Chapter Text
Once upon a time, when you were a little more naïve, you imagined a group of assassins might live in a large and sprawling mansion. From the outside, it might blend into the usual world of large houses but the interior would be something from a horror movie with flickering lightbulbs and unplaceable dripping water.
Instead, as you had learned, a group of assassins might live in a large, modified warehouse with no dripping water (because somebody would die from the sheer agitating sound) and perfectly lit rooms.
The latter proved to be an important point as one lightbulb needed replacement and the ensuing argument turned loud enough for the entire city to hear it.
At least, the refurbished warehouse came without any nosy neighbours who may be inclined to call for the police after the fifth death threat.
“Can I ask you a favour?” Risotto’s rumbling voice was close enough for you to hear him through your makeshift earplugs which, to be honest, weren’t doing a very good job either way.
“What do you need?”
“Just calm him down a little. You know he’ll listen to you.”
“I’m not sure how much I can do but I’ll give it a try.”
Risotto’s office was one of the few rooms with a decent level of privacy and you often slipped in there to escape the excitement outside. Despite that, Ghiaccio’s shouts often proved loud enough to slip beneath the cracks in the doors. You walked through the cold brick halls of the warehouse, stepped over the discarded cat toy that lay in the halls, and winced at a loud smash just before you stepped into the cold kitchen.
The kitchen already wasn’t very large but somehow, everybody congregated to watch the entertainment of Ghiaccio and Illuso’s intense argument surrounding the flickering light.
You almost made a joke about how many assassins it took to change a lightbulb but thought better of it.
You stepped over the glass which looked like it had been knocked from the counter unintentionally by a wild gesture. That would be for somebody else to clean up because you were instead taking the lightbulb off the counter and squinting up at the one it needed to be exchanged for.
The kitchen had been built into what you were quite sure was once an office of some kind for the manager. The ceiling in this room was lower than any of the other towering roofs that you certainly would never be able to reach. This, however, should be easy enough.
“Where’s the ladder?” you asked, grateful to have a break in the shouting.
“Broken,” Ghiaccio snapped. “It got backed over which means that Illuso has to be the one to fix it. He’s the only one who can reach!”
“I’ll do it,” you hushed him.
Illuso looked at you with a smug smirk. “You’re not tall enough to reach that.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
You considered a chair but despite Illuso’s unnecessary height, that would probably be what he needed to reach. As a normal human, you’d struggle and the only other tall enough man in the base would be Risotto.
Illuso watched your efforts smugly while the others dispersed back to more entertaining topics. “Figured out a plan?”
“Lu, can’t you just be nice?” you asked. “Don’t make me go and beg Risotto to do this when he’s already busy.”
Illuso leaned closer to you. “You could always beg me.”
Ghiaccio cursed next to you. “She shouldn’t have to beg you asshole! If you’re the only one tall enough to reach then you should do it! It doesn’t make sense otherwise!”
You knew Ghiaccio’s annoyance was what Illuso was looking for. He found great entertainment by antagonizing the blue-haired assassin who fell for the bait every time. You’d already ruined his game – now he was just looking for a little bonus.
“Pretty please,” you said, sarcastic.
He smirked as he took the lightbulb from you. “Anything for you.”
Ghiaccio cleaned up the broken glass once Illuso changed the lightbulb (all that yelling for something that took less than two minutes) and you sat on the counter to comfort him, even with the faint headache you suffered.
“I didn’t need you to fucking interfere,” Ghiaccio barked after you’d been left alone with him. “Why do you always give into these assholes and their egotistical bullshit?”
“It doesn’t bother me as much,” you admitted. “I wanted my headache to stop and there was a quick solution.”
“That’s fucking stupid.”
He never meant to be harsh. One of the hardest parts of handling Ghiaccio was learning that. His words carried no true venom to them but he lashed out without thinking because it was all he knew how to do. You’d come to accept that, with time and his strong tongue left no true mark on you.
“Let’s take a walk,” you recommended and reached out to brush over his cheek. He batted you away without any strength behind it.
His temper had simmered down before you even got outside.
The industrial district that existed beyond the confines of your warehouse (and how sweet it had become to think of it as your place) wasn’t at all welcoming to the average person. You were the only two people who strolled around this forgotten part of the city, lived in only by the rejected of society and the occasional stray animal.
Even on a sun-filled day like this one, the buildings cast heavy shade over the streets. The wind blew a piece of paper along lazily as you strolled with no real destination in mind.
Had it not been for Ghiaccio, fear and common sense would direct your walk away from this place entirely but even as he stomped along, he stayed his pace with your own.
“They only target me because I snap back,” he hissed. “That’s why they leave you alone. Because you just give in.”
“I don’t always.”
Illuso when bored was the worst. That was when he actively sought out fights for nothing more than to create chaos. You expected it from him and gave him no satisfaction so he found a more reactive target. It wasn’t done with malice and you knew even Ghiaccio didn’t hold it against him. Though the knowledge that he was doing it for fun didn’t make his temper any lighter.
“Illuso’s also too fucking soft when it comes to you. If you ask him things, he does it immediately.”
“He only didn’t give me trouble because he knew I’d get Risotto involved.”
“It’s not like I’m the newbie or anything like that! I’ve been here for way longer than you but they respect your opinions more!”
You both knew it wasn’t true. If it ever came to something important, Ghiaccio would outweigh your opinion entirely. You weren’t part of their team – no matter how many hours you’d spent around their base.
“Come now,” you said. “You know that they respect you in your work. I’m just a building renovator. Why would they listen to me?”
“Because you’re pretty. I mean, not that I think you are. Just those idiots.”
You laughed at the flush on his face. He blushed deeply any time he came close to complimenting you; a bright and unmistakable red that matched the shade of his glasses.
“Thank you, Ghia,” you hummed and he turned brighter still. “But they do respect you. You’ve been with them for most of your life right?”
He rolled his eyes and you wondered briefly if you’d crossed an unspoken line. Nobody truly spoke much of their world beyond Passione. Some part of you had always been too scared to ask for more details. Whatever world brought them into this life, it couldn’t have been a positive experience. You didn’t know many people who willingly joined an underpaying group of assassins.
“Yeah,” he spat out. “Too long.”
You planned to leave the topic there but Ghiaccio shoved his hands into his pockets and continued, sharing a story you had not heard before.
“I joined after this fucking idiota planned to bribe his way into getting the scholarship I wanted. He wasn’t even that good at skating but he had more money than skill. Stupid. I showed him what I thought of his cheating.”
You’d seen Ghiaccio skating once, if very briefly. You’d always assumed that his skills came after he got his stand rather than the other way but perhaps, you’d been wrong.
“Sounds like he got what he deserved then. I imagine the university didn’t look kindly on it though.”
He rolled his eyes and kicked a small rock hard enough to send it careening down the street. It tumbled down the alleyway and bounced to a stop beside an overflowing blue dumpster. A mouse dashed for safety from the unexpected noise.
“They didn’t even know.”
“Then what…?”
“Turns out that idiota had parents who worked for this shitty organization. One night, I’m just sleeping normally when they broke my fucking door down and told me I had to pay for that asshole’s medical bills. I couldn’t do anything like that so they stuck me over here so it took years to pay that debt.”
You winced.
Sometimes, it was easy to forget that this group of people whom you’d grown so fond of were caught up in gang dynamics beyond your understanding. You had heard rumours of Passione before you found yourself in the midst of its very underpaid assassin squad. They weren’t to be trifled with – even the police were said to fear getting involved with them.
“You must have been very good at skating.”
“I was the best. Could have gone to the Olympics easily but my parents wanted me to instead go to university. Look where that took me.”
You could point out that he played a role in the entire thing but no matter how you tried to look at it, sabotage didn’t feel as though it should equal life-long slavery to a gang. Even if he did pay off that debt, he couldn’t leave. He’d killed people for Passione and that level of blackmail moved mountains.
“At least they didn’t straight-up kill you,” you settled on saying. Nothing else felt appropriate.
If you were positive and pointed out how much he’d grown to care for his new family, it would feel wrong. If you were negative, it would just sour the already tense air around you.
Ghiaccio noticed though and when he next spoke, his voice was softer and more considerate. “I guess it’s not that bad,” he said with a shrug. “Not even that complicated. Who cares, right?”
You reached out to lace your fingers through his. “I care.”
He hesitated before he squeezed back, eyes firmly fixed on the building instead of you though his blush had spread to his ears. “Whatever. I’m here now. No use complaining about it cause it’s not like I’ll ever get to leave or anything.”
There were so many layers to that. You wished you could fix the problem magically for him; give him back the chance to be successful in something he loved. It would take a special kind of magic for that though and that was something far from your reach. But there were one or two things you could do.
“Maybe we should go skating tonight,” you said. “Neither of us are busy and there’s a rink nearby.”
He frowned. “I can’t use White Album in public. People notice.”
“You can just skate without him,” you teased and you bumped your shoulder into his. “Besides, you never know, I might forget how to skate entirely and you’ll have to teach me. You wouldn’t be able to do that with your stand activated.”
He scowled. “Fine but the others aren’t invited. If they can’t even fix a lightbulb, they don’t get to join us.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I always look forward to some us time.”
“Shut up.”
You giggled and his glare deepened but no matter what, he didn’t let go of your hand until you got back home.