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He’s an asshole. He’s a fucking asshole. He should be home by now.
Secco lounges on the countertop, trying to let the cool surface calm his nerves. It wasn’t working. Cioccolata had been gone for two days. Not a call, not a text, he didn’t send shit. What was Secco supposed to do in his absence? What activities could cure his boredom? The answer is nothing. The poor man is stuck in a pit of his own melancholy, mourning the day that could have been. Stupid fucking Cioccolata.
Oasis is starting to feel tight on his skin; Almost itchy. He can’t remember a time where it was anything but comforting. But, then again, he always had the other with him. Secco wiggles around, desperately trying and failing to get comfortable. He’s probably dirtying the countertop but it doesn’t matter when he’s all alone. Nothing matters when he’s alone.
And then, the phone rings.
He’s not gonna pick it up. He’s not gonna. But what if Cioccolata needs him. What if something bad happened? He doesn’t love Cioccolata, obviously not, but the man keeps him warm and fed so he supposes he should at least answer his call. That’s definitely all that this is. Nothing more.
He picks up the phone, gingerly, it was a gift after all, and answers. All he hears is a weird gurgling noise.
“Who is it,” he sounds unamused. He knows exactly who it is. He should have called days ago.
“…Heyyyy,” it’s long and drawn out, he sounds almost drunk. “I miss you, carísimo. Some weird stuff happened earlier and…” Secco just zones out at that point. If he has time to drink he has time to come home. The words don’t process, at least not until Cioccolata mentions what happened on the mission.
“…and I’ve taken a bit of a blow to the head,” Say what now. This man takes two days to call and only does to say he has a fucking head wound? Secco would never act this way, no, he wouldn’t, but it’s just so hard to contain himself once he hears those words.
“You stupid bitch”. He didn’t have to deal with this shit, he totally could just leave. It would be easy, right? Right?! Yeah, it would be easy. He wouldn’t miss the treats, or the warm bed, or the pretty garden with those blue flowers he likes, and he wouldn’t miss Cioccolata, he would never miss Cioccolata.
“How are you going to ignore me for days and then call me like you’re about to die? Where the fuck are you. No, shut up. Where are you,” At this point he was just yelling into the phone. So infuriating that this is the thanks he gets for his loyalty, missed calls and ominous messages. At least he gets the address from the other man. It’s the least he could do. Secco sneered at the device in his hand, wishing it would explode in Cioccolata’s stupid, pretty face. He hates him. He hates him so much.
He gets the address and calls Doppio. There’s no way for him to order a taxi on his own.
Doppio sounds surprised when he gets the call. Usually Cioccolata does the talking.
“Secco? What happened,” Secco’s mouth goes dry. He doesn’t actually know what happened, so he settles for demanding a ride. He hangs up immediately after.
When the taxi arrives, Secco pauses. Cioccolata could just be drunk calling him. It could be nothing important.
But what if it’s something
Fuckin’ hell, he knows it’s something. Why did it have to be like this? He gathers his things and rushes to get in the taxi, receiving a weird look from the driver in return.
“Where to?” The man sounds gruff, like he would rather be anywhere but here. Secco grabs his phone and shows him the address. He doesn’t want to speak. The only person he’s ever given a shit about could be dying-
He stops himself before he can finish the thought. He does not care about Cioccolata. Nope. He’s just some dude, it’s not like Secco is in love with him, he just likes him a little more than other people, that’s all it is. As the city lights go by, he really has a chance to think about it. Cioccolata truly is the only person he genuinely tolerates. He supposes that Squalo and Tiziano could garner some favor from him, and Doppio has his moments, but he could never live with anyone else in La Unita. He doesn’t even just live with Cioccolata, it’s something else at this point. It’s weird, and not exactly something other people think is okay, but it’s something.
The taillights of the other cars start to make his head pound. He tries pulling a bit at Oasis, trying to somehow loosen the feeling of it around his neck and forehead, but it doesn’t help much.
Eventually, the taxi pulls up to a warehouse. Secco doesn’t fully process the fact that there’s smoke and a burning pile of metal until he hops out of the backseat, but as soon as he does, he breaks into a sprint. He vaguely recognizes the sound of the taxi driver yelling after him. He doesn’t really hear what was said, nor does he care. Cioccolata didn’t sound like he was next to a fire (can you even sound like that?) but he’s not on the ground. Secco checks the other side of the building to no avail before he sees the legs.
Well, shit. He knows Cioccolata isn’t dead, he’s separated his body parts before, but where is his upper half?
“Cioccolata?”
“Up here,” His voice is weak and gravelly, but he’s alive, and that’s what matters. Secco looks up, seeing Cioccolata’s head leaning over the edge of the roof. He didn’t even want to know what happened, so he just grabbed the other man’s legs and hauled them up to the rest of his body via the fire escape. Secco cradles the face of his companion before speaking again.
“You’re weak. You’re weak, and you’re scum, and I hate your guts. I hate you,” Despite his words, the cracks in his voice gave away the true nature of his feelings. “You don’t get to leave me like this.” There’s a pause.
“Can you call the Boss?” Cioccolata’s voice sounds weaker than before, wet with blood. Secco wishes it was with tears. But, he obeys and he calls the Boss.
Diavolo was less than pleased at Cioccolata’s performance, and made no attempt to hide it. Secco kicked him out of the hospital room as soon as he could. He turned to Cioccolata, trying to keep a look of disdain on his face.
“What the fuck was that all about.” He hadn’t said a kind word since calling the Boss, and breaking this little vow of pseudo-silence had not been on the agenda for today. He wouldn’t, not after everything that happened. And that isn’t changed by the fact that for the last three days he’s been laying at the foot of Cioccolata’s hospital bed.
“Whatever do you mean, cuore mio? Diavolo was simply, how shall I put this. Irked at the turnout of the last battle.”
“Not that. Why did I find you in pieces on the roof of some random building? And why was there fire?” He waves his hands to try and give a visual. Clearly it doesn’t work because the other man just looks confused, but he moves them more aggressively to try and get his point across anyway.
“Giorno is stronger than anticipated.” Cioccolata doesn’t understand. Of course not. Secco pinches the bridge of his nose. The lump in his throat that had been there the night of the incident returned in full force, making it hard to breath without letting his carefully locked away tears loose upon the scene.
“Cioccolata, I-,” He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’m asking why you didn’t call me until you were about to die.” They both sit in silence, letting the words ring through the room.
“I didn’t want you to have to wait on me for dinner.” He whispers.
This fuckin’ guy. Secco swears to whatever God is out there that if Cioccolata heals from this, he’ll finish what that blonde kid couldn’t. He tenses his face to hold back any signs of sadness that might try and give him away before he sits down on the stiff hospital cot.
“Don’t you..? I thought-“ He finds himself unable to finish the thought, just breaking down into sobs. Cioccolata sits up slowly. The effort alone is clearly too much for his aching torso to handle, but his lover needs comfort. Is that not always what’s more important? Secco has to know that he loves him, he can’t truly be that oblivious.
“Secco, I’m so sorry I didn’t call. I didn’t want my phone to be traced.”
“Should’ve…” he sniffs, “Should’ve used a payphone.” He looks like a kicked puppy. Cioccolata can’t hold back the urge to cradle the other in his arms, rubbing soothing circles onto his back.
“I’m sorry. Ti amo, tesoro.” Secco only cries harder, but at least he reciprocates the affection being given. He clings to Cioccolata like he might die if he lets go, like he’ll never see him again. He was never the one in the relationship to express his feelings. He just can’t. But he hopes that right now, his point is getting across. He can’t lose Cioccolata. That man is the only thing he cares about in this world and if he dies, they’re dying together.