Chapter Text
It was somewhere in that first month — when Filippo still felt new but already woven into everything — that Scandro became certain.
They’d been rehearsing all day. The garage door stood half-open, late afternoon sunlight spilling across cables on the floor. Lucio had gone for another coffee, and Giulio was laughing inside at something.
Scandro stepped out for a cigarette, and Filippo followed, still buzzing from the last run-through. He hummed that tricky bridge under his breath, tapping the rhythm against his thigh.
They leaned back against the wall.
“So,” Scandro asked, lighting up and studying him through the first curl of smoke, “how’s it actually been? With us.”
Filippo shrugged, but he couldn’t quite hide the smile.
“Good. It feels right somehow. You’re… tolerable,” he added. “Mostly.”
Scandro caught the way he said it.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Sometimes I think you’ve always been playing with us.”
Filippo ducked his head, almost embarrassed by the sincerity.
“Careful,” he muttered. “Keep saying things like that and I’ll start asking for benefits.”
And then the guitar started inside the garage.
It was Carlo playing, one could tell: soft, careful, testing the melody.
Scandro froze mid-drag. It was Michelle.
He didn’t even have to look at Filippo yet. The Beatles were absolutely not Carlo territory.
The lyrics drifted out through the open door.
I need to, I need to, I need to
I need to make you see
Only then did Scandro turn.
A second ago Filippo had been joking. Now he looked like someone had hit pause on him. His head tilted slightly toward the sound, his attention nowhere near Scandro anymore.
Scandro exhaled slowly, and even leaned sideways a little, just to get a better view of Filippo’s expression. Now, that was some premium entertainment.
Filippo swallowed, and Scandro nudged him with his elbow.
“You’re not even pretending,” he said.
Filippo blinked.
“What?”
“That.” Scandro gestured lazily toward the garage. “That look.”
“I don’t have a look.”
“Oh, you absolutely have a look.”
Filippo rolled his eyes, but it wasn’t convincing.
“Good song. No surprise he likes it.”
“Sure,” Scandro said dryly. “Carlo. Voluntarily singing the Beatles.”
Filippo tried to pass it off as a joke, but his ears were already turning red.
“Maybe Giulio made him.”
Scandro leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“Alright, kid. He’s playing it for you.”
He saw Filippo’s jaw tighten.
I want you, I want you, I want you
I think you know by now
“Oh, come on,” Scandro went on. “Everyone sees it.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“It’s not. It’s exhausting.” He flicked ash to the pavement. “You’re both painfully obvious.”
Filippo huffed.
“Fine. Even if — even if that were true…”
“It is.”
“…what exactly do you want me to do?”
Scandro gave him a long look.
“Ask him out.”
Filippo scoffed.
“Just like that? Have you seen him?”
“Yes. That’s exactly why it’s that simple.”
Another line of the song drifted into the street. After a beat, Scandro sighed theatrically.
“You know what,” he said, pushing off the wall. “Actually, never mind.”
Filippo turned sharply.
“What?”
“I’ll ask him out myself. He is sweet. And I’m free on Thursday.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
“You are absolutely joking.”
Scandro lifted a shoulder.
“Maybe. But you’re hesitating. And I hate wasted opportunities.”
Filippo looked at him a second too long — something flickering across his face before he managed to hide it.
Scandro smirked.
“There it is. That’s the look.”
Filippo ran a hand through his curls and exhaled.
“I take it back. You’re unbearable.”
“Mm. And yet I’m right.”
“Okay,” Filippo muttered. “Fine.”
“Fine what?”
“I’ll ask him out.”
Scandro nodded once, satisfied.
“Good. Because if I have to listen to one more coded confession, I’m charging you both for secondhand tension.”
Inside, Carlo kept playing — unaware that his subtle performance had just accelerated the timeline.