Someone has to leave first. This is an old story. There is no other version of this story.

There is a voice screaming in his head, "You must break this fixation on love as the cure to all of your ills. If you found love right now, you would run it straight into the ground in seconds."

But the flowers are already in his hands. The door to the infirmary is just around the corner, if he could just find the will to move his feet.

The nurse is likely oblivious to his presence just beyond their room, going on with their day as they remain in bed, doing whatever it is they do to pass the time. They don't know of the silent torture he's going through, the internal battle of wits that his own mind is fighting with his body.

Move, move. Why won't you move?

The time comes where something finally breaks him from his spell, the heavy footsteps of someone coming close.

Should whoever that is see the embarrassingly large bouquet of flowers in his hands, he'd dig himself a hole in the ground and never come out.

But then as he rushed to get inside (Y/n)s room, his failure to realize that he was now faced with confronting them hit him like a sack of bricks.

The fear of being ridiculed overcame his fear of confession, and for that he didn't know whether to be thankful or upset.

In either instance, it was still a good thing that he had decided to come at all, for all the wrong reasons.

He had hoped he could get a date in, tell them all about how they make him feel over something nice, dinner or a walk on the beach. But Illuso is gone. After he left, he wasn't seen again.

Risotto gave him an assignment to distance him from (Y/n), to give him a space to calm down and gather himself, but Illuso didn't grant him the liberty of returning. His body was found bubbling and melted.

Melone knew he was next. There was something in the way Risotto looked at him, like he was already aware of what was bound to happen. He was already grieving. But he still gave him the assignment anyway.

But maybe, if he gave himself a reason to come back, then he would. Perhaps he could be spared from the pattern slowly forming. Perhaps (Y/n) could be that reason.

"(Y/n)," He called, "Are you in here?"

"Melone!" A voice squealed one room over, "Hi!"

Have you ever noticed how wanting burns you up from the inside out?

"There you are, I've missed you!"

"I missed you too!"

Like one moment you are whole,

"Look, I've gotten you something to help you get better!"

"Oh, what is it?"

But then you hear their voice on the phone,

"Some flowers, nearly as wonderful as you are."

"Aren't you sweet!"

And you swear to god, three blocks away from there, they can smell smoke.

---

Melone set the arrangement onto their lap, and he watches in delight as they weigh it in their hands, marveling at its gaudy size. They feel up each stalk and gently prod the bud of every little flower, acknowledging the life of each as if they're of any more importance than just accessory.

Though that's what he liked about them, one of the things he admired at least, their need to let every little insignificant thing understand that it's valued and known. Maybe he liked them simply because he was a little insignificant thing himself.

There is no one else around right now. The other members are sprinkled about the base, doing what not, entertaining themselves with a plethora of mindless media as they avoid the reality that two members have been lost.

"I have something I want to tell you," He interrupts their counting, their careful loving of their flowers, with a sudden movement of courage. He's ready, so sure that now was the time-- but something stops him.

He thinks it's doubt, isn't that the name of it? It's small, maybe the size of a bug, but it's still there, whispering in his ear, "You're going to regret this."

He hears it's warning. It starts to eat away at his courage like a virus, and that confidence he had quickly withered.

So he holds his words, that confession he had practiced in the mirror all morning, and let them burn up in the back of his throat. Maybe they shouldn't know.

"I have something I want to tell you," He says, "But I can only tell you after I come back."

(Y/n) tilts their head softly. "Come back? From where?"

He says he can't tell them. He's worried that he's already apart of the pattern slowly forming, but that if he has something left to say to them then he simply can't die, because they must know. So he'll keep his secret, a good luck charm, and leave them clueless.

"If you promise to get lots of rest and recover, I'll tell you when I get back first thing." Melone isn't sure if this is what he wants, but he's already committed to the secrecy of it all.

"Lots of rest, that's it?"

"That's all. Rest properly and eat three meals a day, doctors orders."

They chuckled and gently hit his side. "Hey, I'm the doctor here!"

Melone could feel a sting of heat pinch at his cheek when they turned to look, but of course not directly at, him and his simple clothes; and it felt like the first time they noticed him.

Goodness, could such a person be so gorgeous? He thinks all the same things he first did when he saw them.

Like temptation curling its finger at a sinner, they merely sat there, as if he were meant to reach his arms out and just indulge in that sense of comfort he's longed to have. Their perfect imperfections on their (s/c) face, the cute little loops their (h/l) (h/c) hair made here and there, what a doll...

"I'm going to go now," He said, for what else could he say? "Promise you'll wait for me?"

And the nurse laughed, they laughed and fireworks exploded in his chest all over again. He could hear those butterflies taking off from that meadow he imagined, how their little wings mixed their colors into something magical as they spread the scent of their flowers.

"Of course, I'll wait for you." They finally said. "Why wouldn't I?"

He remained quiet, and they continued.

"I'll wait forever if I need to. You're worth waiting for."

"Am I?"

"Well, is there a reason why you aren't?" A thousand answers had already popped into his mind. (Y/n) didn't let him voice a single one. "No, there isn't, so don't go thinking there is. I can wait for you, and the peculiar secret you've promised to tell."

"If that's what you say." He'd hardly realized they'd been holding his hand till it fell from his as he stood, cringing at the obliviousness. No matter, though, as he could hold them all hours of the day when he came back.

Melone was left longing for the phantom feeling of their touch on his skin, as he sauntered off to stand by the door where Prosciutto and Pesci waited. It's going to be a quick job, in and out, and then he can come back.

After all, (Y/n) is waiting for him, so he simply must come back. No matter how long it will be, be it few days or many years, he's sure they'll wait. They're not going to be patient about it, though, so he should come home quickly, right?

But when he looks at them one final time, staring at the clueless face of someone oblivious to the details of his mission, the danger that he'll face betraying the mob he's been apart of for oh, so long, he understands he will not return.

And he doesn't.

--------

Thank you to everyone to who supported this little fic in its making!

I'm sure this fic came off as very rushed to you all, maybe sloppy or even cringe, but there isn't much I can do for a fic that wasn't meant to exceed maybe 13 chapters, especially when it was never based on any plot other than Melone working around his depression to let someone into his life

But either way, I hope this wasn't too much of a bad read! I'm open to constructive criticism should you have any! (please be kind though)

Again, thank you everyone, especially those special few that always took the time to comment and give me motivation to finish this when I felt like abandoning it!

Hugs and kisses to you all, go drink some water and enjoy the day while it lasts! Or night!

~Trash Author

(Question, would you all like a little notes/extras for this fic like I do for my others?)