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Their first meeting was unofficial in every way.
The worst, was the accidental nature of it.
Palms, ragged and worn, were on the floor, which was cleaner than his body and soul would ever be. A few eyes rested on him, curious, wondering why a man like him dared enter a place like that. In such a state.
Secco Rottario was his name, but it was not given to any of them, and he barely held it to himself to begin with.
To them, the church he had just wormed his way in was their sanctuary, a place where they could look down with their heads and raise up their own egos.
To Secco, that church was just a roof to keep him covered from the howling rain for the night, his little home and resting place in case he didn’t make it to morning.
It didn’t cover him from anything else.
The judging gazes kept on him as he dragged himself up across benches, body halfway strung over wood. He pulled up his hoodie, cradled his legs,
And one bent in a way it really shouldn't.
He hadn’t seen the lights coming up, or heard the loud scream of the horn. Or maybe he did notice all, and simply didn’t care for it.
He had been through worse, hadn’t he? He could still drag himself around. He vomited curses and yells as the driver sped away, and had they stayed, his night would have wound in a different place. After all, he always could still fight!
And he could still listen.
The mass began.
The priest started to speak, startled him, and went on to babble up words Secco couldn’t and didn’t understand. Even if he could, he didn’t care. And the priest, in response, cared just as much. Not at all, as it never ended.
He went on, and on, until Secco started to wonder truly, how worth it staying there was. The people speaking along annoyed him to no end, and soon, sooner than he should, he was already clawing at the seat in front of him to get up, and go.
But for a second time, the lights came on, and started their drag over to Secco.
The priest called for someone else to speak.
And up walked to the altar walked…
him.
Each step was confident, with a contained smile, closed lips, eyes focused. He was decked in all white, blue highlights here and there, from an undershirt poking from under his coat, from expensive looking shoes. He looked elite, for sure, like the kind that looked down at Secco, and looked away not to taint their view.
And he spoke to the priest, words and words, meaningless to Secco, exchanged. It would just restart the cycle, so why should he care? That man was above and here he was, lower than bellow. They’d never meet.
But still, Secco leaned forward, beyond the edge, resting his face and arms over the backrest of the seat in front of him. He had a fleeting curiosity but nothing much, because after all, this was just going to be-
“...Whoever you are, I’m glad to have you here.”
….Huh??
There were dozens of eyes on him. Every way he looked, there was someone else staring. Even the statues of the saints looked down upon him, curious. But the worst, the absolute worst was that-
“What’s your name? I’ve never seen you before here.”
What???
Secco was never a church goer or anything of that sort, not really. So maybe this was how it went. Maybe it was normal for the speaker, priest, whoever that… Man was, to single him out. To look at him. To look at him at all, instead of just ignoring him, or staring at him like he was made of dirt. No, it must be normal then, for this random man he’s never seen before, to…
…Look at him, like… Like that. Secco squirms in his seat, annoyed, there’s something going on and he’s unsure of… Anything. But he’s angry at the question, because-
“W… What’s your name then, huh????? I’ve never seen you in… In my entire life!”
That should shut him. It makes a few of the eyes go away, the judgment continues, and the man, obviously offended-
Laughs.
It’s a guttural sound, and it rings louder than any words that the priest had said beforehand. He covers his mouth, politely, and Secco finds himself out of thoughts to think. That sound keeps ringing within him. The man waves in dismissal, chuckles, opens his half lidded eyes.
And he’s looking at Secco, and his smile is begging to break free, before he turns back to actually read what he’s assigned to. And he starts, and continues, and everyone moves on from that little moment.
Secco doesn't.
As the man spoke, and spoke, and every once in a while, looked right at Secco, only Secco…
He could only stare in response.
His deep voice echoed through all the halls, and he had a certainty with every word that he said. His expression attempted to be neutral, but with each sentence he finished, his lips seemed to curl up into a finishing smile. Secco had no clue of what the man spoke of, he heard words of Gods and evils and angels and much more, but he didn’t listen. A dictionary's worth of vomit, proses of vices and needs, and desperation and want, but that didn’t matter to him.
The growing pain from his leg made him numb, but it kept his heart beating, his eyes wide. And he found himself mentally repeating every word that slipped by that man's lips, as little of it as he understood.
Did he even mean anything that he was saying? By the way he spoke, it almost seemed like it. He could speak out that the sky was burning red right outside, and all those around him basking under the blue moonlight would simply nod along.
And Secco…
He would nod, too. He would nod, again, and again.
And just like that, it ended.
It was over, so fleeting, so meaningless. Secco felt like screaming, and he almost did. But if he screamed, would his voice take over the church like that man did? No, it wouldn’t. It couldn’t. So he kept quiet.
But his eyes remained wide and staring.
And he was so, so sure, that as the man got down from his altar, he was staring too.
He was smirking at him.
But he was gone again, into the crowd.
So Secco moved on.
The people started to pour away. Almost out of instinct, he got up, and stumbled back down, his leg reminding him of his actual state. But he tried, one more time, frustrated, grumbling to himself. Failed. And so on.
It must have been his fourth attempt, when he was finally stopped. Not by his leg giving out, no.
By two hands. Careful, but so confident, holding him like they knew exactly what they were doing, like they had done it a thousand times before.
"I'll help you to the door."
So close.
It had been a while since Secco had been so close to anybody but his own self. He had forgotten what the warmth of someone else felt like. What one arm around his shoulders, a hand grasping his, he forgot what all of that meant.
And the eyes-
The eyes.
He had never seen eyes like those before.
They stared at him in a way that he had never been stared at. It made his legs feel weak, weak enough that he could barely stand. It sent exciting shivers up his spine, and he couldn't help but smile. Smile, wide eyed, begging for more of that glare that seemed so eager to eat him from the inside out.
And the man…
Smiled back, again.
And from that exact moment, Secco knew he was done for.
And he
“Secco,” He exclaimed, right onto the strangers face. He didn’t want to speak much, he had nothing to say. He just wanted to hear him talk, and talk and talk, but… But he wanted him to say his name. He wanted to hear that slop come out of that beautiful mouth, he wanted to see if he could make it sound like anything, anything that his name never was. "It 's… Secco!”
“Secco?” The man repeated. And Secco nodded, aggressively, a smile breaking through his cracked lips. Yes. Yes, that was him. Hearing it from that voice almost made his name sound like a compliment. Almost like something better. “Secco. I am glad I met you tonight, Secco.”
And he nodded, once more, and each time it slipped out, it hurt. It hurt more, in that good way, in the way that hurting did when it was meant to be. It hurt like a drop of water hitting his tongue after a week without it, because it was just that. Not enough. He wants to drown.
And Secco, slimy as he is, can’t help it. He needs to reach out further, he needs to take what isn’t and should never be his.
“What the hell do I call you???”
And the man looks unamused, for a moment, and Secco’s not surprised. He expects that giving, and it gives, and he gets nothing.
“Don’t worry about it.”
But Secco still frowns, annoyed.
“Secco.” The man repeats, lures him back in. “I’ll take good care of you tonight.”
And Secco believed it.
Someway, somehow, he was still there, receiving…
Something.
Whatever that something was.
And as the stranger held him tighter, and led him not out, but deeper into the church…
Secco couldn’t help it.
Whatever that something was…
He liked it.
Their second meeting.
It wasn't a second meeting, it was just a continuation, a tumbling down. A dream. A nightmare.
But…
His leg was tied. Everything was tied, he couldn’t move, except his head, his eyes, his mind-
They couldn't tie up his mind even if they tried, could they? But who were they…
There was no they.
It was only him.
And he was smiling at Secco.
“It didn’t keep you down for long, did it?”
He felt his stomach tumble down, and so many knots formed that he was so sure, he was tied up in there too.
His voice, his voice- It echoed throughout the walls of the church again. So Secco was still in there? Secco… And this man… What were they doing? Here, together, alone?
"That's good.”
It was good.
He was so good. His voice… Again his voice. Without those fake words, it sounded so much better. Without all the people to bounce off of, with only him speaking, showing those pearly whites, staring only at him-
He was giving Secco his time.
And Secco found himself so angry. At those people, keeping them apart, not letting this, this, happen any sooner.
And this man, whoever, and whatever he was, noticed it. And he went to say something, but Secco was so frustrated, that he spoke his mind right over him.
“Why- Whyy didn’t you do this before!??!”
And the man paused. And his smile went away, and two question marks grew on his eyes, and it was so clear he wasn't looking for such a reaction, but Secco was so used to getting confusion as the only answer- So he just groaned, growled, he didn’t know.
And then Secco became frustrated about something else. Because what if this man was just confused, what if he didn’t… Didn’t get it? Then what was the point? So he spoke again.
“You can’t… You can't!" He exclaimed, baring his own teeth. "You can't tie up my brain!”
And he waits for it. For the question marks, the frustration, so annoying. This man, with his looks, and his shiny teeth and hot voice doesn’t
“What if I try?”
It was bright.
It was sparkling under the moonlight hitting them, under the faint lights above, but Secco could still narrow his eyes and make out the scalpel that was pointed right at him. And he could feel it touch his forehead, the tip of it digging into his skin, and there was soon a line of warm, warm liquid that suddenly poured down his face like a tear.
But he wasn’t not crying.
"...W…What?"
"I'm not letting you leave tonight, Secco."
"...Me???"
"...Yes, you. No one else but you."
But that made no sense.
It was never Secco. It was always anyone else, everyone, but Secco.
He closed his eyes tight.
Maybe it was all a dream, and if he pretended enough, he’d wake up still on the benches of the church. Or maybe he would wake up dead.
But once he opened them back again, the man was still there, digging away at a bag Secco hadn’t noticed before.
…But he was far enough to not be real, wasn’t he? As long as he wasn’t touching Secco, right along him, as long as Secco couldn’t feel him…
Secco couldn’t reach for his face. His hands were tied.
It was infuriating.
Without warning, he didn't care- He started to move. He trashed against his bindings, but to no use, startling the man. Nothing moved as it should. Nothing moved around at all, and his stomach sunk as he realized it. He couldn’t run, could he? And much less, he couldn’t…
The man was staring at him. Smiling, again, teasing Secco. Had to be! Why else would he look so…
He tried to reach out, again. Failed, failed,
So he moved what he could. His head. Side to side, nonstop, and the man still looked at him, this time curious.
And moved forward.
And its just what Secco needed.
Their foreheads slam together.
And Secco becomes ecstatic, for that split moment, that little second, before it's ripped from him. The man backs up, surprised, furious, annoyed.
"N-No!" Secco grunted, whined, his mind going haywire, and the man stared at him as he rubbed his aching forehead. Eyes half wide, hands reaching for something.
"You little-"
"I'm not… Little!! Idiot, I'm probably older than you!"
And that pissed him off, visibly, and Secco couldn’t say he disliked that. He could be annoying if it meant the man would glare at him in such a way. But right then, it wasn’t what Secco wanted. He wanted…
"Come back here!!!" Secco exclaimed. "I want to- Touch!! You!"
And the man paused.
And stared at Secco.
Watched how he tried to undo himself, how he reached, how Seccos smile was shot down once they were away from each other.
And someway, somehow,
"Get!!! Here!!!" Secco almost yelled. "Now!!"
he seemed to understand.
Their foreheads touched again, but without the pain.
That time, there was… Only silence. Secco looked up at him, while he looked down.
Secco could barely see him like this. He looked deformed, a little weird, it was too close. His lips were slightly parted, and he had a scent like mint and alcohol. The air wasn’t enough for them to share, so uncomfortable.
“Y…You’re real?” Secco asked, as his eyes ached, because he didn’t want to close them this time, not even for a blink. It was sure that if he did, the man would be gone. And he didn’t want that to happen… Ever.
“...Are you? ”
And Secco scoffed. Of course he was real. That wasn’t the issue.
“Then so am I.”
They were sharing less air. He was so close to his face that if Secco moved too much, there would be no more space left.
He didn’t have the focus to realize it. All he could think of is how weird the man looked when so up close.
He couldn’t stop looking,
he can’t let him go.
So all Secco did was laugh, quiet, to himself.
And the man smiled.
"If you're good enough, I can untie your hands."
Secco nodded, aggressively. Foreheads smush against each other.
"Good." He nodded against Secco, before he's pried away again. Reaching for something Secco couldn’t quite see.
But there was something. Something missing.
“W…What’s your name!!” Secco screamed out, because he was terrified. He couldn’t see his face anymore, and oh, if this man wasn’t looking at him, he’d go insane.He felt so guilty over it, it was clear, but the man didn’t look back, so he had to whine, right?
The man turned to him again, finally. With gloves on, plastic, and something shone on the way side of his pocket. Secco was still waiting for his response, and he was too impatient to keep on waiting, he realized.
"I'll be a good… Uh… I'll be a good boy, but you need to tell me your name!!"
And the man remained there, silent. Hesitating? Could a man like so hesitate?
The man reached down again. A mask overtook his lips, but Secco saw it, he saw the smile crinkle up his eyes even as he hid it away.
"It's Cioccolata." He said. "Cioccolata Dolce."
And he leaned in, foreheads meeting.
"Now, be a good boy for me, Secco."
Their third meeting.
Was nothing short of fake.
Secco woke up on the edge of the street.
His eyes, his senses were all over the place. The world spun around him as he got up.
He found himself walking away. Confused. Nowhere to go or stay, or stop.
Only when it was night again, and he found himself some other heap to hide, did he notice it.
His leg felt fine.
It was bandaged up to the knee, cleanly so- He must have been taken to the ER. But was he??
No…. no, no, no.
The church. That man. What happened after.
He felt it. He was there! He knew it happened! He felt everything, he remembered everything! Not everything- Not even close, but…
Enough.
He remembered… He remembered the way that man laughed, that sound echoing through the faraway walls of the church! He had the sound memorized to his heart, he was so sure of it! Even as it was interrupted by the sound of Secco’s rude, rude flesh tearing, and opening, and his mucky blood spilling out!
And he remembered, that…
Both his hands came for his face. Rubbing, Petting at his skin, as he cried in both pain and relief that it was over, with the memory stench of his own gore caked all over the oxygen they barely shared. So much hurt, that night, that it all felt painless.
And he remembered, always would… He remembered what the man said.
“You did so well. You’re such a good boy.”
And Secco nodded, aggressively so. Yes he was.Yes he was. He was so good. He was the best, and he deserved such praises again.
He wanted it all again. But he didn’t want- The before, he didn’t want the lights, or the church, or no, no no… He just…
He wanted him.
But-
He glared down at his leg. So well put together, almost untouched, the time between accident and healing remained nothing but a blink.
If that time was simply not there…
Was he even real???
What was his name??
And he stood there.
By the open doors of that same church, again, so welcoming, that he didn’t dare step inside.
Secco saw him. Giving out a lecture, again, speaking nonsense words that Secco didn’t care about.
And his heart ached again, as he watched the words come out, again and again. As he watched it end. As he hid out of sight, palms on the floor, and he stepped down.
And walked out, this time.
Secco didn’t hesitate once.
He remembered his name.
Not from his own screams, of every feeling and emotion he was made to feel that night, not from his own voice giving in to all of it. Not when he cried, or when he screamed, or whined.
It only rang in his mind with the man looking at him, behind a mask.
Cioccolata.
Their fourth meeting.
It was forced.
Because it happened again, and again, and one more time.
Days. And then weeks,
And when Secco realized it, it had been a few months.
Everyday he went to the same place. The church. He watched Cioccolata speak false things, true things, and things that made sense only to him. And after that, he would gather himself, and say goodbye to those he graced, and leave.
And Secco followed.
And he found more, and more.
Cioccolata was more beyond those walls. And each little thing Secco found, amazed him.
The first thing he found, was that Cioccolata was loaded. He had guessed that he was well off, someway, but he had never guessed just how well he was. The more he followed, the less Cioccolata seemed to lack. Were it a home, food, comfort, and cars, and clothes, and money, endless money, and knowledge.
And it made Secco think harder than he had for quite some time. It made him question himself again.
If Cioccolata had all those things, why did he need Secco? He wasn’t quite sure why Cioccolata had chosen him, approached him, done all of that to and with him in the first place, whatever all of that had even been. What did a man with a golden life need out of him?
If he had so much, if he had everything- What was the point of picking up some trash like Secco?
But that led into why Secco wanted Cioccolata. And he found that he hated that question even more.
So he did what he could. And ignored it all.
The second thing he found, was that Cioccolata also had a job. The start of a career, he heard, and saw. He was a doctor. Recently graduated, but acted and looked as if he was experienced beyond belief. And that Secco was sure of. Along that path, he had ripped the bandages coating his body right away.
And his leg was in a state only someone with expertise could leave it in. Secco checked, looked, again and again, he ran his fingers through the stitches he could barely see. They were perfect.
And so was the rest of his self. On a day Cioccolata was too busy, Secco spent his time counting- Each and every hidden stitch he could feel through his skin. He lost count along the way, and was content in simply… Remembering. He could almost hear Cioccolata speak to him again, every time his fingers passed by another stop.
…But if Cioccolata was willing to do what he did, why did he leave Secco in such a functional state?
Which lead to
If Cioccolata had all, why did he need Secco still functioning?
And Secco never reached those answers. He just groaned, screamed, frustrated.
And moved on.
The other thing he found was that he wasn’t unique.
Not one week after, as he followed Cioccolata out of a late night shift, he saw it. He saw Cioccolata change his course, walk to someone on the wayside. Someone Secco didn’t know, but he could call them his own flesh. They had nothing to offer.
And Cioccolata led them away.
Secco watched. Secco saw it.
He sat there, hidden, witnessing what he was sure that had happened to him, happen again, to someone who was not him. He didn’t think to call for help, or to intervene. He stood quiet. His screaming could ruin Cioccolatas laughter. It echoed out through the walls of the night, so Secco kept quiet, covering his mouth so his sobs wouldn’t ring out. He was there to listen.
After that, he told himself he wouldn’t see Cioccolata again.
And so, he followed him home and watched his mass the next day.
Secco saw it happen, again and again. Each time was the same, but there was something screaming at him from inside.
Each time Cioccolata did it with someone else, Secco felt it.
And one day he realized it.
Cioccolata had gotten bold, so bold that he brought his talents, his love, his desires out of the corners of his mind and actions. A slip up, he called, in his place of work, instead of dark hidden alleys or a church in the middle of the night. And Secco watched that slip up turn into just another number, another smile Cioccolata hid behind his hand.
The sirens were infernal. Ringing, blaring out as they took Cioccolatas last feat away, and Secco couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t hear his words, or his laugh.
And he realized it.
Secco was unique.
And before he knew it, his sobs had turned into a laughter of his own.
He was unique, all along. All this time, he had followed Cioccolata, alone, after he was done. Unlike any of the others Cioccolata chose…
Secco was still alive.
Cioccolata let him, and no one else, go, and continue on.
Secco didn’t follow Cioccolata home, that night. He went back to whatever, wherever, he called a home.
He never saw any bandages up on his head. But if there were, he would have loved it.
If Cioccolata had tied his mind up, Secco would at least have had this answer to keep him down.
But that was one knot undone for him. And without the rest, it was still tied.
Why did Cioccolata need him alive?
And their last meeting
It wasn't last because it wouldn’t happen again.
It would be last, because…
Secco couldn’t remember why.
It was any other day.
Maybe it was an anniversary. He had lost count of the days he had spent doing it. Everyday was the same, but he was getting antsy.
Every time he followed, his steps got closer. Louder. As if- No, not as if, he wanted it. He wanted to get caught.
Once he was caught, he… He would…
Cioccolata would finish the job, he was sure of it.
A small, insignificant, miniscule and overtaking part of him wanted to see what the other option was.
Maybe that was why, on that particular night, Secco was so bold.
He walked in to the church again.
But not because Cioccolata was speaking.
The opposite.
It was empty, but the doors were open. He stared where Cioccolata would usually speak at, and waited by the door. He didn’t show up.
So he walked further in.
He sat on the benches again. Waited, waited, waited what felt so long but was nothing at all, before he got angry again. So he walked forward, kept going on, grumbling to himself, until he was where he shouldn't.
Secco was where Cioccolata would always be.
It was odd.
He could see much more of the church from that angle, and he could see exactly where he would sit, too.
He could see more than he thought he could, he realized, as he stared at the door, at the spot where he would always hide. From there, he always thought he was hidden, but now that Secco was above…
His heart seemed to stop. The knots on his mind tightened.
Did…?
Palms hit the floor. He hid.
When he was standing, he could see the door, and more beyond outside it, he could see the exact spot he’d hide in to watch Cioccolata, every night! And not to mention, Cioccolata was definitely taller, so could he see more? Was that how it worked? But what if he never looked in the direction of the door? No, no, he did, he did look many times, and each time made Seccos heart beat faster, but he always looked away! But- But if he could see him, did he not recognize him…? Did he not once get curious to see who it was?
He stared down at his hands. They grasped at nothing.
…Cioccolata was real, maybe. But…
But the Cioccolata that he wanted to be real, was he…?
All the time he spent…
…
His hands crawled back up the altar. His legs, one long since healed and shut, shook as he got up.
And he could look at the church again.
He saw the door,
he saw where he once sat.
There was someone at his seat.
And he was decked in all white, blue highlights here and there, with an undershirt poking from under his coat.. He looked elite, as he already knew, like the kind that looked up at Secco, and kept on staring.
With that smile of his, without any hands or masks to hide it away.
Secco would have frozen in place, if he didn’t immediately jump out and rush towards him.
And to his horror, his delight, to feed the mess growing inside his head, Cioccolata got up, and ran to him too.
They met in the middle. Because only then, Secco froze, stumbled, tripped, his leg gave out and he slammed his head onto Cioccolatas. The two fell to the floor, and Seccos mind screamed at him to run, but…
He couldn’t. He was all tied up, again.
Cioccolata looked at him. He was still smiling. No, worse… He was laughing. The sound rumbled within the walls of Seccos head.
And Cioccolata crawled up to him, so close, until he was almost close enough to be real.
"You're the one who's been following me all around, aren't you?"
Secco stumbled back. And Cioccolata crawled forward again.
“...Y-You don’t-” Secco spilled out. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was just supposed to listen, in the back! And never say anything, and if it were to happen, it was always- “C-Cioccolata!”
And Cioccolata raised both brows.
“You remember my name?” He said, surprise clear in his voice.
Secco nodded. Maybe he should have lied.
“...B… But you…” He said, looking down. “You don’t-”
Cioccolata got closer.
Closer, until
“Secco~” He practically sang. “Secco, isn’t it?”
And Seccos head snapped up.
“......D… Did you…”
"I heard your steps behind me every night. Like a dog following its owner around a house…" He cooed. "But… Usually a dog is looking for… Something? A treat, some lap space, affection… But, you're not a dog, so…"
What is it that you want?
Secco was dead silent. He blamed everything and a little more for his lack of answer, and even as Cioccolata kept on waiting, patience slipping out from his features, he still had no answer.
Which was a lie that kept him comforted, from that time being. He knew the answer, he just didn’t have the words to put it out. That was his half lie.
His truth was that he knew exactly what he wanted, he just didn’t have the courage to claim it.
He wanted him. Right? Right… Just him. Or was there more? What was more, more of him? More that he could show? More words? He wanted…
“....Cioccolata.”
“Yes?”
“...I wanted C… Cioccolata.”
And he feels something.
Their foreheads touch.
Secco keeps staring at him. He still looks so weird like this.
…So maybe…
“...B… But what did you want???” Secco mumbled. “Why… All this time, and back then, and even before, why…”
“...I wanted,”
And Secco can’t blink again. Because if he does, it’ll end.
“I wanted Secco.”
And Secco doesn’t reply. He's just silent. Confused. Angry. Furious. Lost.
He's so…
Secco closes his eyes.
He knows Cioccolata isn’t going anywhere this time.
And when he feels Cioccolata smile against his lips, and he knows its real.
And when he speaks, he’s not sure of just that.
Good. Good boy.
He’s sure it will never end.
Because it’s just started.