A Pinch of Sugar | ( unita speciale x Fem!Reader)

21- Morte Nascosta

His sweater fits around your chest awkwardly, the skirt he picked stops at your knees. 

He has retreated to some far corner of the room, the furthest edge of his bed, with a pillow to his lap, and another smothering his face. 

You fix your glasses to your face. "Doppio?"

There's a hesitant yes? That comes through the muffling of the pillow. His eyes lift to peek over the very edge, and you are plain.

Plain as the word itself, only a sweater and skirt. But it was regarded as the most amazing thing he had seen that week, because they were his clothes. That sweater was his, and the skirt he had kindly borrowed without your knowledge, and the socks and the belt and the majority of things were his, and so were you, as if wrapped up pretty for him as a surprise you had done with intention!

Isn't this so much fun!

It was not, since Carne had plagued your every moments thought with worry you have since often checked to make sure your knife was still sitting coldly against your chest. But it seemed Doppio had enjoyed himself well enough.

"I think, I think you look really nice in more modest, assortments..." Doppio hard-stared. "...Could you spin?"

In the permeating silence of the room the fluttering of the skirt as it twirls brings a sudden, awkward sound that highlights the quiet you both existed by.  He let out a shaken breath. "Yes, I think I really like... I like it. Keep it, please."

"Pardon?" You speak for perhaps the first time in an awful long while, for a moment your breath catches on the dryness of your throat, and your voice starts scratchy.

"The sweater, it looks good on you. Keep it." He says. 

"I really couldn't, it would be beyond inap-"

"This is an order."

For what necessary purpose he may command your keeping, you question. That such answer may never reach you. But you are satisfied knowing that you are halfway done with the night. 

You pull yourself to approach the opposite end of the bed, where you only stand, and there is no strange sense of sexuality. Doppio finds it difficult to refuse you a seat, so you sit, and move to somewhere more comfortable, an arms-length from him. 

"I don't know how much more of them I can take for the night." Doppio speaks abruptly into the silence. "Let's get out somewhere, it'll be fun."

"I'm worried of the reaction I'll get if Cioccolata-" there's an intense thud that shouts through the wall, a painting jumps from where it's hung and shakes from shock as it settles. There was not much after that besides the sound of calamity.

He doesn't say anything, he stares off somewhere, concerned with whatever thought he had been considering. After a moment of puzzling silence passes, he smiles, laughs a bit to himself, then nods his head, as though having come to some conclusion. Doppio gets off the bed at that.

He moves to the door; he only looks half its size, if only a bit over that. The room takes a breath of air as the door opens, there's an incentive to follow as he throws his head in the direction to exit. 

You feel disheartened seeing Carne long gone. Some distinct level of you wished he was still there to shadow you, and make sure you were ok.

——

"This is one of my favorite places!" A bell jingles as a metal door is pushed. "You're going to love the pastries."

It seemed well within his nature to go to little bakeries and cafes such as this. Doppio was already prancing to the counter in an ever-delightful mood, singing hellos to the owner he apparently knew intimately. 

The person behind the counter seemed pleased at his appearance, laughing and joking and the like. They put a cupcake onto the counter, it looked like it was on the house in this case. 

"This is a friend of mine, it's their first time— right?" Doppio turned to look at you with a confirming smile, but the owner did not seem so happy to see you.

You nodded, but something about them made you squeamish. It wasn't how strangely they looked at you, with their face feigning welcome; their eyes were sharp. Their bruised and battered hands did not seem like those of a victim. 

Something pulsed beneath their skin, it was venomous, a feeling of vindication that burned like acid through their veins. You could tell very well, and yet it was impossible if you didn't know what you were looking for. It was uncomfortable just how alike they were to Cioccolata. 

"Don't worry about your total today, it'll be my treat since you have a guest." Your skin pricked to life at being acknowledged. 

"I'm going to go get us a seat.." you said. Doppio didn't much listen past a thumbs-up, so you found a little corner to sit and wait in while he talked.

Pulling a seat that scrapes harshly against the floor with a metallic cry, you sit and look out the window. It's dark, plain and simple night in Italy, as it may be. The streets were few with walking,  a car may pass once, twice. Like the smallest critters scampering between something dead in the woods. 

"By the way, how's your ankle?"

"It's gotten better. Sometimes I still feel a pin-needle in it, but resting helps."

You don't bother to listen to the conversation going on just so many feet away, more concerned with the sudden realization you were being watched.

It was difficult to pinpoint where that feeling came from.  You may throw your eyes in a rapid scan to find it, but nothing lines the roofs, or alleys, corners or streets. 

Your hand flys to your side— you don't have your gun.

Pink sunglasses paint everything in a sweet shade of candy, but panic leaves a poisonous taste in your mouth when you struggle, still. You kiss your wrist with a sly quickness. It's been too long since you've gone back to traditional style. Can you even aim your hand straight?

You chase Doppio's figure with your eyes as he moves excitedly by the counter. Does he not suspect a thing? Maybe he doesn't notice. 

You hold your breath as you look outside again, desperately searching with a still head but zipping eyes for that feeling, that feeling-

"It was nice catching up with you, I'll be sure to come again sometime this week!" Doppio paces over to the table with quick steps, you don't regard him as he sits, giving you a chocolate croissant.

"Everything ok?" He asks. His head attempts to follow your gaze, you stop him. "What?"

"Be casual, I think we're being watched right now." You say. "I think we should leave."

"You think so? Let me call Secco and Cioccolata.  If they're at a high vantage point, they won't be able to move."

You listen as his pockets shuffle and his phone flicks open, though your focus remains on the street. Empty road, empty roof, empty- Carne?

You spot the familiar human Concorde of death hobble from a corner, rushing into an abysmal alley with intention painting his face. He's gone within that moment, chasing the night into places where the darkest things meet. 

Your breath catches in your chest as [Pink Floyd] rips you from your seat and throws you to the floor, catching Doppio just the same and tossing him to you. Before you even know whats happened, you're already using your body as a shield, hiding every bit of your superior beneath you as you could. 

The room explodes in a shower of glass.