Work Text:
While Squalo could think up about a thousand other words to use to praise him, he best described Tiziano as an artist.
It wasn't exactly a hobby that he kept to himself. The two's apartment had a large amount dedicated to being some sort of study to him, paint cans scattered around, the floor plastered with paper, a wide variety of brushes scattered around the furniture. Squalo admits to himself, yeah, it's weird to come home exhausted from a direct order from the boss only to see Tiziano wordlessly hunch over an easel and not come to bed for a while.
But he let him do what he wanted.
He would convince himself he was fine.
Gunshots and screaming. Normal buisness hours.
There's something numbing about being exposed to men coming out of mirrors and some spiked child-monster trying to cubify you once you've experienced a lot worse from Italy's stand users. The Assassination Team wasn't a force to reckon with. It was a saying muttered from squadrant to squadrant. It didn't mean there was some sort of aquaintance between the assassins and the guard squad; Tiziano mentioned to him before he was close to one of them.
Of course, there was complications. A pay cut administrated to a good amount of the gang was met with outcry, followed by multiple leaders attempting to strike cords and investigate the boss, Squadra not spared from it. It had been job after job for the boss's guards, one all-encompassing mold and shark bite to the neck to the next. They managed to avoid the radar for a while.
All good things gotta come to an end, Squalo thought to himself, before immediately returning his attention to the fight occuring just as Sorbet's kneecap came into contact with his jaw.
The redhead was sent stumbling, falling on his back just as Secco lunged out from the concrete floor and continued the fight for him.
Taking that crackpot Ciocolatta's advice for "cornering" some of the "less dangerous" members of the Assassination Team in a warehouse seemed more suicidal than smart, looking back. (He made a mental note; they're all dangerous. Dear god.)
The world around him un-blurred as Tiziano hauled him up, dragging him to his feet.
"Are you alright?" He sounded calm and collected, as always.
"Never better."
"Cioccolata said to leave. Steady yourself, Squalo."
"That friend of yours might have broken my teeth, Tiz." Squalo chuckled out, running his tongue along his jaw.
"He isn't my friend anymore. We both know this."
"And isn't that a shame."
Squalo leant on his partner's shoulder, wrapping an arm around his neck as he spit out the blood in his mouth. Tiziano was staring towards the doors silently, watching as the assassins filed out quickly.
Looking up, Squalo briefly locked eyes with the raggedy haired blonde trailing behind. Gelato, he thought his name was. He was beckoned out by Sorbet and sprinted out the metal doors, letting them slam behind him.
"Where's the assholes?" Squalo let go of Tiziano to right himself.
"They decided to leave us here."
"Shithead." Squalo shook his head silently.
And when they got home, Tiziano did exactly what Squalo expected; he excused himself from going to sleep, heading into his study and painting.
Ciocolatta rang him up in the morning.
"I need Tiziano to meet me somewhere. He's artistic, right? I need something framed."
The next day, Tiziano wasn't home, and midnight soon draped over Italy. Squalo found himself pacing around the apartment biting his nails to the bed when Tiziano threw their door open.
"Welcome home."
Tiziano stared forward, silent.
"...I didn't exactly make dinner or anything. I only know how to prepare meat and I was sorta worried about not being home when you were. We also don't have meat."
Tiziano dropped his bag at the door, walking briskly past his partner towards his easel and dragging his cans of paint towards him. Squalo watched him paint in silence, stroking a brush with a shaking hand. The clock ticked away, and five minutes passed.
"...Tiz?"
Tiziano seemed to have forgotten Squalo was there, muttering a "shit" and dropping his brush. It bounced off the easel, only to be caught in the teeth of Clash as it jumped up from some of the paint that had dripped out of the buckets.
"Yo, Tiz. You don't seem fresh."
"I'm not in the mood, Squalo." Tiziano stared at his drying canvas, his voice tired.
Squalo quirked an eyebrow, standing from his chair and approaching Tiziano silently. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders, leaning on his back.
"What're you working on?"
Tiziano remained silent.
"What'd Cioccolata want?"
He felt Tiziano tense up from beneath him.
"Squalo, what are you trying to do."
"You're acting weird. I should at least do something about that."
"You don't need to."
"Good thing I'm not an asshole."
There was more silence between the pair as Tiziano continued to stare at the canvas.
"...What're you painting?"
"I don't know."
Squalo sighed, standing up straight and walking around Tiziano. He kicked the art tool aside, watching the canvas fall to the floor with a clutter. Tiziano's neutral expression changed into one of shock right as Squalo threw himself onto Tiziano, knocking him and the chair backwards, his arms wrapped around him tightly.
"Squalo, for the love of god-"
"I love you."
Tiziano seemed to tense up more under him.
They stayed like this for a while, Squalo embracing the man under him tightly for who knows how long. Tiziano eventually relaxed, sighing and rubbing his hand through Squalo's ponytails.
"I love you too. Please get off me."
Tiziano pushed Squalo off him, sitting up. Neither of them bothered to stand up, opting to just lean against the wall and saying nothing. Tiziano began to resume stroking Squalo's hair, the redhead laying his head on his lap.
Tiziano then suddenly yanked on his locks, jolting Squalo out of his tranquil stupor.
"T-"
"Be my muse."
Squalo sat up, Tiziano nesting his hands under his chin and on his face. He seemed to be in a process of deep thought, smiling softly.
"Please."
Squalo stared at him for a second, before raising a hand and wrapping it around the one on his face.
"God, you know I'd do anything for you."
A week into April, headlines printed two men were found gunned down in the middle of Venezia. No bullets were found in their corpses and both were traced as to working with mafioso.
Upon investigating claims of their residence, it was found that aside from basic living fare, nothing but a large abundance of art supplies was retrieved from the apartment complex. Upon some of the items found was a sketchbook filled with nothing but drawing upon drawing of one of the men murdered.