Chapter Text
Bang bang bang!
“Knock, knock, Enzo. You can get yourself off another time. Luca’s getting worried.”
Silence is the only reply Cesare gets in return.
“Enzo! Come on, open up before I kick in the fucking door.” Giving a few more good pounds on said door, he tries the knob again, hoping he’s somehow willed it to magically unlock.
He hasn’t.
“I know you’re in there. Missus Moro says she hasn’t seen you come out in days.” He feels awkward, just standing at the door like he is. Feels like dozens of invisible eyes are on him. But, barking some random noise of agitation, he goes on, quieter, “I’m worried.”
Still no response. He should probably just leave— or, hell, maybe he’ll actually go through with breaking and entering in order to see why Enzo has been going ghost for nearly a week.
Luca had asked when the last time anyone had visited Enzo was, and when Cesare, nor any men or women around at the time, had no good answer, he did a just job at making them all feel like pieces of shit for not caring that the young man hadn’t been seen or heard from in days.
Of course, this meant he was going to send someone out to check on him— Luca himself having been just about ready to go make collections, and—oh so conveniently—unable to set the task aside. So, who does he look to? Who does he entrust the errand with? None other than Cesare!
So now, he’s being ignored, left standing like a fool on Enzo’s doorstep and wondering if he’d be willing to take payment for a busted lock and wouldn’t be too pissed about it.
Well…he’d probably accept the cash, given some insistence— but… Cesare may not be welcome in the apartment for months to come if something isn’t seriously wrong.
Worry only continues to soak into him, however. And he’s suddenly very aware of how long a few days really is. So if something happened to him… Fuck. Gotta get in there…
Ditching the main entrance, Cesare opts for a postern. Hoping to hell and high water that the courtyard remains empty as he makes his way down the stairs and to the outside wall of the building, determination in his stride.
He steels his resolve, groaning and praying that the balcony’s railing is stable enough to accommodate his weight. Giving an appraising look to the metal balustrades as he steps back, before promptly throwing himself up to the ledge, clumsily catching himself with grunt from his own efforts and a nerve racking creak from the rail’s.
“Shit—” he grits out in a panic when his hand slips, barely getting his hold back to continue climbing, pulling his weight up with the awkward grip until he can throw his leg over and vault the banister. “The things I fucking do for you…” he grumbles, dusting himself off a bit before going to open one of the shutter doors and, at last, enter Enzo’s apartment.
There’s a click. So immediate that he almost assumes it to be the sound of the door creaking as he opens it. But Cesare’s attention peaks once more, heart skipping a beat as, finally—
Enzo. Just— Enzo with a gun!
“Woah woah! Calmati— it’s me!” Cesare shows his hands, cringing away from the gun’s sights. Thankfully, Enzo lets out a breath of relief—which the other man immediately mirrors—lowering his revolver, but not shying away from shooting him a grimace that could kill just as easily. Glaring at him like he doesn’t trust Cesare to watch his houseplant, how pissed he is.
Oh well. Here now.
“Cristu, you look like shit. How—” Cesare stops as the other’s posture slackens, before hesitating, whispering, “Let me in,” he asks, really a silent plea to not be thrown right back out like a stray sunbathing on the wrong windowsill.
Enzo’s expression calms a bit. Although, Cesare wouldn’t be against calling the change in face more defeat than anything else. Probably knowing he isn’t getting rid of him now. He makes a brief gesture of allowance of the other’s entry, tossing the gun down onto the leather of the loveseat beside him, before closing the balcony door behind the housebreaking prick.
Sighing, Enzo turns back to the older boy, only to be overwhelmed by his presence and touch. Cesare takes hold of his shoulders, practically pats him down, just to cup his face in his hands, feeling for a fever that he immediately finds.
“How long have you been like this?”
Irritated by the sudden contact and closeness, Enzo pushes him away with a curse, leaning back on the doorframe, hands ready to block anymore unwanted attention.
“Answer me.” “Just a few days, Cesare, I’m fine,” Enzo snaps, voice hoarse and volume calculated so as to not cause himself pain. The grimace is back. Probably the only part of him that doesn’t appear disheveled. His hair is stuck about in all directions, waves untamed and amess, clothes damp with sweat and his shirt hanging half open to reveal even more moisture beading up on his skin.
“You aren’t fine. Why the fuck didn’t you let someone know? How bad has it been?” Reaching towards Enzo’s face once more, Cesare is immediately halted by the former’s swatting hands. “Why does it matter? I’ve not been needed yet. I’m not inconveniencing anyone,” Enzo counters matter-of-factly, though it only gets him an incredulous glare. He laughs humorlessly— if you can even call it that. More puffs for air than any kind of ‘laugh’ Cesare has ever heard. “I’m breathing, aren’t I?”
Ironically enough, he breaks into a coughing fit—that he very clearly tries to suppress—as the words leave his mouth.
“Are you, now?”
Enzo’s expression completely deadpans.
“Come— Lie the fuck down,” Cesare demands, taking the boy’s wrist and dragging him to the bedroom.
Fortunately, he only receives whining, rather than physical denial, so he can easily maneuver Enzo into bed, get him under the covers and sitting up.
There’s a bowl of water with a washcloth in it, sitting on the small nightstand. This pleases Cesare to some extent. At least Enzo has been taking some care of himself.
Taking the rag in hand, he rings it out well, folding it a couple times before reaching to dab it on the other’s temple. Enzo quickly takes hold of the action, however, silently insisting he can do it himself.
“Fine,” Cesare relents, sighing as he hands the rag over. The boy brings it to his own face immediately, letting out a little hum of pleasure at the feeling.
He places his palm over Enzo’s chest for a few moments; part feeling him breathe, part comforting him, and part just having it there. He’s not sure for what reason, but is glad, nonetheless, that the contact isn’t displaced or shaken off.
“Comfortable?” Enzo nods, gives him a little ‘mhmm…’ “Good. Now, answer me this. Why the fuck are you rotting alone over here instead of sending for someone? Would you be comfortable telling me what that’s about, caru?”
Enzo’s momentary peace was very fragile, apparently. He drops his hands to his lap, looking severely unimpressed by Cesare’s sentiment. Excusing the several, lengthy beats of silent glowering, he answers, finally deflating with a sigh. “I— You’re here now. That’s what matters, right? It is very nice to see you. I’ve missed you—”
“Don’t you dance your way out of this!” Cesare snaps, disbelief pitching his voice up, taken aback by how avoidant this stubborn ass is being right now. “What were you even thinking?”
“I’m doing what I’ve always done. There’s nothing more to it than that.” His voice raised as much as comfortably possible for such a sore throat. “Bullshit. I know you, Enzo. And I know you don’t do a damn thing without design, so spare me the pretense.” His words are spat like slurs by the end of his demand, and he doesn’t dare break eye contact— isn’t going to until Enzo talks.
A scoff. Then, “They”—he clears his throat. Tries to, at least. It’s more a drawn out hesitation with something of an excuse—“would have the vet at the mines, sometimes. If someone was really sick—” Enzo looks away. Cesare does not. “It was best to hide it. Hope for the best. I guess that habit just stuck,” he finishes with a flippant shrug.
“Why would you ever think we would do that? This is a family, Enzo, not a mine yard.” A bitter sting sinks in despite his best efforts to sound unaffected. Enzo just gave him what he’d asked for, he should be glad for that, he knows.
“I didn’t…think you would condone something like that, Cesare—” “My uncle won’t do anything like that, Enzo,” the other cuts in, curt and masking his own hurt, even though Enzo has already picked up on it. “So you have a fucking cold and will be out of commission for, what, a week? I’ll go back, tell him you’re not feeling well, and he won’t give a shit.”
Enzo sighs. “Call it wont. You know I trust your uncle. And you know I trust you.” His hand moves to cover Cesare’s, where the older is worrying at the sheets with absentminded motions of his digits, pulling it back to him. “Cesare. You know I do.” That hand leaves the mentioned’s in favor of cupping his cheek; a gesture that is obviously not unappreciated, by the way he turns into it.
“Yeah…” Cesare takes a breath, not meeting the other’s eyes, now. “Yeah, I know. I’m— I’m sorry, Enzo, fuck.” “You’re worried. I can appreciate that. Even if it pisses me off,” he adds that last part in a lighter tone, soft smile finding his lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you.”
“It’s not that— I mean, it’s not just that. It’s that you didn’t talk to anyone that worries me. What if you were really sick and you didn’t get better by just— ‘hoping for the best’?”
“Cesare…” he struggles, not really having an honest answer to assuage his fears and concerns. Because, truthfully, Enzo isn’t so sure he wouldn’t just try to tough it out, no matter how mild or severe the symptoms. So, giving his best attempt at a winning smile, he purrs, “I’ll have you climbing in through my window to save the day.” “Enzo,” he insists, enunciating the name sincerely.
He really is perturbed by this… Enzo thinks, a frown taking the place of his dishonest smirk. “I don’t know.”
The older boy opens his mouth to, undoubtedly, make a retort, but Enzo cuts in, contending, “It’s not bad, really. I guess I’m just not the most resilient when it comes to a fever. Of course, it had to happen in spring, too. So much fucking pollen.” Enzo laughs at that last bit, bringing the washcloth back to his burning forehead with a shiver. Cesare is flooded with the desire to simply take the pain and discomfort away from him, even if it means donning it himself.
But, taking a breath, Cesare relents. “I’ll ride back to the villa and let Luca and all know what’s going on. They’ll be happy to give you the rest of the week off while you get better. And I’ll…see what the girls can whip up for you. Be back in a bit.” He takes the other’s hand, placing a kiss to his palm before letting him go. He goes to leave, but Enzo catches his wrist.
“Cesare, I—” The boy struggles with his words for a few moments, something soft in his eyes. “Give them my thanks, Cesare.” His thumb strokes over the knob of his wrist. “Won’t you?”
The mentioned nods lazily, rolling his eyes with fondness. “Right, sure. I’ll do that.”
“I love you.”
He swallows, any lingering bravado swept away. “Love you too…”
“I’d kiss you.”
Cesare hums a response, attempting to hide his abashment, “Mhm…” Enzo’s tone drops into something dramatically pained as he goes on, “Would you check on my Nivula? You can kiss her instead. Rosario feeds her when I don’t show up, but she gets lonely in her stall.”
Cesare scoffs a laugh at that. Sweet talking little shit. “Whatever you want,” he grumbles through a smile, reluctantly making his way to the door. “Thank you, amuri miu,” Enzo coos, equal parts teasing and warmth.
“Yeah, yeah.” He closes the door behind him with a flush in his cheeks to rival even Enzo’s current complexion.