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A cool breeze danced around the small room, the windows iced over with little crystals consequently. In the bed was Ghiaccio, who was curled in on himself, and gnawing on the tattered nail of his thumb. It was an old habit he always fell back on when anxiety crept up to him. His cuticle was cracked, and slightly bloody, and his typically neatly flattened curls were unkempt, frizzy, as his free hand tugged at the roots.
It was just a few days back that they’d discovered— no, been gifted the body of Sorbet, a looming threat of what was to come of anyone seeking to uncover The Boss’s identity. The body of Gelato was discovered by Formaggio just a few days prior to the horror-filled frames being sent to their hideout. The whole situation left all of La Squadra Esecuzioni shaken to their very cores.
This was particularly true for Ghiaccio. It was standard for him to get worked up easily, so it was easy to imagine what this did to his brain. What did this mean for their pay? Would The Boss come for other members next, or would Sorbet and Gelato be the only ones? The thoughts were endless in his head, the hypothetical bad outcomes outweighing the good ones.
Ghiaccio had always found his mind to run ceaselessly, no matter how badly he craved for it to stop.
These specific conditions are the genesis for his current situation. Once the nail of his thumb is mangled beyond oblivion, he moves on to a different nail. Based on the state of the hand entangled in his pale blue curls, he’d repeated this process quite a number of times. On top of all his paranoia, his thick, red glasses wouldn’t stop sliding down the slope of his nose, resulting in him having to pause his stress-chewing to push them back up. With his short temperament, he got tired of this cycle quickly, and aggressively snatched his glasses off his face and threw them elsewhere on his bed, not taking care to fold them up beforehand.
None of that mattered to him right now.
Without warning, or at least from his perspective, his door creaked open, the light from the hallway outside melting into the darkness of his freezing room, causing him to squint at the intruder. He kept that expression even after his eyes had adjusted to the assaulting light, because he’d discarded his glasses prior. When did he do that, again?
“Ghia,” the voice called, a smooth, sing-song tone that was far too mellow for his current mental state.
He pinned the voice as no other than Melone. Feeling a sudden sense of rage at the man’s brash intrusion, Ghiaccio’s face twisted up into a harsh scowl, the hand in his hair tightening.
“What the hell do you want, Melone?! Don’t you care to knock anymore, at the very least?! Then, maybe I’d be able to reject your entry before you even open my door!” Ghiaccio yelled, then brought his fingers back to his mouth, mumbling something not even he could decipher under his breath.
“I did knock, Ghiaccio. You didn’t reply, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to check in to see if you were asleep.” Melone retorted calmly, almost smugly. Ghiaccio was lucky he didn’t have his glasses on, or the slight smirk that always rested on Melone’s face would only serve to fuel his internal flame.
Ghiaccio just stared at Melone, or, to be more specific… the blurry blob of where Melone was supposedly standing. Had he really knocked? If so, he surely didn’t hear anything.
“Oh. …Well, I didn’t hear it, okay?! Maybe knock louder next time!” Ghiaccio raised his voice again, releasing an exasperated sigh he didn’t realize he was holding. Melone’s expression only tightened at the action, though Ghiaccio couldn’t see this subtle change.
Melone prowled closer, the furrow in Ghiaccio’s brow deepening at the sight. He didn’t speak up again, though. Not yet.
Once he finally reached the side of Ghiaccio’s bed, he took a seat at the edge, not speaking for a long moment. the silence that hung between the two was heavy and awkward.
To be honest, Melone was afraid, too. Deeply so, though, he’d likely never admit it to anyone. Anyone, except maybe Ghiaccio. Finally, he looked over to Ghiaccio, who was now able to somewhat make out his face.
“Ghia,” Melone began gently and evenly, tilting his head slightly. Goosebumps riddled his skin at the impossible chill of the room. Just another quirk of Ghiaccio’s, he thought.
“Ghia, would you mind if I lie here for a bit?” Melone finished, then tagged on, “with you?”
Immediately, Ghiaccio opened his mouth to protest. Was he insane?! But, something stopped him. perhaps, despite being unwelcome, some company in these trying times would be nice, especially from someone who typically makes him feel inner calm.
“…Fine. Yes, i mean. that’s... fine.” Ghiacchio grumbled, taking one last gnaw of his fingernail before lying back on his bed, the springs groaning in protest at the movement. despite his meager efforts to relax, his body refused to unfurl itself from it’s cramped-up position.
Melone huffed out a ghost of a chuckle at the sight, fetching Ghiacchio’s red-framed glasses from their spot on the bed. He folded them up properly, and set them aside, on the bedside table.
Melone’s previous amusement faded into something more akin to bemusement as he took notice of the tension in Ghiaccio’s posture. The sight of his hand, buried in his gorgeously messy curls, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping his roots.
Well, that wouldn’t do.
Melone took his place next to Ghiaccio, perhaps closer than originally intended. One of his gloved hands found its way into his icy blue curls, gently shooing his own hand away to replace it with his. his fingers delicately carded through his tangled frizz, an expression of pure adoration on his face. Melone wished for nothing more than to hold Ghiaccio close in a time like this, especially with the way Ghiacchio was gripping his own shoulders like a vice.
One of Melone’s hands traveled lowered than Ghiaccio’s scalp, finding its resting grounds securely around his chest. Ghiaccio froze at the contact, fighting the urge to push him away immediately. The feeling immediately faded, and he actually found himself somewhat comforted by the action.
After a while, Ghiaccio rolled over to face Melone, who opened his mouth to say something, but immediately stopped as soon as Ghiaccio slinked his hands around his abdomen, resting his head of curls in the crook of Melone’s neck. he could feel the latter man’s breath stutter slightly at the new contact, but the affection was quickly reciprocated. With the help of Melone’s grounding arms, Ghiaccio drifted off into a peaceful rest, Melone following suit.
The temperature in the previously freezing room had risen to a normal temperature, and the two men now occupying it were fast asleep, entangled in each other’s hold, their chests rising and falling with each breath they took, synchronized. the time to ponder emotions and possible futures would come later, for all that mattered now was this moment.