Take 10! ACTION!!

🎥~ For— @the-silentsnake

🍸~ With— Money, Blood and Green stims

Art by @ikarusriver do not trace, alter or steal. (His comms are open if you are interest in his art!)

🎥~ Credits—

🍸/🎥/🍸

🎥/🍸/🎥

🍸/🎥/🍸

Curious, he peeked inside and spotted Gio, looking thoroughly worn out, slightly damp, and completely in his element. The Spy had just finished polishing up his pride and joy...a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, sleek and pristine. Compared to Stella? It's a goddamn masterpiece...In gio's eyes anyways

With a pleased sigh, Gio wiped his hands off on a rag, taking a step back to admire his work. His balaclava hung loose around his shoulders, his hands resting on his hips as he flashed the kind of grin that could sell snake oil to a saint.

"Finally! what a beaut! Looks good as new, eh, bambina?"

He let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he gave the car’s hood a loving pat.

"Ah, but what a tragedy you had me lookin' like some grease monkey out here! Tch don't trust those pesky engineers working with such a beauty like you...Such a shame I had to get my hands dirty..."

He lets out another chuckle and a small smile "But bah! Who cares! look at you now~!! a proper star, just like me~"

@the-silentsnake

*There was something inherently... fascinating about finding the Spy like this. Seeing him actually getting his hands dirty and doing manual labour was sort of like seeing a 19th century aristocrat at the grocery store: In Venya's mind, at least, it just didn't happen.

That weren't to say it wasn't a welcome sight — hell, if he could watch people fix vehicles all day and get paid for it, he would. (Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to a certain somebody.)

He leaned casually against the garage's doorframe and adjusted the collar of the flannel shirt he'd found for the occasion.*

Hey there. Looking g— I mean. Uh. You've been busy, huh? Do you not get out much? Is that why you've been prettying up your car now of all times?

*He walked over, hands in pockets, and admired Gio's handiwork.*

Merda!

In a panic, he scrambled to yank his balaclava back over his head, but in his rush, it fumbled in his hands. Dio mio, this was a disaster. Scoffing, he resorted to covering his mouth with his palm instead...disgusting, really, considering he hadn't even properly sanitized his hands yet. His fingers merely hovered near his face in hesitation, the other gripping onto his mask like his life depended on it.

A single bead of sweat trailed down his neck.

"Ugh, asshole, don't you Yellows believe in knocking?" His voice came sharp, flustered, before rolling right into exasperation. "Swear to God, you people have a thing about this...privacy? Ever heard of it?" He huffed, flicking his gaze away as if that'd somehow restore his dignity.

But then, like that, the shift—his lips curled into a smirk underneath his fingers, confidence slipping back into his voice like an old habit.

"And 'course I'm capable of a little hard work" he scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "You think I’d be here if I wasn't? Tch- per l'amor del cielo... give me some credit." His eyes flicked back toward his car, his expression softening

"Besides...you really think I'd trust Richard with her?" He let out a sharp laugh, flicking his wrist. "Quel deficient... He would probably use her as a cigarette disposal. And Scott?" He threw his head back in an exaggerated sigh. "Quello Stronzo would definitely try to see how fast she can explode."

His fingers traced the hood of the car, admiring the polished finish before turning his smirk back toward his unexpected visitor.

"A real beauty, no? Got her the moment they released 'em—couldn't resist," he drawled, eyes glinting. "And she matches my outfits most of the time, which, as you should know, is very important~" With a lazy stretch, he leaned back against the car, arms draped over the sides like he was posing for a photoshoot.

Sorry about that. I was just mesmerised by you...r work. (I swear to God, the Mitchellisms come with the clothes, don't they?) Look, if I knew you were busy as you are right now, I wouldn't have come over. Easy as.

*It was still wonderful, he thought, that he had this opportunity anyway. To the Soldier, Gio's car was nothing short of beautiful — he couldn't imagine the lengths the man must have gone to to get her. Though, of course, it was lovely to see the man himself, even if a little more exposed than usual. And it was funny to imagine the GRN Engineers fucking up his efforts. This also.*

You know, maybe you should consider pestering S— our Engie about your car. He's competent, by what I've seen of your sky-high standards. And I think he does a damn good job. I mean, without him I don't think Stell would've held up nearly as long as she has.

... Just a suggestion though. You don't have to take it. It's just I doubt you always have the time to take care of your pretty little car and I worry.

*He said this with that stupid toothy grin, as he always did and may well always will do. It was as if he was taunting Gio with the prospect of being upstaged in the art of car maintenance, if only just to piss him off. He sure hoped it pissed him off, at least. Seeing the other frustrated was amusing to him, perhaps more than he'd like to admit.

Venya really wished he had a camera on him right now. One of those small numbers that he had quite a few of, so he could save whatever moments and reactions he got today for himself. It sure wasn't helping that Gio was looking like he was cut straight out of a vintage car magazine at that moment, either.

He fished a set of keys out of his pocket, idly twirling them as if as a distraction to himself. Or, maybe to redirect him back to the point.*

Oh, right. What I want? Simple. I asked you to take me out, didn't I? And you've gotten the car all done up, so it'd be really easy right now to just... y'know, drive around town for a bit. Do a bit of whatever men of your kind love doing so much. The likes.

"Sawyer? Really? Him? To clean and fix her up for me? Oh, please...I'd sooner trust a raccoon with a toolbox."

He let out a dramatic whine, as if he were speaking to a small, helpless creature.

"He'd probably rip her apart and sell the pieces before I could even blink!"

*He raised an eyebrow at Gio's dramatics, and huffed half-fondly to himself at the blatant Slander he had to say about his pride and joy. That wasn't the camera collection. Or the signs. Or maybe Stella trumped both of them. You never know.*

Look, what is the purpose of a car if not to get dirtied? It's bound to happen anyway, you know, so you might as well have fun with it. Like going out on the town, looking around, going on long drives to nowhere. Things like that.

*He'd faltered and noticed the hand splayed over the other's mouth, and while he thought it was funny as all hell, he also didn't want to torture Gio that badly. So, he turned around.*

Sort out your mask business and we'll get ready to go. I did say you got to choose where we went, so if anything I'm treating you by entertaining your obnoxious richboy interests.

*Venya thought it insightful to occupy himself with inspecting the ceiling while he waited. It sure was... ceiling-ish. There was a crack in one of the corners, but to the untrained eye it would be near imperceptible. He supposed that having an eye for detail just did that to you, though. Made you notice things. The likes.*

"Finally! I was beginning to think I'd have to start filing for workers' compensation with how long you were making me stand here,"

he drawled, dropping the hand that had been lazily covering his mouth. His fingers ghosted along his jawline before he finally pulled his balaclava back on, adjusting it with a slow, deliberate motion.

Then, like a serpent coiling in for the kill, he turned to Venya with a grin that was nothing short of insufferable.

"And as for that dumpster on wheels you call Stella- ah, caro, you couldn’t have said it better yourself!" He let out a rich, velvety chuckle, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. With a deliberate slowness, he slid a hand into his pocket, fishing out a sleek set of keys, twirling them effortlessly around his fingers like he was spinning pure gold.

Then, with all the ease of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, Gio stepped forward, breaching that last bit of space between them. His fingers barely brushed against Venya’s shoulder....just a whisper of contact, but enough to linger, enough to burn.

"Tell you what, tesoro~…" his voice dipped, as he leaned in just slightly, close enough that his words ghosted warm against the air between them.

"If it'll soothe that wounded pride of yours, I'll let those grimy little hands of yours take hold of Francesca’s wheel while we’re out." A lazy, knowing smirk curled beneath his mask, his fingers giving Venya’s shoulder a final, teasing squeeze before he stepped back.

"Of course, I trust you won’t crash her!" A low chuckle escaping him as he flicked the keys toward Venya, watching with entertained eyes as they landed squarely in his grasp.

*He bristled at the name-calling, hands by his sides in fists. Though, this wasn't the time for defensiveness. Right. That could come later, when he had a rocket launcher to hand. The Soldier steeled himself and took a deep breath, only to jerk up again at Gio's lingering touch.*

I... Right, that's the plan. We'll head on over to good ol' Francesca and— wait, did you say I was driving? *He pointed to himself bewilderedly, and shifted the keys that were now in his grip between his fingers; the keys to Stella were back safely in his pocket.

After a moment to process the information just given, he grinned, perhaps a tad bit too eagerly for Gio's liking.*

Oh, of course I won't crash her! I bet she's infinitely lovelier and more tolerable than you, anyway, and I know better than to disrespect a lady. *Venya walked over to the driver's side; he hesitated for a second — a silent request for permission — before opening the door and shuffling in. Oh! How pleasant! He didn't have to shift the seat back this time! That was likely the one thing that irritated him about Stella, and even then, it was actually Sawyer's fault for being... vertically challenged.*

Come on in, love. I mean, I know it's your car, but... you know. *He wiped his (gloved) hands on his trousers, and placed his hands on the steering wheel — ten and two, as he'd learnt all those years ago.*

Y'know, we've only crashed Stella once. If that makes you feel a bit safer. It wasn't even a really bad crash either, she just got a little dent. (And it was Mitchell anyway, so...)

It felt almost unnatural sitting here. Gio was always the one being driven in a sleek limo, a glass of fine wine in hand, or behind the wheel of his own beloved machine, where he dictated every turn, every acceleration. This? This was foreign territory. Perhaps it was best if he kept it that way...but for now, he'd allow Venya this small amusement.

He crossed his legs leisurely, adjusting his coat with an exaggerated flick of the wrist, before turning his sharp gaze to the Russian.

"Scared? Ah, mio caro, please." He exhaled, feigning exhaustion. "I'm not scared for myself- I'm scared for her. My bellissima Francesca!" His gloved fingers grazed the dashboard, as if soothing the car itself. "One stain, one dent, even a scratch- per l'amor di Dio! I'd rather let Lime dress me in cargo shorts and a bargain-bin hoodie than see her harmed."

His laugh was light, almost too casual, but thankfully, the balaclava hid the faintest warmth creeping onto his face. His reputation was far too important to let a mere fluster show especially from a quick wit nick name such as PRETTY BOY

With a lazy flick of his fingers, he leaned back into the seat, his smirk audible in his voice.

"Now, I sure hope you know what you're doing...hell, I'd be stunned if you even remembered to bring your driver’s license." He waved his hand dismissively before suddenly clapping them together, a dramatic spark flashing in his eyes.

"Anyways! Chop chop! We have places to be! The nearest mall is hours away, and Dio mio, I have been dying for a wardrobe refresh!" He ran a hand down his perfectly tailored coat, lips curling in mock distaste. "All of this? It's getting tragically uninspired. Monotone. Predictable. And I, my dear Venya, refuse to be predictable."

He suddenly leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a low, almost sultry purr as he traced a gloved finger along his lapel.

"We are going all out, amico. Gucci. Prada. Ferragamo. We will not rest until I have a look so impeccable it makes the Pope himself weep."

Then, he leaned back again with a dramatic sigh, adjusting his gloves as if this entire excursion was simply his duty as a man of high taste.

*He shifted into first gear and stepped on the gas, the resulting jolt slightly pushing Gio into his seat. The grin on his face was toothy, even manic — it'd been a while since his last joyride, after all, and even with his newfound passenger in tow, he wasn't going to waste this chance.

It was honestly a wonder he hadn't crashed right then and there. Though, perhaps these near misses and convenient escapes warranted the absolute faith the Soldier held in his driving skills. Maybe he was a tad bit justified, if not what seemed to be an incredibly enthusiastic driver.*

Mmm-hmm, so the plan is we're going to doll you up next. I thought you would've stopped at Francesca, to be honest — too much effort for one day, you know? *He took one hand off the steering wheel once they were on vaster roads, seemingly rummaging around in his pocket for something, before giving up.*

And I do have my license on me. It's just in my wallet and my wallet's in my pocket and— you get it. And it's not like I can get it out for you now, 'cause— *He made a point of facing the dashboard, but sneaked a short glance at the other man.* —'cause I need my eyes on the road, or else you'll kill me more than you usually do.

*He took a moment to think about the day's agenda — he'd suspected that Gio would want to go shopping of some caliber, but hadn't prepared himself for what exactly that would entail. A lot of his past dates (?) had always been more academic in nature (courtesy of a certain somebody), so he was sort of in foreign waters. Though, knowing the Spy and his eye for aesthetics...*

... If you want to get me to wear one of those suits of yours I hope you know you're going to have to wrestle me into it. Violently. I'll almost certainly bite you if you try, even.

*This was a fib, of course, but he couldn't really help it; it was amusing to imagine the other's reaction, and deterrents were always good to have.*

Gio's hand instinctively gripped the grab handle as the car surged forward. His brows shot up, lips pressing into a thin line as he braced himself against the sudden acceleration.

A few more seconds passed.

He glanced at the speedometer. 80.

He exhaled sharply, loosening his grip just a little.

"Alright, alright...not as bad as I thought." He shifted in his seat, fixing his sleeves as if to regain some sense of composure. "Just... didn't expect you to take off like that. A little warning next time, si?"

He sighed dramatically, leaning his elbow against the door. "You're lucky I have nerves of steel...any other poor soul would’ve been clutching their pearls by now."

His eyes flicked back to the road ahead.

"…That being said, if you so much as scratch the tires, I will personally file a complaint...to who, I don't know, but someone will hear about it. You have any idea how much effort it takes to keep the garage clean? And Scott- Porca miseria- Scott will have a meltdown if he sees skid marks."

He finally turned back toward Venya, fully settled into his usual smirking confidence.

"Anyway...dolling myself up? Please. You think I'd let myself step outside looking anything less than stunning?" He gestured vaguely at himself, flicking his wrist in an exaggerated flourish. "You, on the other hand...I am quite the miracle worker, tesoro. If I managed to make Lime look remotely presentable, then I can work my magic on you."

His smirk lingered for a second before his expression shifted...just slightly. His voice dropped into something smoother, more knowing. "And let's not forget, I've gotten quite a few backstabs on you and your little crew. Well...most of them."

He waved his hand dismissively.

"There's one I still owe, but ah...we'll save that for another day, si?"

Finally, his gaze flicked back to the road, and he exhaled again...this time, with just a hint of lingering skepticism.

*Venya glanced at the speedometer himself, accelerating ever-so-slightly once he deemed it safe enough to do so. A thought crossed his mind of resultant force, Newton's second; Mitchell had mentioned it off hand the other day, so perhaps it had stuck in his head from then. Or, perhaps, it was just one of those things that never left.*

You'll get used to it. Just give it some time, you know? Spend enough time around somebody and you end up expecting skid marks or sudden starts. *He turned his gaze from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors to the road in sequence.* Or I guess in the case of America, completely empty highways.

*The Soldier fiddled with his hair absentmindedly. He'd been meaning to change it up at some point, but upon further consideration decided that searching for navy blue box dye was a quest more suited for a time where he didn't have a judgemental fashion enthusiast in the car with him, no matter how impractical that enthusiasm might be...*

... You know, I don't actually get why you're so insistent on buying your fancy clothes so often. Surely they'd just get ruined when you're fighting us, right? So there isn't a point in wearing them. (Though, I guess you do look pretty good in suits...)

*Now that he thought about it, the idea of being dressed up wasn't one that he was completely averse to. He supposed that, well, as long as it wasn't all the time, he wouldn't mind it. The real question here, however, was this: was this something to tell Gio about, or would the Spy's resulting smugness be so irritating that he'd have to push him out the car window?

Venya considered the consequences a little bit. Just a tad. And then he took the risk.*

If you really want to try playing dress-up, I wouldn't be one hundred percent opposed to it. Just know that I can fight back if need be, and, well. I wouldn't be spending anything, 'cause otherwise the others would have my head.

*He leaned back in the driver's seat and turned briefly to look at the other man.*

When Venya’s question came, Gio simply raised a brow, letting out a breezy laugh. "No point? Oh, amore... looking good is the point! Presentation is everything! Branding, tailoring, the craftsmanship- just mmwah!"He kissed his fingers in a flourish. "Sure, there are knockoffs stitched together with hopes and duct tape, but a real ensemble? That's an extension of your soul, caro! do you really think I wear these silk-lined, double-stitched, custom-fitted marvels for comfort? No! I wear them because I deserve to be seen like the Renaissance painting I am!"

He turned, giving Venya a slow once-over from boot to brow, lips curling into a playful smirk.

*Venya adjusted a very messily rolled-up sleeve.* You're not going to be burning anything, though, ideally. I asked really nicely if I could borrow this shirt — I'd hate to see it ruined. (And he would too, no doubt.)

... Actually, you know what, explosions are pretty damn cool. *He laughed lightly, as if his sudden thoughts were Hilarious (something highly unlikely to actually be the case).* As in, there's a certain beauty to destruction, y'know? So by that logic, I must look alright, and therefore your little insult just comes right back around to making me out to be brilliant. So there.

*Though, the Soldier had to admit: there was also a certain beauty to the painstakingly put-together outfits that Gio spoke of. It really did feel like sometimes he was looking at someone who was fashioned by an artist, each stroke meaningful and contributing so much to the finished piece.

Giovanni was the perfect muse. Venya refused to let him know this fact for fear of that smirk of his taunting him forever.*

Gio let out a sharp snort, leaning back in his seat with a lazy grace, one hand draped loosely over his chest as if wounded by the accusation.

"Well...would be a terrible shame if that flannel just happened to catch fire… like most of my suits do. So I suppose she’s safe for now."

He smirked, gaze flicking over the fabric. "Though it does look far better on someone else. Perhaps… a vertically challenged friend of yours? Hm?"

He tilted his head, mock thoughtful. "Honestly, I'm surprised you even fit it so well. Which means… oh dear… your little plan actually did backfire"

He gave a short, amused laugh, the kind that lingers just long enough to get under someone’s skin.

The laughter faltered at the mention of gas station coffee. His brow knit faintly. Premium blends...made by himself or at least by someone with the good sense to know his taste...had spoiled him. It had been too long since the last cup worth remembering. He gave a slow shake of his head, lips pressing to a thin line in what seemed like a refusal… then a small shrug broke it.

"I suppose I can suffer a simple gas station coffee on the way to the mall," he conceded with mock resignation. "Just make sure you don’t stain her while driving back. I forgot to top her off after cleaning, so… the gas station is technically mandatory anyway."

He waved a hand dramatically he slouched back against his chair, swaying slightly before regaining his balance with a tipsy flourish.

"And look at you! You've barely had a sip of your glass! where's the class, huh? This isn't just any cheap stuff from the corner store, tesoro. No, no, no!"

He laughed loudly, leaning back so far in his chair it creaked.

"Its not every day you get to share a drink with a man of my caliber"

giovanni leaned forward suddenly, his elbows hitting the table with a thud. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his words slightly slurred.

"You're lucky to be here, amico mio. Most people would kill for a night like this~! Fine wine, fine company, and me at my absolute finest. You? You're over there treating it like a business meeting. looking like...eeehhhhh-"

@the-silentsnake

[.]

Well, I—

Sawyer's cable tail swayed with a quicker tempo than it usually did, the gentle buzz of alcohol semi-settling in. He seemed to be attempting to suppress this, like how he tried to suppress the absentminded fidgeting he'd already been doing (albeit to no avail).

I— I know that. That you're... (Some vague gestures with the arms.) ... Fine company. N' that this here wine costs much more than my average paycheck.

He reached over to his abandoned glass and took another sip as if in obligation.

I jus' don't wanna run you dry, is all. Would be a real shame if our wonderful Spy over here didn't have no... fundin' for his escapades, y'know?

He took another look around the room, at the half-empty bottle of wine, at the battered radio he had promised to fix, at Gio again.

...Though I suppose I am lucky. Haven't been able to really— really let loose a lil' for a while. N' I have that chance now but I don't... seem to be takin' it.

He furrowed his brow as he mused about this, leaning forward and slouching a touch, and chuckled lightly.

"Ah, mio caro, loosen up, eh? For once in your life, take a stand with some pride! Or are you too scared even for that?"

He grinned, sharp and taunting, before taking an exaggeratedly small sip from his cup, savoring it like a connoisseur in a parody of sophistication. A satisfied sigh escaped him as he waved his hand lazily dismissively

"Eh, and the money? Pfft, don’t make me laugh. Us greens? We’re drowning in cash. Rolling in it even. So don't feel so bad about 'running me dry' oh darling I can spend however on whatever I want~"

He chuckled, but there was a slurred edge to it now, the alcohol creeping in and loosening his tongue.

"But you yellows?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, though it wasn’t much quieter.

"Madonna mia, you lot might as well be selling lemonade on the corner! Sad, really. Tragic! I often find myself feeling bad for you"

he snorted as he joked. clearly in a slight friendly manner.

"Though I’ll admit… it does feel kinda cozy whenever I sneak in. You’ve got this…homey little atmosphere, y'know? even when I swung on by to visit your sign-stealing, camera-obsessed little friend!"

It was alright. He had this. All he needed to do was brave it out a bit longer and he'd be in the all-clear.

Who says I'm scared? Can't a man be... cautious? Lord knows we need caution nowadays.

Sawyer, for one, knew this fact all too well. Who knows what could happen if he let his guard down in battle just a bit? He focussed his eyes on a particular spot on the floor, imagining Gio and the rest of GRN "rolling in money" like he said; thinking of picking the man apart with his eyes now like he was doing to his own "big project" back at YLW base.

"Lemonade", huh? Well, look, our team would be better at makin' it than your fellas ever could be. 'Least we have that goin' for us.

A breathy laugh, a shift in posture.

N' I'm kinda glad you find our ol'... establishment homey. Guess that's what happens when y'all are few n' far between — you bond, you get to know each other.

Though, can't say the same for Sol. He don't seem to be real close with anybody. In fact, you're kinda... how do I put this? You're... you're something he really looks forward to, I think. I can tell you that much. He'd never tell you himself, so...

"Me? He looks forward to me? Oh, per favore! That’s ridiculous. Out of everyone on your team, I'd wager he'd rather see your face rather than mine. But eh...who cares what he enjoys, yes?"

He waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan.He sighed dramatically, shaking his head as if burdened by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Ugh...You Yellows always know how to get under my skin. It's truly disgusting...ugh, sickening, really..."

He leaned in with hands clasped in his lap and the giddiest grin on his face, as if he were disclosing the gossip of the century.

The man, well— it ain't that he won't stop talkin' 'bout you or anythin', but... You know he keeps givin' you stuff for a reason, right? As in, those signs might be, y'know, signs. I — He let out a sigh — that sounded cleverer...er...er in my head. Sorry.

He was wary of the other's general demeanour, and that any time soon he was going to let loose; while he in himself was eager to see Gio dishevelled and undone to this extent, Sawyer was acutely focussed anyway on every little change in the Spy's disposition, every tiny flicker of vulnerability. He knew all too well what it was to have the metaphorical safety of a mask taken away, after all, and didn't want this wager to affect his and Gio's relationship in the long run, however enticing it may be.

He scooched a little bit on the desk closer to Gio's chair, picking up a pen and twirling it around in his fingers.

Wait, hold on, us yellows? Awh, so it's a team effort now! S'fun we made you feel that way, honey. N' I can't wait for it to happen more!

"Tch...per l’amor di Dio, I don't think you and I see him in quite the same way, caro,"

he scoffed, though his words were a little looser, a little less sharp than usual.

"What you call gifts?" he lets out another more softer scoff "-it's just junk lying around in my studio. As much as I appreciate the thought..." he muttered out the word as if it pained him to admit it, "...he oughta give more useful presents next time..."

He muttered out once again, slightly in denial of the affection he felt towards the other(s), A sort of predicament he found himself in, being caught between two enemies. like a king being cornered in chess...only difference is...the king can always get out of check...or so he thought-

He turned his head away, jaw tight. His words were an excuse, a shield one he used far too often. He’d spent a lifetime slipping out of people’s hands before they could close around him. That was just how he survived. he has the fight the urge and keep on pushing through

"but I keep a lotta things. Doesn't mean I care about 'em."

Well, if you kept the "junk", there must've been a reason of sorts, right? For example — say, how come you ain't gotten rid of that, uh, what was it again—? Lamppost! How come you haven't gotten rid of that lamppost in your studio yet?

He kicked his feet back and forth absentmindedly, and debated whether that question was rhetorical or not. It likely was, given the context — he may as well continue. He gently tapped rhythmically on the side of his leg, accidentally matching the Spy's pace perfectly.

You'd think it wouldn't serve any practical value to keep it around. It's essentially a big long stick with some circuitry in it, right? No use havin' somethin' like that in a director's studio, I reckon. (Though, I suppose I could try makin' it functional...)

Sawyer was determined to enclose Gio in this little trap, so to say — in his mind, he was reining the man in with that cable of his like a lasso, like one does at a rodeo show. Perhaps in his imagination the two would end up in a dance dip and everyone would applaud and they'd k—

He pushed that thought to the back of his brain. Not now. Now was time for checkmate. (Hopefully.)

... So if you ain't throwin' it away, there must be some other thing on the line. Like, say, emotional sentiment. You don't wanna throw it out 'cause somebody gave it to you an' he gave it to you 'cause he cares.

An' you don't wanna jeopardise that. You shouldn't. It ain't often that he cares, after all, at least enough to actively express it.

He pointedly looked away again, as if he were talking from experience of some kind. As if he considered Gio lucky to have this chance.

Or, 'least, somethin' like that. I don't control you, 'course, an' I don't control him, neither...

A sigh of resignation.

... I guess the signs do mean somethin', is what I'm tryin' to say. They mean he cares 'bout you. They mean, in a sense, that you care 'bout him. You keep him around because you care.

With a quiet sigh, he set it down and glanced to the side. "You think awfully deep about this sorta stuff, no?" he muttered… but something was different. Brief...so quick it could’ve gone unnoticed. His usual deep, suave voice, laced with that effortless zest, (GAY FU-) had flickered...fading into something else. Something tired, almost monotone...and a voice that doesn't even seem to belong to HIM

He spluttered at the accusation; the words in his head were running infinitely faster than the speed his mouth was moving at, but he was certain of one thing.

Sawyer had been found out. Again. He supposed it was bound to happen, but it was still a foreign idea to him that such could be the case. Now, to salvage it as best he could...

A man can get wary that somebody he's known for... (Some counting on his fingers. Some muttering under his breath.) Twenty—ish...? years can all up n' suddenly become real close to some fella he ain't even known till he got here. 'Specially since apparently he can't goddamn lo—

A gloved hand clamped over his mouth. That was absolutely not what he had meant to do. But it was fine, it was fixable. Everything was fixable. Breathe in, breathe out.

...Sorry. Ah, no offense, I just, uh. I have a lot of feelin's in the ol' brain I don't particularly want to unpack right now. Not till everythin' tides over, 'least. You know.

A beat of silence passed, heavy and thick, before the wooden legs of his chair scraped against the floor. Slow, deliberate footsteps followed as he crossed the room, finally settling himself on the edge of the his desk.

"Well," he started, breaking the quiet with a small smirk,

"this calls for another round of alcohol… if I actually had any left."

You're— lyin' to me.

He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, tried to compose himself again — the somewhat earnest look on Gio's face perhaps made him reconsider his intentions, upon further consideration. But his head was still swimming, still drowning in emotions and tears and fancy wine that cost more than his net worth.

Or... maybe you're not lyin'. Still kinda feels like it, though.

He snaked his arms around himself in what seemed an attempt to comfort, to console. Just in case it wasn't real, he supposed.

I guess if you really want me to be a part of this, I can do. God, I'd love to, even. I jus' worry since you've already got him an' I know he's more than enough to deal with. (He laughed again — fondly, this time.)

An' you, uh, you do have to talk to Ven about it too. I think. I'm willin' to wait for him — have done for a while now already — but just in case. 'Cause I don't remember the two of us ever havin' that— (A sniffle.) —that conversation.

I jus'...

He exhaled, kicking his legs nervously from where they were dangling off the side of the table.

"Of course… take your time with all this. You may need it." His gaze dipped slightly, thoughtful.

"Do I understand the situation you’re in? Sì. Could I ever truly compare? Of course not. No experience is ever the same, not really… especially not to the person living it."

He leaned back, exhaling softly.

"But… while most would love to live in the present, some of us are still caught in the past, aren’t we?"

A pause. Then, with a lilt of wry amusement, he added,

"So take your time, tesoro. After all, I'd rather not have to haul you back to your base, covered in tears and snot, ruining my perfectly tailored suit."

A chuckle escaped him, light but knowing. "Sober up a little, eh? I could use one less drink myself."

He patted his shoulder, but his touch lingered- fingertips grazing the fabric before settling there a moment longer than necessary.

Alrighty, you go do that, hun. Try not to take too long with it though...? Actually, no— scratch that, take as long as you need to. I'll be waitin' right here for when you get back.

As Gio left the room momentarily, he took the opportunity to take his goggles off for a second and try to clear the tears out. It was a terribly inconvenient setup, so he always tried not to cry over anything — after all, imagine having somebody break into your sentry nest and you can't see them since your eyesight's been compromised by your own feelings!

It's alright. I've got this. All it takes now is a lil' bit of thinkin', an— aw, hell, forget it. I've done enough thinkin' for an entire week.

As he mumbled to himself Sawyer got off of his comfortable little spot on the desk, walked over to the faulty radio that had started this mess, and picked it up. It was a bit of a challenge to get back onto the desk without dropping the radio (he didn't want to get any components in contact with the furnished wood — he swore the broken little thing was sparking) but he managed it.

He occupied his hands with reassessing the damage and hoped that this would tide his mind over until Gio returned.

Sawyer supposed that maybe the radio was just like him, in a way; beaten down and self-sabotaged and yet still salvageable (in his eyes everything was). Perhaps maybe if he sorted it out sooner rather than later it would fix his own state as well. Though, perhaps this was wishful thinking.

He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes drifting lazily over the room. Jackets were strewn about, bags forgotten in the mad rush for freedom as the day wound down. Something caught his eye, glinting in the dim light, sticking out of a jacket pocket

Curiosity sparked, he finished filling the first cup, then, like a moth to a lightbulb, he glided toward the jacket. His fingers closed around the object, pulling it out with a flourish. A flask. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling on his lips as he chuckled softly.

"Ah, che bellezza... what did I tell them about drinking on the job?" He shook his head with mock disappointment, adding a playful, "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Giving the flask a little shake, he was surprised to hear there was still something inside. His grin widened. "Well, well, looks like someone was being a little too generous."

With a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he unscrewed the cap, bringing it to his lips. A few hearty swigs, and...sweet jesus...the burn hit him like a freight train. He winced, surprised by the strength, "Jesus. who's is thi- ah...Arthur- of course it's Arthur..." but it was all part of the game. Better to drink and forget than be sober and face the mess in his head. he'll sober up later once the other has left. it keeps things interesting

You're back! Been wonderin' when you'd be. Though, I suppose I must've felt it was longer on impulse. That's probably what happens when you're left alone to think. I mean, that happens to me all the time, an'— damn. I'm ramblin' again, sorry.

That anxious excitable buzz that the Texan often had about him was back, as if he hadn't all but broken down just earlier. It seemed Gio wasn't the only one (somewhat) competent at playing pretend, though his own skills could never compare. He faltered a bit though upon closer inspection of the other's general disposition.

I- Honey... did you get into the booze again? I thought you decided to sober up a lil' with me.

He sighed — mildly exasperated, but affectionate — as he took one of the cups from the other man's hands.

Well— I suppose it don't matter. I mean, you ain't the one havin' to walk back to the base this late, anyway. Your office, your rules, y'know?

He made sure not to get any water on the radio's exposed wiring as he placed it down gently on the desk next to him, and took a sip.

Hell— cold water from the dispenser? Darn, they are treatin' y'all good good over there, ain't they? (Lucky bastards, all of ya.)

Gio leaned in slightly, his voice smooth, laced with that signature playful lilt.

"In fact, I quite enjoy it. There's just something...charming about the way your mind works~, all numbers and theories, equations spinning like little gears in that brilliant head of yours."

He tilted his head "Go on, keep talking...indulge me~"

He chuckled, the sound a little looser, a little more careless than usual. Beneath his balaclava, a crooked smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back

"And about me sobering up? Bah blame the actors!! I tell em to not drink on set but here they are sneaking in bottles of expensive wine behind my back because they are too greedy to share..."

He lets out another chuckle as he slumped further, swirling the cup of cold water in his hands as his gaze drifted toward the broken radio. A wistful sigh slipped out before he took a slow sip, letting the coolness chase the burn still lingering in his throat.

"Truly, truly unfair, hm? We GRN members get pampered like Prince and princesses, while you poor YLW bastards are out there baking under the sun like a tray of biscotti. I knew I picked the right team! Ha! Can you imagine me living in a desert?"

He tilted his head slightly, glancing over at the Texan with a lazy smirk.

Well, I— thank you. That means a lot, hon. Knowing you, n' all, I'd have thought you weren't one to be interested in electrodynamics. Or... Or anything I really talk about, now I think about it. So it's nice to hear you do.

Sawyer attempted to hold up a little bit of eye contact, perhaps with the idea that doing so would allow him to transmit every little infodump he's ever wanted to do along brain waves, no matter how impractical that would be.

The man had a lot to say; things about hadron colliders and quantum mechanics, about a novel he might be reading, about the people he cares for. He supposed that overall it would be better to simply listen, however. After all, he'd be more "palatable" that way, and that reprieve was something he needed more than he'd like to admit. It was this that meant he didn't talk as often as he could; for everyone else's sake, he said, as well as his own.

But enough of that! One can easily fall privy to traps of the mind, and digressions such as these are no different. Sawyer took a sip from his cup again, absentmindedly biting the edge of it as he listened.

Mhm... Y'all really do have it real good, don't ya? I bet all of us wished we had what you had. The, uh, financial stability that is. An' I suppose the safety part too...? Or the better weather? I ain't quite sure myself. It must be nice, is all I'm sayin'.

A lull in the conversation, some words maybe left unsaid. Sawyer readjusts his hat, averts his eyes.

... You might have to make me leave soon, don't you think? S'late, after all, n'... I mean, we both lost the bet, like you said. N' I don't wanna bother you any more than I already have.

I... (He sighed.) I have a feelin' things would go real sour real fast if I hung 'round much longer, anyway. And you're probably goin' to have to get some rest for tomorrow, so...

He downed the rest of the water in his cup, gently placing it on the table and picking up the radio again, as if he really was making a move to leave.

I can probably make my own way home, he mumbled. S'not that hard, n' I ain't as tipsy as you are. I'll, uh—

He remembered the proposition from earlier.

I'll think about what you told me, about us, if that's anything. (Maybe don't expect an answer for a while though?)

Sawyer hopped off the desk he was sitting on, and turned to Gio with a smile, however tired it may have been.

"Oh its nothing really. Just don't go accidentally bashing that thick skull of yours against a tree or somethin', eh? We're in GRN territory...a whole forest, mud, and who knows what else lurkin' out there. You trip once, and next thing ya know, you're face-first in swamp water. Not exactly a dignified look. which is why My studio isnt exactly connected to the place..."

He laughed, the usual confidence in his voice, but his gaze wandered...out the window, up at the stars. Tch. Strano... Why did they look so damn familiar tonight? A little shiver ran down his spine, that nagging déjà vu settling in his chest like an old, unwelcome guest. He shook his head, like that’d somehow rattle the feeling loose.

With a dramatic sigh, he leaned back against his desk, drumming his fingers against the surface.

"Bah, whatever. I ain't exactly the patient type... Waiting around for an answer? Not my thing."

He waved a hand dismissively, but there was a crack in the usual bravado. He stole another glance at the engineer. He slowly exhaled through his nose, a touch more hesitant.

"But..." He rolled his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck. "I get it. Some things take time. No rush...No pressure." The words felt weird coming out of his mouth...too soft, too understanding...But hey, even he had his moments.

Pushing off the desk, he crossed his arms, staring out the window again. The silence sat heavy for a second, before he huffed, shaking his head with an exasperated chuckle.

"Wouldn’t be fair if I didn't keep my promise, no?"

In his head, the Engineer's telescope came to mind immediately; the little old thing was probably buried under mounds of assorted junk in his room by now. Well, at least it was seeing some use, he supposed. The sky around here was perfect for it. And he hasn't really had the time or willpower to go stargazing himself in a while...

I didn't think I'd ever hear you say "no pressure", honey. He turned the radio over and over in his hands. I wonder what happened to make you say that...? But—

Sawyer cut himself off, taking a glance over at Gio, now hatless — it took him a second to refix his jaw from where it had dropped. He had an odd impulse to throw his own hat clean off, make things even, if only not to make the other feel too exposed in his own office.

I... You don't have to keep it, y'know? The promise, that is. Not if you ain't comfortable. You, well— you've already indulged me enough, I think, darlin'.

He looked very pointedly away, fiddling with whatever he could get his hands on in that moment. This may have been the radio's wiring or his collar or somesuch other thing, or perhaps a combination. (It wasn't particularly relevant or clear, anyway.)

I mean— you treated me to a drink (a fancy one at that!), let me sit around on your desk and talk, told me the one thing I'd been wanting to hear from somebody for as long as I can remember...

He tentatively looked back up at the other man, trying to avoid his eyes.

You don't really owe me anythin'. Not unless you actually want to yourself. (I think somethin' like this shouldn't've been bargained on chance or bets in the first place anyway. S'too personal. Too risky.)

"Well, I was never the type to break a promise."

His voice was smooth, effortless, yet something in the way he spoke carried a weight that wasn’t always there. His fingers found the edge of his balaclava, tugging at it absentmindedly as he continued.

"All this… mask talk? It was always a little game to us, no? A challenge. A dance. Always wondering who would drop the act first, who would put the other into check—who would call the bluff."

He chuckled lowly, tilting his head. "Truth is, tesoro, it was always a stalemate. No matter who, no matter when. And, Dio mio, a stalemate can get a bit boring, no?"

His fingers lingered at the fabric of his mask, teasing at the edge. His fingers finally curled around the fabric, lifting it slowly to reveal that ever so familiar smirk

"Only a few people on my team know what I look like. But who I am? That, they haven't got a clue. Even Lime...oh, povero, he only ever scratched the surface…"

His eyes flickered up to meet Sawyer’s, something flickering behind them...something real.

"But you?" His voice dropped, softer now. "Despite being on the opposite team. Despite our little rendezvous on the battlefield. Despite everything telling me I shouldn't… I trust you."

A beat. His smirk faltered, just a moment though before going back to normal

"Which is a lot, you know? For me to trust someone? Let alone with my face."

The air grew heavier, more intimate. Giovanni exhaled, rolling his shoulders back, as if shaking something loose.

"This mask... It's second nature. The moment I wake up, I put it on...it's part of my routine now, like my skin, my body, something that is me but isn't me all the same."

A pause. A flicker of something vulnerable...Then, with a breath- deep, steadying...he pushed his balaclava a bit higher.

The fabric dragged over the bridge of his nose, up past his cheekbones, until finally, with one last motion, he pulled it free. His dark curls, messy from being tucked away for so long, settled back into place, framing his face in uneven waves.

And there he was.

Sharp angles softened by exhaustion. A face well-versed in deception but, in this moment, unguarded. His eyes—piercing,sharp, always watching—now bare, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t allowed in years. They flickered over Sawyer, gauging the reaction, searching for something he wasn’t sure how to name.

"So it's a mystery, really… why I feel this way. Trust. Understanding. Maybe even… familiarity." He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Maybe it’s because of this whole mask situation. Maybe it’s because of why I ran from home. Twice. But- bah, who cares."

he lowered his arm. mask slipped fully away now, resting in his hand.

"Now you know who I am… or at least, what I look like."

The smirk returned, but softer this time, laced with something gentler. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something more teasing and familiar.

I... Darlin', I just— wow.

A rose—red flush wormed its way across his face; it felt as if he were a mere mortal or peasant, of sorts, in the presence of something, someone so fantastical and unheard of that it was sort of terrifying.

Sawyer thought that he himself could never muster up the courage to be as open as the other. By God, he wished to, however... Maybe at some point later down the line?

You're, I mean— darn. He chuckled fondly, half—nervously. I have half the mind to hold you right here and now. (Though, I ain't sure if you're good with that kinda thing.)

I wonder how it feels, being... being free like that. He leaned back on the desk again, still keeping his hands busy, still mindlessly fidgeting. Must be nice. I hope it is, at least. Would be a real shame if you went through all the trouble just to regret it, y'know?

Sawyer attempted to resume eye contact with Gio — he wasn't quite sure why it was so difficult. Perhaps he felt it a courtesy to keep that metaphorical distance. Perhaps it was moreso a case of "there's so many emotions in my mind at once that I feel dizzy". He would likely have to objectively assess the situation in retrospect in order to tell you.

Sawyer snorted at the Spy's little tease — it just so happened to make him feel just a little bit better, cheer him up a mite bit.

I ain't disappointed at all, honey. In fact, the case is quite the opposite! It's just— well, I don't know...

He faltered, recompiled his thoughts, rearranged some of the wires in the circuit in his hands like this would rearrange his brain too.

I'm real glad you trust me, is all. I ain't particularly sure why that's the case, but, y'know. It's nice. To be trusted, that is — especially with things that are important to you.

He looked out the window again, seemingly searching for some emotional support in the blackness out there.

He stepped closer, voice dropping just a touch...still sweet, but with the weight of something more sincere beneath the sugar. "Truly, I’m just glad to have played it with you, out of everyone. You made it… interesting. Unexpected. Deliciously complicated."

Then, a pause.

Gio's smile softened, eyes flicking slightly to the side, as though his words were meant more for the air than the man in front of him. "It may take some time," he said, quieter now, "but... sooner or later, trusting yourself? It’ll be as easy as breathing. Or, well...whatever it is you find easy and enjoyable. Fixing radios? Winking at rivals? hell solving complex problems even I, or well anyone in GRN can comprehend...It's your pick."

He chuckled again, light but earnest, before drawing himself back up with a breezy shrug. "But for now...well" He tilted his head, a grin creeping back into place. "I suppose we'll just see how it goes from here, eh? Just because I've lost this round doesn't mean you've won yet, bello. I'm in check, not checkmate."

He looked down at the circuitry in his hands as if it were common knowledge to the both of them and yet he was surprised to see he even remembered it existed.

Sorry about that, hon. I, uh... well. I'm not the absolute best right now, am I? Makes sense I'd get distracted. He looked up at the Spy again for a moment, before looking away again.

And I don't brood — it's more like... ponderin', if anything. I'm a ponderer, and I'm currently ponderin' how I'm gonna get home with this here trinket and my body intact.

This was a half-truth; while he'd been thinking about this exact thing, he was, of course, taking all of Gio's advice to heart, tucking it away in his head. Something was telling him the man was speaking from experience, after all — it would be fit for his opponent in this game the two play to do as such.

A faint look of recognition flashed in his eyes, as if he'd remembered something. Actually, y'know...

Sawyer shifted the radio to his cable tail, the end of the yellow wire wrapping around the number gently and yet firmly, like a lover's embrace. He wrung his hands together, and twiddled his thumbs in a show of Classic Yengineer Nervousness.

I'm kinda happy that I decided to indulge in this charade with you, too. It's been a hell of a ride thus far, and it doesn't seem either of us is gonna stop anytime soon. Not while we still have things to hide, huh?

He grinned up at Gio, as if in challenge, and crossed his arms. It seemed he'd put their deep heartfelt conversation aside for now, in favour of the banter the two cherished so much.

I wonder what your next move is gonna be. What pieces 're we gonna have to sacrifice to get to the bottom of everythin'? How're you gonna take the game back for yourself?

After a moment of consideration, he moved in closer and tentatively placed a hand on the other's chest, an act somehow both vaguely patronising and reverent in nature.

He placed a hand over his chest in faux shock, fingers splayed dramatically.

"Oh, santo cielo… such conviction~" he purred, his voice dipping into that velvet cadence only he could manage. "You really are serious about fixing this mess, aren’t you?"

His smile curled wider, a glint dancing in his eye.

"But mi caro... even I- a master of secrets and deception, It is my job after all...But I must admit, you're quite the puzzle yourself. Thick-skinned, cold-eyed, all tough guy grit and that soft Southern steel under it. But don't worry, I'm very good at peeling things back... layer by layer~”

He gave a low, playful laugh, reaching up to lazily gesture toward his own face.

"And this? Consider it a rare treat. Do not go running back to your little sign welding craze man with this scandal, hmm?" he leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, like velvet and honey. "You're the third person in this entire war to see me without the mask. Third. Now that's something worth bragging about, no?"

Gio gently patted Sawyer's cheek with a gloved hand, his grin widening.

"Now, tesoro, chop chop~ Back to work before someone from GRN sees you here and thinks we're conspiring something truly deliciously treasonous. Wouldn't want to get MY reputation all tangled up in webs~ especially with someone like you around! Oooh how scandalous!”

He knocked twice, sharp raps against the door, then leaned lazily against the railing, eyes flicking up to the tower’s windows as if Lime might suddenly materialize like some kind of feral gremlin. Knowing him, it was a distinct possibility.

"Dio mio, I swear, if you’re dead in there, I better not find out it was because you decided to live off crickets and moths again,"

he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he adjusted the tupperware container tucked under his arm. He'd made the boy actual food...fresh, warm, and not sourced from whatever unholy ecosystem Lime had brewing in his room. A peace offering, of sorts. Or maybe just a precaution.

After a moment of silence, Gio knocked again, this time with a little more force.

"Lime, mio piccolo parassita~ if I have to stand out here much longer, I will assume the worst and break in. And you know I will."

He sighed, shifting his weight.

"Come now, veloce, veloce...I brought food. Real food. No legs. No antennae. Just open the door before I regret this..."

@the-silentsnake

He perked up when the door was knocked on. He told peter HE would come get him, what the he- oh. Oh its... Spy.

Lime opened the door, still getting ready and his room was a mess. It was, literally, always a mess but this time it was because he was looking for stuff and things.

Huh- YA GOT FOOD?! aw hell yea!

He finally got his coat on, and repositioned his beanie to step outside and go get peter. He locked the Tower (which was a miracle, he lost his keys a couple weeks prior)

Whaddya need, spy? Kindaa in a hurry but .. ya know, walk while we talk, kay?

"Mio Dio!"

He practically gasped, his hand flying to his chest like he’d just witnessed a crime scene. His eyes darted around the interior, then back at Lime—his outfit, his face, the absolute state of him.

"What the hell happened here??! It’s like a tornado hit our base, and we all just left you to fend for yourself! And...eugh!-what is this?!"

He gestured vaguely, dramatically, at Lime’s clothes, his nose scrunching in visible disgust.

"For heaven's sake, you look terrible! Like you just clawed your way out of a grave! Dio, dimmi la verità, did you just wake up or something?! You smell like you’ve been marinating in bad decisions!"

His rant came to an abrupt halt as his sharp eyes caught something—something in Lime’s face, in his posture. Instantly, Gio's scowl melted into something more serious. Without hesitation, he shoved the tupperware onto the nearest surface and stepped forward, hands catching Lime’s face as he tilted it, inspecting him like a worried mother hen.

"Oh sweet jesus...Are you okay?"

His voice lowered, concern slipping through his usual theatrical bravado. His thumb brushed over Lime’s cheek, scanning for any signs of injury, exhaustion- anything.

"Did something happen again? You know you can come to me, yes? You don’t always have to lock yourself up like some tragic little hermit! Is Peter being mean to you again? Because if he is you know he doesn't mean it...I hope"

He exhaled, shaking his head, his hands finally dropping to his hips as he gave Lime one last, exasperated once-over.

I dont look dat bad do i?? im busy an cant eat witchu tanight b- HEY! i took a five minute nap, im jus gettin ready for a uh .. THING wif someone

He looked down at his sweater. Maybe... maybe he shouldn't wear his usual outfit for this. Eh whatever.

Giovanni scoffed, throwing up his hands in exaggerated disbelief. He stepped forward towards lime, like a predator assessing its prey.

"gosh, just look at you...what is this? This is what you call an outfit?!"

He made a sweeping gesture at Lime's disaster of a wardrobe, his expression caught between horror and pity.

"This..." he motioned grandly to himself, tilting his head with a smirk, "...This is what a real man dresses like."

he stood upright, looking at himself. He thought he looked great, a real catch, but next to gio.... he looked stupid and dumb.

Good luck gettin me in a suit pal, my ma tried an i fought back ev'ry single time, so He smirked as if it was a great achievement and should be praised for

Plus, it aint none of yer business who im goin out with! i ain't tellin!!

He straightened back up, tilting his head ever so slightly as his hand found its place on his hip, the other hanging loose but poised—ready. His gaze flickered over Lime, sizing him up like a tailor about to tear apart and rework a cheap suit.

"Oh, please, mio figlio, if we're going to do this, let's raise the stakes, no?" His voice was all honeyed amusement, a dangerous lilt beneath the teasing as he suddenly lunged forward.

Before Lime could react, Gio's hand shot out, clapping down hard on his shoulder...not enough to hurt, but just enough to send a sharp jolt through his nerves. Lime barely had time to blink before Gio shifted his weight, twisting him off balance with practiced ease.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk~ You really should work on that reaction time," Gio chided, effortlessly hoisting the squirming Scout over his shoulder like a particularly mouthy duffel bag.

"Madonn', you're heavier than you look—what the hell have you been eating?" He huffed, adjusting his grip as Lime flailed in protest.

"If you're going to impress someone, you need to at least look like you didn’t roll out of a dumpster fire. No, no, no...this simply won't do."

He strolled toward the exit with the confidence of a man completely unfazed by the chaos he was carrying.

Lime squirmed in Gios hold, but he couldn't break free. He accepted his fate and sighed

I ain't gettin in a god awful suit! ya cant make me, prick!

Most of the walk was silent, until Liam decided to speak again

Gio kicked down the studio doors with an effortless flick of his heel, stepping inside like a man on a mission. Luckily for him, the room was empty. Unluckily for Lime? That meant the dressing room was all his.

Inside, racks upon racks of pristine suits, fine dress shirts, sleek vests, and tailored coats lined the walls. Somewhere, hidden deep in the back, were the more eccentric pieces...gowns, extravagant costumes, pieces meant for the stage rather than the streets. But Gio wasn’t here for those. No, his boy needed to dress to impress. (L-L-LIKE THE G-G-G-GAY- *gets shot)

With a keen, practiced eye, Gio sifted through the selections, plucking a few options from the racks and holding them up against Lime with a scrutinizing gaze. "Hmmm… this one is promising...no, no, too stiff. Ah, this one has a bit of flair...but Dio, too much green! We're already drenched in the color, we don't need to look like walking olives." He waved a dismissive hand, moving on.

As he flipped through another rack, his fingers paused, brushing against the fabric of a finely tailored suit. For a moment, his movements slowed.

"You know…" his voice softened, a hint of nostalgia creeping in, "this reminds me of when I used to take my son shopping for clothes..."

He let out a soft chuckle, but it wasn't quite like his usual ones...not zesty, not smug, not dramatic. This one was… quieter. A chuckle laced with something deeper. He exhaled softly, forcing himself to snap back to the present, shaking his head as if shaking off the memory. The mask...his signature, effortless bravado...slid right back into place.

With a flourish, he held up a final suit, giving Lime a pointed, fatherly look. "Alright, mio caro, this is the one!!sharp, sleek, and just enough charm to make you look irresistible." He tossed the suit at Lime’s chest, then clapped his hands together. "Go on! Try it on! And if I hear one complaint, I swear I will personally pin you down and dress you myself- capisci?"

Regardless, he tried on the suit anyways. It made Lime look good, except his beanie that he kept on

I dunno, its nice but..

"Too tight? Too loose?" He made a dramatic show of checking the fit, tugging gently at the seams as if the fabric itself had betrayed him. "I swear I got the sizing right. Should fit like a dream...so what is it? The color? The texture? Dio mio, don’t tell me it’s the stitching-"

His words trailed off as his gaze landed on that beanie. That violently, ungodly lime-green monstrosity sitting atop Lime’s head like a personal insult to fashion itself. He almost winced. Almost. But Gio was a man of taste, of grandeur, and most importantly...a man who understood the sentimental weight of an object.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing his chin as he tilted his head. "…Actually, now that I look at it…" His voice was careful, measured, his lips pursing like he was trying very hard not to outright gag at the clashing of colors.

Gio inhaled deeply, straightening up with all the composure of a father trying to be gentle with a child’s questionable life choices. "Bambino, would you be open to…piccole regolazioni, eh? Just a few…SMALL adjustments?" His hands gestured vaguely, as if waving around the very concept of improvement.

Then, his fingers steepled, his grin twitching as he very cautiously clarified, "…More specifically with…your…head?"

There. That was delicate enough, right?

Gio immediately grimaced at his own wording, exhaling sharply as he bit down on his knuckle, muttering under his breath in rapid Italian. "Mio Dio, sembrava che stessi cercando di spezzarti il collo... idiota, Gio, sei un completo idiota... STIAMO PARLANDO DI TUO FIGLIO" He shook his head, then quickly plastered on a charming smile.

"Ahem! But, of course, it’s your choice entirely, bambino! If you want to keep that…" he waved vaguely at the offending piece of fabric "…toque on…" His voice cracked just a little at the last word.

And because Gio was nothing if not gracious, he did not immediately burst into flames from the sheer disrespect to fashion that was happening in front of him.

that was totally a healthy mindset.

definitely.

Uh, yea no friggin shot pal, im keepin this on. He grinned as he fixed his tie, that false confidence was working overtime. Plus, aint dis too fancy? i mean, real lovely.. i like the um, black an all dat, im jus' sayin

He threw his arms up in mock horror, pacing a few steps like the floor itself was too hot to handle the blasphemy that had just left Lime’s mouth.

"'Too fancy?!' TOO FANCY?! Ragazzino, per l’amor di Dio, you’ve been wearing that same crusty beanie since the dawn of time and you have the audacity- THE AUDACITY to tell me this beautiful, hand-tailored, dry-cleaned, soul-cleansing suit is 'too fancy' for you?! HMMMMM?!"

Gio huffed, but his voice lowered just a touch—not losing that dramatic flair, but becoming more grounded. "Listen… I know you. and sadly Everyone knows how to push MY buttons...because of YOU but who's to say you are not the same hm?"

He shook his head as he let out a soft snicker. He stepped closer now, adjusting the collar of the suit on Lime’s shoulders with a tenderness he rarely showed outside moments like this. "Look we've talked about this and I get it. You've got that beanie like it’s part of your skin. Like it’s armor... And maybe it is, huh? Maybe it makes you feel like you. Like you can disappear when you need to, or put on that cocky little 'mask' of yours and pretend things don't get to you."

His voice softened more, the warmth of something paternal threading through each word now. "But just this once, just this once, I want you to look in that mirror… really look."

He stared at his reflection. A worthless, spoiled brat dressed head to toe in what could've been, but instead he chose.. whatever this is. It looked silly, he could see himself shake, seeming unreal as he stared

He looked. Pathetic, a wet sopping dog in the cold rain shaking. He's looked at his reflection all the time, no problems.. no emotion! but this was different. He saw the way Gio's hand crept up and slid the hat off, revealing that boy he kept hidden

I see.. Liam, Liam McLaster. Saying that name physically hurt him. He cringed internally. It didn't fit, didnt feel right. He doesnt want to be liam, he isnt liam

Dis is dumb.. Gimme it back, His eyes remained on the mirror. His voice wasnt loud, it was dull. Liam was an angry kid. Lime was the cocky and cool fella. Liam took everything in, Lime dished everything out.

And yet.. both shared the same body, same mind, same emotions. Horrible, terrible emotions Lime kept up inside, the ones Liam tried desperately to sort out.

Yet he knew. He knew how a new mask, hastily shaped and worn too tight. could mutilate warp a person beyond recognition. Twist them until they forgot what they looked like underneath. And it hurt...to see someone like Lime walking that same path as he once had...bleeding the same unseen wounds Gio had once tried to stitch. Yet he was determined no one, NO ONE should go- no to ENDURE what he had to go through. it was his job as a spy to be this way...It was his job after all but to someone like lime?

"You're not some scrappy little child trying to survive anymore. You've got people. You've got him. And this..." he tugged lightly at the edge of the beanie, '...this isn't the only thing that makes you you."

he paused

"Sure liam is something that YOU aren't proud of but to me?... I'll be proud as with any father to see how far his son has gotten"

He stepped back slightly. taking limes hand and placing the beanie back into his grasp "Now...I understand your situation...but...Just this once. Not for me, not for the fashion- which, frankly, is still a crime not to consider...But for him..."

He smiled then, just a little, something sad and proud flickering in his expression. Thinking...

"Now Peter… he's a hard one to crack, I know. He's got walls thicker than a concrete bunker, but you? You've been chipping away at him without even realizing. If you show up like this, looking like someone who’s willing to open up...even a little...it'll mean something. It'll show him you trust him. And trust, ragazzo… that's the first thread in a bond that might actually last."

Something changed, in him, in his mindset. For once, both Liam and Lime agreed on one thing; Peter, (and gio, maybe).

He looked up at Spy. Setting the hat down on the counter and sniffled.

He moved closer...not too much, not to overwhelm. Just enough that Liam could feel it...warmth, presence, pride. A hand rested gently on the back of his head, brushing fingers through his hair like he had if Liam was more boy than soldier.

No words yet. Just that touch. Just that quiet hum in the back of his throat.

"Bene," he finally whispered, a breath more than a word, voice low and husky with emotion. "That's my boy…"

He let tears fall. his brain telling him that he shouldnt, and that hes LIME!!! but that urge, that primal instinct to be Liam, the boy he once was, was strong

RRRRRIP-

A small tear down the back of the suit. yet to gios ears...it was so loud... it echoed like gunfire in a church.

he didn't move.

He Just simply stood there.

Eyes wide.

Jaw locked...

A slow SLOW blink.

A sorta...Whimper? Laugh? noise escaped his lips but his expression stayed the same.

On the inside? Absolute devastation. The suit. THE SUUUIIUUUUIT. Hand-stitched. Custom fit. Imported fabric. FRENCH seams.

But outside?

He exhaled through his nose. Quiet. Controlled. And surprisingly murderously calm.

"…oh."

One word. Soft. Deadpan. Like something in him just flatlined. his lips pressing into a thin small line...Accepting fate

Then he wrapped his arms tighter around Liam, rubbing small circles on his back. "Shhh, it's alright. You're alright, mon trésor. Just breathe."

Another sniffle. A hiccup.

Another piece of inner lining gave way with a pathetic little peep.

he didn't even bother flinching...it was too late to turn back

"…You aren't even out on the date yet..." he muttered to no one, eyes glassy as he stared into the middle distance. "It still has the tag." his voice still quiet but a raise in pitch

"…It's okAy..."

His voice cracked, just slightly.

He wasn't sure anymore...was he crying with Liam, or mourning the catastrophic loss of perfectly tailored fabric? Probably both...

"It's okay," he repeated, gentler now, as if trying to convince himself just as much.

"Papà will fix it…" A shaky breath. A tremble in his lower lip.

"…Like always."

And then it happened.

A single, dramatic tear slid down his cheek. Slow. Elegant. Tragic.

He tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a deadpan mumble. My hair.. feels so greasy.. an the hat needs washed..

"Ayy, bambino... don't look so down, alright? I'll take care of the hat...this poor thing's seen war crimes. I'll give it a good wash, maybe even a prayer if it still smells after. And while you're finally taking that shower a real one, not that two-second rinse you call cleaning I'll see what I can do with this suit..."

He sighed running his fingers through the tear "Dio mio, it’s hanging on by a thread...just like my patience sometimes...but we'll fix her up. You just worry about cleaning up, Si?"

"Alright, alright, bambino- scoot! Go hit the showers! I'll see what I can do with this poor, abused suit- mamma mia, it's like it's beggin' for mercy..." he muttered dramatically, holding it up like it was a crime scene.

He stepped back, waving his hand in exaggerated shooing motions.

"Now I better see you clean, capisce? Head to toe!! no shortcuts! None of that 'spritzing and-stealing-my-cologne-like-a-cheat-code' nonsense. That was one time and it STILL gives me a headache."

Gio pinched the bridge of his nose before looking back at him with mock severity.

"You wanna impress Mr. Stoic-Clipboard, yes? Then you better not just look like a dream- you better smell like heaven too! I want scrubbing, bubbles, maybe even a rosary's worth of cleansing!”

He clicked his tongue and wagged a finger toward the hallway.

"Vai! Go! And don't you come back until the air around you smells like citrus and victory!"

Lemme ask ya sumthin paaall,

whaddya do ta celebrate pride month? hmm?

@that-lime-reporter

Gio jolted, nearly spilling his espresso as Lime jumped him from behind.

"Madonna santa!" He clutched his chest tightly as if hes holding his own ribs together. He lets out a soft scoff "You ever sneak up on me like that again, and I’m sewing a bell to your damn shoes..." He hissed through gritted teeth as he lets out another sigh

"Yes yes, very cute, bambino, you found another bug and- wait, did you just say promotion?"

He whipped around, espresso now very much forgotten. The porcelain cup rattled against the saucer as he dropped it

"Promotion?! You?! For what? For running your mouth faster than your legs? For missing every shot but somehow hitting everyone's last nerve?" He lets out a long, theatrical sigh, rubbing his forehead as if the very idea gave him a migraine.

"Whatever." He waved his hand as though physically brushing the stupidity off. "I need a stronger drink."

"Anyways- Pride Month! Yes yes, I've heard of it, of course! Cute little flags, all that glitter, very chic..." He waved a hand casually, then paused.

"I mean... I've been straight, queer, kissed a few strangers on balconies in Venice...you know how it is." He gave a sly smirk.

"Labels? Pfft. My gender and sexuality are like a fine wine...aged, complicated, and best enjoyed without reading the label too closely."

He laughed, warm and loud, with just a touch of self-mockery.

"Ma che cazzo..." he hissed under his breath, eyes twitching as Lime’s laughter echoed down the hallway like nails on a chalkboard.

"Reporter, he says! Reporter?! Peter, you little rat-bastard, you didn’t tell me we were hiring feral raccoons!" he hissed between gritted teeth

He knocked twice, sharp raps against the door, then leaned lazily against the railing, eyes flicking up to the tower’s windows as if Lime might suddenly materialize like some kind of feral gremlin. Knowing him, it was a distinct possibility.

"Dio mio, I swear, if you’re dead in there, I better not find out it was because you decided to live off crickets and moths again,"

he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he adjusted the tupperware container tucked under his arm. He'd made the boy actual food...fresh, warm, and not sourced from whatever unholy ecosystem Lime had brewing in his room. A peace offering, of sorts. Or maybe just a precaution.

After a moment of silence, Gio knocked again, this time with a little more force.

"Lime, mio piccolo parassita~ if I have to stand out here much longer, I will assume the worst and break in. And you know I will."

He sighed, shifting his weight.

"Come now, veloce, veloce...I brought food. Real food. No legs. No antennae. Just open the door before I regret this..."

@the-silentsnake

He perked up when the door was knocked on. He told peter HE would come get him, what the he- oh. Oh its... Spy.

Lime opened the door, still getting ready and his room was a mess. It was, literally, always a mess but this time it was because he was looking for stuff and things.

Huh- YA GOT FOOD?! aw hell yea!

He finally got his coat on, and repositioned his beanie to step outside and go get peter. He locked the Tower (which was a miracle, he lost his keys a couple weeks prior)

Whaddya need, spy? Kindaa in a hurry but .. ya know, walk while we talk, kay?

"Mio Dio!"

He practically gasped, his hand flying to his chest like he’d just witnessed a crime scene. His eyes darted around the interior, then back at Lime—his outfit, his face, the absolute state of him.

"What the hell happened here??! It’s like a tornado hit our base, and we all just left you to fend for yourself! And...eugh!-what is this?!"

He gestured vaguely, dramatically, at Lime’s clothes, his nose scrunching in visible disgust.

"For heaven's sake, you look terrible! Like you just clawed your way out of a grave! Dio, dimmi la verità, did you just wake up or something?! You smell like you’ve been marinating in bad decisions!"

His rant came to an abrupt halt as his sharp eyes caught something—something in Lime’s face, in his posture. Instantly, Gio's scowl melted into something more serious. Without hesitation, he shoved the tupperware onto the nearest surface and stepped forward, hands catching Lime’s face as he tilted it, inspecting him like a worried mother hen.

"Oh sweet jesus...Are you okay?"

His voice lowered, concern slipping through his usual theatrical bravado. His thumb brushed over Lime’s cheek, scanning for any signs of injury, exhaustion- anything.

"Did something happen again? You know you can come to me, yes? You don’t always have to lock yourself up like some tragic little hermit! Is Peter being mean to you again? Because if he is you know he doesn't mean it...I hope"

He exhaled, shaking his head, his hands finally dropping to his hips as he gave Lime one last, exasperated once-over.

I dont look dat bad do i?? im busy an cant eat witchu tanight b- HEY! i took a five minute nap, im jus gettin ready for a uh .. THING wif someone

He looked down at his sweater. Maybe... maybe he shouldn't wear his usual outfit for this. Eh whatever.

Giovanni scoffed, throwing up his hands in exaggerated disbelief. He stepped forward towards lime, like a predator assessing its prey.

"gosh, just look at you...what is this? This is what you call an outfit?!"

He made a sweeping gesture at Lime's disaster of a wardrobe, his expression caught between horror and pity.

"This..." he motioned grandly to himself, tilting his head with a smirk, "...This is what a real man dresses like."

he stood upright, looking at himself. He thought he looked great, a real catch, but next to gio.... he looked stupid and dumb.

Good luck gettin me in a suit pal, my ma tried an i fought back ev'ry single time, so He smirked as if it was a great achievement and should be praised for

Plus, it aint none of yer business who im goin out with! i ain't tellin!!

He straightened back up, tilting his head ever so slightly as his hand found its place on his hip, the other hanging loose but poised—ready. His gaze flickered over Lime, sizing him up like a tailor about to tear apart and rework a cheap suit.

"Oh, please, mio figlio, if we're going to do this, let's raise the stakes, no?" His voice was all honeyed amusement, a dangerous lilt beneath the teasing as he suddenly lunged forward.

Before Lime could react, Gio's hand shot out, clapping down hard on his shoulder...not enough to hurt, but just enough to send a sharp jolt through his nerves. Lime barely had time to blink before Gio shifted his weight, twisting him off balance with practiced ease.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk~ You really should work on that reaction time," Gio chided, effortlessly hoisting the squirming Scout over his shoulder like a particularly mouthy duffel bag.

"Madonn', you're heavier than you look—what the hell have you been eating?" He huffed, adjusting his grip as Lime flailed in protest.

"If you're going to impress someone, you need to at least look like you didn’t roll out of a dumpster fire. No, no, no...this simply won't do."

He strolled toward the exit with the confidence of a man completely unfazed by the chaos he was carrying.

Lime squirmed in Gios hold, but he couldn't break free. He accepted his fate and sighed

I ain't gettin in a god awful suit! ya cant make me, prick!

Most of the walk was silent, until Liam decided to speak again

Gio kicked down the studio doors with an effortless flick of his heel, stepping inside like a man on a mission. Luckily for him, the room was empty. Unluckily for Lime? That meant the dressing room was all his.

Inside, racks upon racks of pristine suits, fine dress shirts, sleek vests, and tailored coats lined the walls. Somewhere, hidden deep in the back, were the more eccentric pieces...gowns, extravagant costumes, pieces meant for the stage rather than the streets. But Gio wasn’t here for those. No, his boy needed to dress to impress. (L-L-LIKE THE G-G-G-GAY- *gets shot)

With a keen, practiced eye, Gio sifted through the selections, plucking a few options from the racks and holding them up against Lime with a scrutinizing gaze. "Hmmm… this one is promising...no, no, too stiff. Ah, this one has a bit of flair...but Dio, too much green! We're already drenched in the color, we don't need to look like walking olives." He waved a dismissive hand, moving on.

As he flipped through another rack, his fingers paused, brushing against the fabric of a finely tailored suit. For a moment, his movements slowed.

"You know…" his voice softened, a hint of nostalgia creeping in, "this reminds me of when I used to take my son shopping for clothes..."

He let out a soft chuckle, but it wasn't quite like his usual ones...not zesty, not smug, not dramatic. This one was… quieter. A chuckle laced with something deeper. He exhaled softly, forcing himself to snap back to the present, shaking his head as if shaking off the memory. The mask...his signature, effortless bravado...slid right back into place.

With a flourish, he held up a final suit, giving Lime a pointed, fatherly look. "Alright, mio caro, this is the one!!sharp, sleek, and just enough charm to make you look irresistible." He tossed the suit at Lime’s chest, then clapped his hands together. "Go on! Try it on! And if I hear one complaint, I swear I will personally pin you down and dress you myself- capisci?"

Regardless, he tried on the suit anyways. It made Lime look good, except his beanie that he kept on

I dunno, its nice but..

"Too tight? Too loose?" He made a dramatic show of checking the fit, tugging gently at the seams as if the fabric itself had betrayed him. "I swear I got the sizing right. Should fit like a dream...so what is it? The color? The texture? Dio mio, don’t tell me it’s the stitching-"

His words trailed off as his gaze landed on that beanie. That violently, ungodly lime-green monstrosity sitting atop Lime’s head like a personal insult to fashion itself. He almost winced. Almost. But Gio was a man of taste, of grandeur, and most importantly...a man who understood the sentimental weight of an object.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing his chin as he tilted his head. "…Actually, now that I look at it…" His voice was careful, measured, his lips pursing like he was trying very hard not to outright gag at the clashing of colors.

Gio inhaled deeply, straightening up with all the composure of a father trying to be gentle with a child’s questionable life choices. "Bambino, would you be open to…piccole regolazioni, eh? Just a few…SMALL adjustments?" His hands gestured vaguely, as if waving around the very concept of improvement.

Then, his fingers steepled, his grin twitching as he very cautiously clarified, "…More specifically with…your…head?"

There. That was delicate enough, right?

Gio immediately grimaced at his own wording, exhaling sharply as he bit down on his knuckle, muttering under his breath in rapid Italian. "Mio Dio, sembrava che stessi cercando di spezzarti il collo... idiota, Gio, sei un completo idiota... STIAMO PARLANDO DI TUO FIGLIO" He shook his head, then quickly plastered on a charming smile.

"Ahem! But, of course, it’s your choice entirely, bambino! If you want to keep that…" he waved vaguely at the offending piece of fabric "…toque on…" His voice cracked just a little at the last word.

And because Gio was nothing if not gracious, he did not immediately burst into flames from the sheer disrespect to fashion that was happening in front of him.

that was totally a healthy mindset.

definitely.

Uh, yea no friggin shot pal, im keepin this on. He grinned as he fixed his tie, that false confidence was working overtime. Plus, aint dis too fancy? i mean, real lovely.. i like the um, black an all dat, im jus' sayin

He threw his arms up in mock horror, pacing a few steps like the floor itself was too hot to handle the blasphemy that had just left Lime’s mouth.

"'Too fancy?!' TOO FANCY?! Ragazzino, per l’amor di Dio, you’ve been wearing that same crusty beanie since the dawn of time and you have the audacity- THE AUDACITY to tell me this beautiful, hand-tailored, dry-cleaned, soul-cleansing suit is 'too fancy' for you?! HMMMMM?!"

Gio huffed, but his voice lowered just a touch—not losing that dramatic flair, but becoming more grounded. "Listen… I know you. and sadly Everyone knows how to push MY buttons...because of YOU but who's to say you are not the same hm?"

He shook his head as he let out a soft snicker. He stepped closer now, adjusting the collar of the suit on Lime’s shoulders with a tenderness he rarely showed outside moments like this. "Look we've talked about this and I get it. You've got that beanie like it’s part of your skin. Like it’s armor... And maybe it is, huh? Maybe it makes you feel like you. Like you can disappear when you need to, or put on that cocky little 'mask' of yours and pretend things don't get to you."

His voice softened more, the warmth of something paternal threading through each word now. "But just this once, just this once, I want you to look in that mirror… really look."

He stared at his reflection. A worthless, spoiled brat dressed head to toe in what could've been, but instead he chose.. whatever this is. It looked silly, he could see himself shake, seeming unreal as he stared

He looked. Pathetic, a wet sopping dog in the cold rain shaking. He's looked at his reflection all the time, no problems.. no emotion! but this was different. He saw the way Gio's hand crept up and slid the hat off, revealing that boy he kept hidden

I see.. Liam, Liam McLaster. Saying that name physically hurt him. He cringed internally. It didn't fit, didnt feel right. He doesnt want to be liam, he isnt liam

Dis is dumb.. Gimme it back, His eyes remained on the mirror. His voice wasnt loud, it was dull. Liam was an angry kid. Lime was the cocky and cool fella. Liam took everything in, Lime dished everything out.

And yet.. both shared the same body, same mind, same emotions. Horrible, terrible emotions Lime kept up inside, the ones Liam tried desperately to sort out.

Yet he knew. He knew how a new mask, hastily shaped and worn too tight. could mutilate warp a person beyond recognition. Twist them until they forgot what they looked like underneath. And it hurt...to see someone like Lime walking that same path as he once had...bleeding the same unseen wounds Gio had once tried to stitch. Yet he was determined no one, NO ONE should go- no to ENDURE what he had to go through. it was his job as a spy to be this way...It was his job after all but to someone like lime?

"You're not some scrappy little child trying to survive anymore. You've got people. You've got him. And this..." he tugged lightly at the edge of the beanie, '...this isn't the only thing that makes you you."

he paused

"Sure liam is something that YOU aren't proud of but to me?... I'll be proud as with any father to see how far his son has gotten"

He stepped back slightly. taking limes hand and placing the beanie back into his grasp "Now...I understand your situation...but...Just this once. Not for me, not for the fashion- which, frankly, is still a crime not to consider...But for him..."

He smiled then, just a little, something sad and proud flickering in his expression. Thinking...

"Now Peter… he's a hard one to crack, I know. He's got walls thicker than a concrete bunker, but you? You've been chipping away at him without even realizing. If you show up like this, looking like someone who’s willing to open up...even a little...it'll mean something. It'll show him you trust him. And trust, ragazzo… that's the first thread in a bond that might actually last."

Something changed, in him, in his mindset. For once, both Liam and Lime agreed on one thing; Peter, (and gio, maybe).

He looked up at Spy. Setting the hat down on the counter and sniffled.

He moved closer...not too much, not to overwhelm. Just enough that Liam could feel it...warmth, presence, pride. A hand rested gently on the back of his head, brushing fingers through his hair like he had if Liam was more boy than soldier.

No words yet. Just that touch. Just that quiet hum in the back of his throat.

"Bene," he finally whispered, a breath more than a word, voice low and husky with emotion. "That's my boy…"

He let tears fall. his brain telling him that he shouldnt, and that hes LIME!!! but that urge, that primal instinct to be Liam, the boy he once was, was strong

RRRRRIP-

A small tear down the back of the suit. yet to gios ears...it was so loud... it echoed like gunfire in a church.

he didn't move.

He Just simply stood there.

Eyes wide.

Jaw locked...

A slow SLOW blink.

A sorta...Whimper? Laugh? noise escaped his lips but his expression stayed the same.

On the inside? Absolute devastation. The suit. THE SUUUIIUUUUIT. Hand-stitched. Custom fit. Imported fabric. FRENCH seams.

But outside?

He exhaled through his nose. Quiet. Controlled. And surprisingly murderously calm.

"…oh."

One word. Soft. Deadpan. Like something in him just flatlined. his lips pressing into a thin small line...Accepting fate

Then he wrapped his arms tighter around Liam, rubbing small circles on his back. "Shhh, it's alright. You're alright, mon trésor. Just breathe."

Another sniffle. A hiccup.

Another piece of inner lining gave way with a pathetic little peep.

he didn't even bother flinching...it was too late to turn back

"…You aren't even out on the date yet..." he muttered to no one, eyes glassy as he stared into the middle distance. "It still has the tag." his voice still quiet but a raise in pitch

"…It's okAy..."

His voice cracked, just slightly.

He wasn't sure anymore...was he crying with Liam, or mourning the catastrophic loss of perfectly tailored fabric? Probably both...

"It's okay," he repeated, gentler now, as if trying to convince himself just as much.

"Papà will fix it…" A shaky breath. A tremble in his lower lip.

"…Like always."

And then it happened.

A single, dramatic tear slid down his cheek. Slow. Elegant. Tragic.

He tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a deadpan mumble. My hair.. feels so greasy.. an the hat needs washed..

"Ayy, bambino... don't look so down, alright? I'll take care of the hat...this poor thing's seen war crimes. I'll give it a good wash, maybe even a prayer if it still smells after. And while you're finally taking that shower a real one, not that two-second rinse you call cleaning I'll see what I can do with this suit..."

He sighed running his fingers through the tear "Dio mio, it’s hanging on by a thread...just like my patience sometimes...but we'll fix her up. You just worry about cleaning up, Si?"

Curious, he peeked inside and spotted Gio, looking thoroughly worn out, slightly damp, and completely in his element. The Spy had just finished polishing up his pride and joy...a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible, sleek and pristine. Compared to Stella? It's a goddamn masterpiece...In gio's eyes anyways

With a pleased sigh, Gio wiped his hands off on a rag, taking a step back to admire his work. His balaclava hung loose around his shoulders, his hands resting on his hips as he flashed the kind of grin that could sell snake oil to a saint.

"Finally! what a beaut! Looks good as new, eh, bambina?"

He let out a rich, satisfied chuckle, shaking his head as he gave the car’s hood a loving pat.

"Ah, but what a tragedy you had me lookin' like some grease monkey out here! Tch don't trust those pesky engineers working with such a beauty like you...Such a shame I had to get my hands dirty..."

He lets out another chuckle and a small smile "But bah! Who cares! look at you now~!! a proper star, just like me~"

@the-silentsnake

*There was something inherently... fascinating about finding the Spy like this. Seeing him actually getting his hands dirty and doing manual labour was sort of like seeing a 19th century aristocrat at the grocery store: In Venya's mind, at least, it just didn't happen.

That weren't to say it wasn't a welcome sight — hell, if he could watch people fix vehicles all day and get paid for it, he would. (Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to a certain somebody.)

He leaned casually against the garage's doorframe and adjusted the collar of the flannel shirt he'd found for the occasion.*

Hey there. Looking g— I mean. Uh. You've been busy, huh? Do you not get out much? Is that why you've been prettying up your car now of all times?

*He walked over, hands in pockets, and admired Gio's handiwork.*

Merda!

In a panic, he scrambled to yank his balaclava back over his head, but in his rush, it fumbled in his hands. Dio mio, this was a disaster. Scoffing, he resorted to covering his mouth with his palm instead...disgusting, really, considering he hadn't even properly sanitized his hands yet. His fingers merely hovered near his face in hesitation, the other gripping onto his mask like his life depended on it.

A single bead of sweat trailed down his neck.

"Ugh, asshole, don't you Yellows believe in knocking?" His voice came sharp, flustered, before rolling right into exasperation. "Swear to God, you people have a thing about this...privacy? Ever heard of it?" He huffed, flicking his gaze away as if that'd somehow restore his dignity.

But then, like that, the shift—his lips curled into a smirk underneath his fingers, confidence slipping back into his voice like an old habit.

"And 'course I'm capable of a little hard work" he scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "You think I’d be here if I wasn't? Tch- per l'amor del cielo... give me some credit." His eyes flicked back toward his car, his expression softening

"Besides...you really think I'd trust Richard with her?" He let out a sharp laugh, flicking his wrist. "Quel deficient... He would probably use her as a cigarette disposal. And Scott?" He threw his head back in an exaggerated sigh. "Quello Stronzo would definitely try to see how fast she can explode."

His fingers traced the hood of the car, admiring the polished finish before turning his smirk back toward his unexpected visitor.

"A real beauty, no? Got her the moment they released 'em—couldn't resist," he drawled, eyes glinting. "And she matches my outfits most of the time, which, as you should know, is very important~" With a lazy stretch, he leaned back against the car, arms draped over the sides like he was posing for a photoshoot.

Sorry about that. I was just mesmerised by you...r work. (I swear to God, the Mitchellisms come with the clothes, don't they?) Look, if I knew you were busy as you are right now, I wouldn't have come over. Easy as.

*It was still wonderful, he thought, that he had this opportunity anyway. To the Soldier, Gio's car was nothing short of beautiful — he couldn't imagine the lengths the man must have gone to to get her. Though, of course, it was lovely to see the man himself, even if a little more exposed than usual. And it was funny to imagine the GRN Engineers fucking up his efforts. This also.*

You know, maybe you should consider pestering S— our Engie about your car. He's competent, by what I've seen of your sky-high standards. And I think he does a damn good job. I mean, without him I don't think Stell would've held up nearly as long as she has.

... Just a suggestion though. You don't have to take it. It's just I doubt you always have the time to take care of your pretty little car and I worry.

*He said this with that stupid toothy grin, as he always did and may well always will do. It was as if he was taunting Gio with the prospect of being upstaged in the art of car maintenance, if only just to piss him off. He sure hoped it pissed him off, at least. Seeing the other frustrated was amusing to him, perhaps more than he'd like to admit.

Venya really wished he had a camera on him right now. One of those small numbers that he had quite a few of, so he could save whatever moments and reactions he got today for himself. It sure wasn't helping that Gio was looking like he was cut straight out of a vintage car magazine at that moment, either.

He fished a set of keys out of his pocket, idly twirling them as if as a distraction to himself. Or, maybe to redirect him back to the point.*

Oh, right. What I want? Simple. I asked you to take me out, didn't I? And you've gotten the car all done up, so it'd be really easy right now to just... y'know, drive around town for a bit. Do a bit of whatever men of your kind love doing so much. The likes.

"Sawyer? Really? Him? To clean and fix her up for me? Oh, please...I'd sooner trust a raccoon with a toolbox."

He let out a dramatic whine, as if he were speaking to a small, helpless creature.

"He'd probably rip her apart and sell the pieces before I could even blink!"

*He raised an eyebrow at Gio's dramatics, and huffed half-fondly to himself at the blatant Slander he had to say about his pride and joy. That wasn't the camera collection. Or the signs. Or maybe Stella trumped both of them. You never know.*

Look, what is the purpose of a car if not to get dirtied? It's bound to happen anyway, you know, so you might as well have fun with it. Like going out on the town, looking around, going on long drives to nowhere. Things like that.

*He'd faltered and noticed the hand splayed over the other's mouth, and while he thought it was funny as all hell, he also didn't want to torture Gio that badly. So, he turned around.*

Sort out your mask business and we'll get ready to go. I did say you got to choose where we went, so if anything I'm treating you by entertaining your obnoxious richboy interests.

*Venya thought it insightful to occupy himself with inspecting the ceiling while he waited. It sure was... ceiling-ish. There was a crack in one of the corners, but to the untrained eye it would be near imperceptible. He supposed that having an eye for detail just did that to you, though. Made you notice things. The likes.*

"Finally! I was beginning to think I'd have to start filing for workers' compensation with how long you were making me stand here,"

he drawled, dropping the hand that had been lazily covering his mouth. His fingers ghosted along his jawline before he finally pulled his balaclava back on, adjusting it with a slow, deliberate motion.

Then, like a serpent coiling in for the kill, he turned to Venya with a grin that was nothing short of insufferable.

"And as for that dumpster on wheels you call Stella- ah, caro, you couldn’t have said it better yourself!" He let out a rich, velvety chuckle, eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. With a deliberate slowness, he slid a hand into his pocket, fishing out a sleek set of keys, twirling them effortlessly around his fingers like he was spinning pure gold.

Then, with all the ease of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, Gio stepped forward, breaching that last bit of space between them. His fingers barely brushed against Venya’s shoulder....just a whisper of contact, but enough to linger, enough to burn.

"Tell you what, tesoro~…" his voice dipped, as he leaned in just slightly, close enough that his words ghosted warm against the air between them.

"If it'll soothe that wounded pride of yours, I'll let those grimy little hands of yours take hold of Francesca’s wheel while we’re out." A lazy, knowing smirk curled beneath his mask, his fingers giving Venya’s shoulder a final, teasing squeeze before he stepped back.

"Of course, I trust you won’t crash her!" A low chuckle escaping him as he flicked the keys toward Venya, watching with entertained eyes as they landed squarely in his grasp.

*He bristled at the name-calling, hands by his sides in fists. Though, this wasn't the time for defensiveness. Right. That could come later, when he had a rocket launcher to hand. The Soldier steeled himself and took a deep breath, only to jerk up again at Gio's lingering touch.*

I... Right, that's the plan. We'll head on over to good ol' Francesca and— wait, did you say I was driving? *He pointed to himself bewilderedly, and shifted the keys that were now in his grip between his fingers; the keys to Stella were back safely in his pocket.

After a moment to process the information just given, he grinned, perhaps a tad bit too eagerly for Gio's liking.*

Oh, of course I won't crash her! I bet she's infinitely lovelier and more tolerable than you, anyway, and I know better than to disrespect a lady. *Venya walked over to the driver's side; he hesitated for a second — a silent request for permission — before opening the door and shuffling in. Oh! How pleasant! He didn't have to shift the seat back this time! That was likely the one thing that irritated him about Stella, and even then, it was actually Sawyer's fault for being... vertically challenged.*

Come on in, love. I mean, I know it's your car, but... you know. *He wiped his (gloved) hands on his trousers, and placed his hands on the steering wheel — ten and two, as he'd learnt all those years ago.*

Y'know, we've only crashed Stella once. If that makes you feel a bit safer. It wasn't even a really bad crash either, she just got a little dent. (And it was Mitchell anyway, so...)

It felt almost unnatural sitting here. Gio was always the one being driven in a sleek limo, a glass of fine wine in hand, or behind the wheel of his own beloved machine, where he dictated every turn, every acceleration. This? This was foreign territory. Perhaps it was best if he kept it that way...but for now, he'd allow Venya this small amusement.

He crossed his legs leisurely, adjusting his coat with an exaggerated flick of the wrist, before turning his sharp gaze to the Russian.

"Scared? Ah, mio caro, please." He exhaled, feigning exhaustion. "I'm not scared for myself- I'm scared for her. My bellissima Francesca!" His gloved fingers grazed the dashboard, as if soothing the car itself. "One stain, one dent, even a scratch- per l'amor di Dio! I'd rather let Lime dress me in cargo shorts and a bargain-bin hoodie than see her harmed."

His laugh was light, almost too casual, but thankfully, the balaclava hid the faintest warmth creeping onto his face. His reputation was far too important to let a mere fluster show especially from a quick wit nick name such as PRETTY BOY

With a lazy flick of his fingers, he leaned back into the seat, his smirk audible in his voice.

"Now, I sure hope you know what you're doing...hell, I'd be stunned if you even remembered to bring your driver’s license." He waved his hand dismissively before suddenly clapping them together, a dramatic spark flashing in his eyes.

"Anyways! Chop chop! We have places to be! The nearest mall is hours away, and Dio mio, I have been dying for a wardrobe refresh!" He ran a hand down his perfectly tailored coat, lips curling in mock distaste. "All of this? It's getting tragically uninspired. Monotone. Predictable. And I, my dear Venya, refuse to be predictable."

He suddenly leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a low, almost sultry purr as he traced a gloved finger along his lapel.

"We are going all out, amico. Gucci. Prada. Ferragamo. We will not rest until I have a look so impeccable it makes the Pope himself weep."

Then, he leaned back again with a dramatic sigh, adjusting his gloves as if this entire excursion was simply his duty as a man of high taste.

*He shifted into first gear and stepped on the gas, the resulting jolt slightly pushing Gio into his seat. The grin on his face was toothy, even manic — it'd been a while since his last joyride, after all, and even with his newfound passenger in tow, he wasn't going to waste this chance.

It was honestly a wonder he hadn't crashed right then and there. Though, perhaps these near misses and convenient escapes warranted the absolute faith the Soldier held in his driving skills. Maybe he was a tad bit justified, if not what seemed to be an incredibly enthusiastic driver.*

Mmm-hmm, so the plan is we're going to doll you up next. I thought you would've stopped at Francesca, to be honest — too much effort for one day, you know? *He took one hand off the steering wheel once they were on vaster roads, seemingly rummaging around in his pocket for something, before giving up.*

And I do have my license on me. It's just in my wallet and my wallet's in my pocket and— you get it. And it's not like I can get it out for you now, 'cause— *He made a point of facing the dashboard, but sneaked a short glance at the other man.* —'cause I need my eyes on the road, or else you'll kill me more than you usually do.

*He took a moment to think about the day's agenda — he'd suspected that Gio would want to go shopping of some caliber, but hadn't prepared himself for what exactly that would entail. A lot of his past dates (?) had always been more academic in nature (courtesy of a certain somebody), so he was sort of in foreign waters. Though, knowing the Spy and his eye for aesthetics...*

... If you want to get me to wear one of those suits of yours I hope you know you're going to have to wrestle me into it. Violently. I'll almost certainly bite you if you try, even.

*This was a fib, of course, but he couldn't really help it; it was amusing to imagine the other's reaction, and deterrents were always good to have.*

Gio's hand instinctively gripped the grab handle as the car surged forward. His brows shot up, lips pressing into a thin line as he braced himself against the sudden acceleration.

A few more seconds passed.

He glanced at the speedometer. 80.

He exhaled sharply, loosening his grip just a little.

"Alright, alright...not as bad as I thought." He shifted in his seat, fixing his sleeves as if to regain some sense of composure. "Just... didn't expect you to take off like that. A little warning next time, si?"

He sighed dramatically, leaning his elbow against the door. "You're lucky I have nerves of steel...any other poor soul would’ve been clutching their pearls by now."

His eyes flicked back to the road ahead.

"…That being said, if you so much as scratch the tires, I will personally file a complaint...to who, I don't know, but someone will hear about it. You have any idea how much effort it takes to keep the garage clean? And Scott- Porca miseria- Scott will have a meltdown if he sees skid marks."

He finally turned back toward Venya, fully settled into his usual smirking confidence.

"Anyway...dolling myself up? Please. You think I'd let myself step outside looking anything less than stunning?" He gestured vaguely at himself, flicking his wrist in an exaggerated flourish. "You, on the other hand...I am quite the miracle worker, tesoro. If I managed to make Lime look remotely presentable, then I can work my magic on you."

His smirk lingered for a second before his expression shifted...just slightly. His voice dropped into something smoother, more knowing. "And let's not forget, I've gotten quite a few backstabs on you and your little crew. Well...most of them."

He waved his hand dismissively.

"There's one I still owe, but ah...we'll save that for another day, si?"

Finally, his gaze flicked back to the road, and he exhaled again...this time, with just a hint of lingering skepticism.

*Venya glanced at the speedometer himself, accelerating ever-so-slightly once he deemed it safe enough to do so. A thought crossed his mind of resultant force, Newton's second; Mitchell had mentioned it off hand the other day, so perhaps it had stuck in his head from then. Or, perhaps, it was just one of those things that never left.*

You'll get used to it. Just give it some time, you know? Spend enough time around somebody and you end up expecting skid marks or sudden starts. *He turned his gaze from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors to the road in sequence.* Or I guess in the case of America, completely empty highways.

*The Soldier fiddled with his hair absentmindedly. He'd been meaning to change it up at some point, but upon further consideration decided that searching for navy blue box dye was a quest more suited for a time where he didn't have a judgemental fashion enthusiast in the car with him, no matter how impractical that enthusiasm might be...*

... You know, I don't actually get why you're so insistent on buying your fancy clothes so often. Surely they'd just get ruined when you're fighting us, right? So there isn't a point in wearing them. (Though, I guess you do look pretty good in suits...)

*Now that he thought about it, the idea of being dressed up wasn't one that he was completely averse to. He supposed that, well, as long as it wasn't all the time, he wouldn't mind it. The real question here, however, was this: was this something to tell Gio about, or would the Spy's resulting smugness be so irritating that he'd have to push him out the car window?

Venya considered the consequences a little bit. Just a tad. And then he took the risk.*

If you really want to try playing dress-up, I wouldn't be one hundred percent opposed to it. Just know that I can fight back if need be, and, well. I wouldn't be spending anything, 'cause otherwise the others would have my head.

*He leaned back in the driver's seat and turned briefly to look at the other man.*

When Venya’s question came, Gio simply raised a brow, letting out a breezy laugh. "No point? Oh, amore... looking good is the point! Presentation is everything! Branding, tailoring, the craftsmanship- just mmwah!"He kissed his fingers in a flourish. "Sure, there are knockoffs stitched together with hopes and duct tape, but a real ensemble? That's an extension of your soul, caro! do you really think I wear these silk-lined, double-stitched, custom-fitted marvels for comfort? No! I wear them because I deserve to be seen like the Renaissance painting I am!"

He turned, giving Venya a slow once-over from boot to brow, lips curling into a playful smirk.