(lengthy chapter as a treat for all of the support + a little fluff at the end!)

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Prosciutto has always been very encouraging-- Though sometimes that 'encouragement' is about as helpful as any dad's lecture.

The team likes to believe it was him that made (Y/n) finally find the confidence to go out into Italy on their own, barren of any help at their side. It was also him that, through a bit of practice, found the full extent of (Y/n)s ability, and how powerful it can really be.

Thankfully, even as timid as they are, the only reason all of that could happen was because (Y/n) wasn't as shy to trying new things, or as lacking in confidence as Pesci.

Melone, however, is still the same old worrywart-- Though 'suppose that the term 'same old' wouldn't make much sense in his case, as he's never really been so fussy over anyone.

It goes like this: (Y/n) told him all about their childhood, how they lost their sight, how they adapted, and all there was to know that wasn't personal, and he immediately becomes empathetic and somewhat obsessive.

When they were, say, around nine, it first began to set in. There was a thin fog that began to appear wherever they looked. At first, (Y/n) had only assumed it was poor weather, and that, somehow, fog just appeared everywhere, inside a building or out.

Maybe that was just them in denial, or maybe it was just the creative mind of a nine-year-old trying to find an explanation to something odd. It could've been either, really, because kids at that age are not as dumb as most make out to be. Just naïve.

(Y/n)s mother happened to be a single parent, working a couple jobs here and there to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table, so they were used to being by themselves through the long hours of the day, and even deep into the night. It was only when they weren't able to see the time on the stoves clock that their troubles began.

Mother came home at ten, sometimes eleven, but the splotches of white mist in their eyes made it nearly impossible to tell the time. They don't care how late she came back, or if she came back at all, as they were well aware of their circumstances-- all they wanted to know was what the time was, to see how late it would become before their eyes began to weigh down.

At twelve years old, it grew to be so bad that all that was visible was nothing more than shadows beyond a cloak of plain color, moving and contorting as the environment changed unpredictably. "Mother would come back soon," This they told themselves often, always so sure that their internal clock matched the one on the stove or wall.

It wasn't as good as they thought. Perhaps a few hours ahead, or sometimes a couple behind; though in general it was whenever it became dark that panic would set in. The sun would set, and they would wait an hour, then two, then begin to think something happened at three, then cry at four until she'd return.

A simple doctors visit told them all they needed to know. That 'snowstorm' they were stuck in was actually cataracts, though it was surprising it developed that quickly and at such a young age. By the time they'd managed to get checked up on, it was still the slightest bit too late, and their vision loss became permanent.

Granted, it probably still could've been fixed at the time, but no amount of money their mom could scrape together would've been able to cover their medical bills and not leave them in debt. Still, it's not like their mother was a horrible person, and still wanted to provide the best life possible, even if that meant picking up yet another job.

Day melted into night in a blur of colors, washing against the sky again and again as it became days between the time (Y/n) would see their mother. They weren't entirely helpless, still managing somehow to make some half-decent food for themselves, but it definitely became lonely.

At one point, it was a week before she came back, and (Y/n) had screamed and cried so much that they'd lost their voice and sobbed their eyes dry-- Poor mother almost thought they went mute, too.

After a bit of reassurance, they began to grasp that holding expectations to someone with such a busy schedule was somewhat unreasonable, though they knew it was also unreasonable to be gone for such long periods of time. Suddenly, weekly returns would become the norm.

And then, again, it would be a while since they'd see the only person that could provide for them. A single week turned to two, and (Y/n), fighting off the urge to start crying again, instead assured themselves that she was just running late, or picked up a few nightshifts. The landlord had raised rent again, after all.

But then two weeks quickly became three, and food was becoming scarce. A neighbor had gotten sick of their wailing and came to see what the problem was, finding them alone in their bathroom, hiding in the bathtub with only a few toys to cling onto.

The rest of the story wrote itself, with (Y/n) getting taken into custody for neglect, thrown into countless foster homes, and run through countless horrible incidents that they expressed no desire to elaborate upon.

The only thing Melone couldn't understand, or more accurately, get an answer on, is why they joined the mafia. 'A blind nurse', That sentence alone was troubling enough to raise plenty of questions, but a blind nurse apart of the famiglia?

He tries to tell himself it's none of his business, but curiosity is a wild thing, and he can't help but think up a thousand different reasons why things turned out for them the way they did. Brought into it against their will? Only job option available for someone like them? He didn't want to seem rude by asking, so, why not have someone else ask them instead?

Well, sending Ghiaccio on a quick trip down to the infirmary after bribing him a good sum managed to get his answer.

"It was the last job their mom had before she was proclaimed missing." He said as he counted each bill in hand. "Getting into the profession gave them the opportunity to find her."

"And did they find her yet?"

"Nope. Not a single lead. Even the informant team could barely scrape together anything."

"But that means they found something."

"They did, her last known location. It's probably one of the destinations (Y/n) left to today."

He remembered the conversation from the previous day well, and never had there been a fire of determination so greatly lit within him, the desire to seek and ease the pain of his dear friends heart overwhelming all else. Melone sprinted out of the base faster than his legs could carry, barely hearing the address Ghiaccio gave him as he fled through the doors and eagerly searched for where they'd be.

Visiting such places never go well, not once had they ever proven to be helpful or good in any way. Only disappointment awaits, and with disappointment comes grief, and then such a tidal wave of feelings that one would get all washed up and confused in their own despair. He knows such a thing a bit too well.

And for a blind person to experience that? It'd be plenty times worse, he'd like to think. Sparing (Y/n) of such heartache would be his one good deed in the world, if all else doesn't count.

And there they were, just down the street and around the corner, head wildly whipping around as he approached from behind. Flushed cheeks, teary eyes-- it seemed he was too late. Or, perhaps, just on time?

They couldn't find her. It's been years, naturally, so of course they didn't, but Melone didn't say such a thing to them as he wasn't completely out of his mind. Instead, he carefully approached them, and through his gasped breaths (as he'd completely winded himself in his run) he comforted the best he could, and helped them back to the base.

"I'm sorry I'm such a burden, you shouldn't have come to get me. Did I take too long?" They whimpered, clinging onto his arm just as a lost child might.

"No, don't say such things about yourself. I just missed you." He half-lied. "I have some new friends waiting for you back at home, I'm sure you'll like them."

(Y/n)s face lit up at the mention of stuffed animals, their mouth shakily switching between a frown and a smile as they fought to feel happiness when in such a distraught state. A positive outlook was the only kind they could have unless they wanted to have a breakdown in the middle of the street, so they told themselves as many uplifting things as they could, typically things Prosciutto had said to them before, which lifted their spirits enough.

"Hey, Melone, can I tell you something kind of personal?" They muttered, voice cracking and rough. "I'm sorry if it's a bit on the spot, you can say no"

"Of course, what is it?"

"I know it's only been a while, but, I really like how you treat me, it's like I'm not some helpless baby when I'm with you. I feel a lot more like an actual person."

"You flatter me too much, I just do what I'd want someone to do for me, especially when you're so sweet."

"Oh- you think so?" (Y/n) stammered, turning their face in a feeble attempt to hide their bashful expression. "Thank you, I didn't know you thought of me like that.."

"How could I not when you're the one that picks all the bullets out of my arm?"

He laughed at his own words, and in the heat of the moment where he'd felt more comfortable around them than ever before, not as anxious or enamored as he'd always been, he let his hand find theirs, and watched in unsuppressed glee as their pout shifted to a flustered grin. Bubbly giggles slipped between the teeth that tried so hard to keep them at bay, and Melone found himself practically melting at the sound.

"I know it's probably wrong of me, but I'm still curious enough to ask one more, uhm, one more thing?" (Y/n) said.

"What?"

"You won't ever leave me, right? I mean, I know there are times when you'll be gone for a while, but, you'll always come back, yeah?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I'm always going to come back, nothing could keep me for that long."

"..Really?"

"Always. You're the only reason I have to come back."