiss those soft lips.
– Let's go get something to drink, otherwise we'll miss everything. You wanted to come here so much.
Tiziano, surprisingly cheerfully, despite his usual leisurely and somewhat slow manner, rose from the bench, as a result somewhat casually stepping out of Squalo's gentle grip and fleetingly running his hand over his hair, thereby prompting him to quickly rise to his feet after him.
– Hey.
And Squalo immediately jumps up from his seat, sits down next to him and carefully, perhaps even a little hesitantly, takes his hand, intertwining their fingers with just enough insistence.
– Thanks again for going to such lengths for me. You really do look incredible.
They both share a sweet smile and almost simultaneously let out a small chuckle, albeit for noticeably different reasons.
– And I enjoyed changing your laces.
Tiziano clicks his tongue loudly and rolls his eyes at the humorous comment, but he can't deny that the words still calm him down, understanding Squalo's lack of disappointment or anger at his ignorance.
– And Mister "I-Killed-Cops" won't have any problems?
He bends an eyebrow, raising their intertwined fingers in a quizzical response, pointing out the peculiar attitude of local color to even the hint of such physical interaction.
However, Squalo does not even raise an eyebrow in response. He proudly brings Tiziano's knuckles to his own face and barely perceptibly, gently touches them with his lips.
– That's precisely why I don't care about it.
He lowers them, leaving only a warm, sincere look between them, with which they exchange a few light chuckles before Squalo himself drags Tiziano after him to conquer the anarchic layer of society.