(Sorry for the late update!)

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It's not fair.

He wants to love, love. To not flinch when it reaches inside his chest, when it braids his hair with tender fingers. To be able to smile without the urge to claw at his skin and rip it to ribbons, to hold and claim a beating muscle with a staining, lingering kiss.

A broken, hollow doll, his head bashed in and heart strung in wires. It hurts, when he cuts apart his walls to open up to someone, those wires constrict around him and snap him shut again. Let him finally throw up his grief in muddy, messy piles and he will break.

It's humiliating, his life line not a vow or a goal, but a person he clings to like life itself, the sun that peeks through cotton clouds in somber days. A person he must live for, if nothing else, that is his fuel to wake up the nest day.

The train drags along its electric lines, guided by sparks and sighing in hums with each turn. Melone's been gone for three days, and from what he's heard from Pesci, that darling nurse has eagerly awaited his return since the moment he left the door.

Why? For what reason did they seem so attached, eager to even be beside him? He figures it's some sort of imprint, with the other team members coming and going so frequently, it must be hard to be able to know that there's still someone you can look forward to seeing. The moment one comes, another leaves.

It's not that he would much complain, in fact, it's simply that it's him, of all people, that's receiving that graceful, loving attention. Does he deserve that? He tells himself he has a right to embracing love, but could he ever accept it?

No matter how much he wants to deny it, to feed into that pulsing parasite, rooted in his brain, he knows that he could. He could stand to swallow it, take little bites of it and chew slowly, lick his plate clean and ask for seconds. It would just be a matter of taking everything slowly.

An echoed chime rings through aged speakers, and Melone finally meets his stop with a rocking halt. He brings himself to his feet with a sigh, unison with the few other passengers in the train car as him.

There's a flower shop just beyond the station, between a tailor and bakery, that seemed to catch his attention. It'd been there for the longest time, perhaps longer than he'd been part of the famiglia, and yet only now did it seem to be worth his eye.

Purple flowers, green flowers, petunias and roses, and a good deal more. A particular bouquet catches his eye behind a branded store window, a hefty bundle of blue spread into the air like the glimmering tails of a firework frozen in time.

Instantly he was reminded of (Y/n), for maybe no particular reason, and thought, wouldn't they like an apology? He'd been gone for so long, he knew they would, so why not apologize with some flowers?

Upon talking to the shop keeper, he found that the flowers he'd spotted were Baby's Breath. It was odd, the shop keeper mentioned, that someone would buy an entire bouquet of that particular flower alone. They were always better paired with something, another bloom that'd outshine them.

But no, it was enough, and before the shop keeper could coerce him into at least throwing in a few tulips or something of the like, he'd long left.

The base looked the same as ever, something he noticed but didn't acknowledge as he met the door. An aged complex, concrete walls cracked and stained with age, a growth of moss and mildew clutching onto the side in a thick mass. A birds nest teetered along the edge of the roof that was bound to cave in, and the windows on the far side were boarded up, the broken glass kicked beneath the rug inside.

There's no place like home.

While typically he'd take the fastest route to his room to rest, or find some way to numb his mind and body as he sunk into his mattress, he instead wasted no time in rushing to the infirmary, the retreat of the nurse.

At first, he didn't quite see where (Y/n) was at, their white coat flush with the plain wall-- But once he caught sight of them, he began to wish he'd have come back sooner.

Messy blood stains were sprinkled cross the floor like confetti, in splashes and streaks that were akin to something out of a horror movie. Strands of hair were left torn about the place, some soaked in the red puddles, others left on the cool floor, alone.

(Y/n) was huddled in the corner, knees to their chest, face hidden in the empty space between their chest and legs. It was barely audible, a stifled sniffling that hid behind the noisy hum of the fan above, parting every now and again to let a wet sob break through the calming madness.

Just what had happened before he arrived, he hadn't a clue, though he was bound to find out sooner or later. As for now, taking care of the bleeding, fragile body of his dearest nurse was most important.

Carefully tip-toeing around the sea of shattered glass clearing the entrance, he slowly, though surely, made his way toward that corner of the infirmary, having to practically dance around the mess that kept the nurse pinned right where they were at, like a lone island in the vastness of the deep.

Melone couldn't even find the words, to ask if they were alright, to question what happened to create such chaos in an otherwise peaceful place. He didn't even know what he was going to say, and yet whatever effort he was about to make was interrupted when something snapped beneath his foot, (Y/n)s head snapping up wildly to look at him in a wretched horror.

It was no deer in headlights moment, that struck frozen stance that'd leave one in a daze-- they looked as if they were tortured to the near end of their life, and if not that, then near the will to it.

"W-Who-?" Their words are a painful mixture between a whimper and cry, one teetering on the edge of the other as if they were waiting for an excuse to break.

"What happened to you?" That's the only thing Melone can muster out of his mouth before he gives up on his patient caution and dashes for (Y/n), clambering to their side as he falls to his knees to cup their face.

A gash on their cheek, glass piercing just beneath their eye, skin a messy, crimson hue; There could be nearly no explanation for it. Their clothes were awkwardly hanging on their body as if they'd just escaped a brawl with a stray mutt, and the blinds behind them hung lop-sided as they swayed with the threat of falling. A few of its shudders were nearby on the floor.

"I broke something," They sighed with shaken breath, "that's all. You know, blind people and being clumsy..."

Melone looks behind him at the mass of glass on the floor, a mirror once proudly hung on the wall now missing its point of reflection as the frame sat stiffly on the ground. The vase Pesci had gifted them had also broken to pieces, flung this way and that after being relieved from its position on the counter.

"How did you end up like this? Surely a broken mirror or vase couldn't have done this much damage."

"It did, it really did... I was trying to re-web my room so that I could tell where things were easier, and forgot to trace the mirror once I was done. Knocked into it and fell, got surprised and hit the table, then the vase fell, some glass got stuck on my gloves and did most of the damage while I tried to back away from the mess."

"And the blinds?"

"The blinds?" (Y/n) repeated, almost as if they didn't know what he was talking about. "Oh- the blinds! Yes, I tried standing and walked backward into the window, silly me. I should've waited till I calmed down..."

He continued to observe them, looking on with pity as they seemed to gaze at something just beyond him, that white wide-eyed stare locked onto whatever it was they seemed to sense in their panic. He felt that at this point, with their body so tense and wound, If they'd even just unclench their jaw and relax their shoulders, they'd dissolve like cotton candy in the rain.

With a huff, he lay the flowers he was initially going to surprise them with just beside him, carefully tracing his finger behind their back and underneath their knees as a silent warning to him picking them up.

In one, great thrust, they were in his arms, seething at the sting of the movement on their aching body as he ushered them to their bedroom, where they were sat on their bed and treated quickly.

Shards were picked from each wound with precision, and cavernous cuts were covered with cream and bandages. "Was anyone here when this accident happened?"

"No one." (Y/n) sniffled. "I grew panicky at the lack of people here, and tried to distract myself by retracing everything, but you know how that turned out..."

"I see. Give me a moment to call Risotto and let him know what happened, ok? I'll be back in a moment."

Just as he was turning to leave, a grip so powerful it could bend iron wrapped around his wrist, nearly on the verge of breaking the bone as a desperate, begging voice called out. "Don't leave, please don't leave. Melone, please, can you make the call in here? Please, don't leave."

It was the first time that (Y/n), in the history of them being there, had ever forcefully put their hands on him. It was more than a surprise, he was practically stuck where he stood, like his arm was chained to concrete. They refused to budge, not even giving an allowance of movement.

There wasn't a hint of sorrow or sadness like they had that night, where they'd woken from their nightmare, there was fear, a horror so great that they looked ready to pull him back within a moments notice should they finally lose it. For one reason or another, they were adamant about not spending a second alone.

All that time without someone in the base must've messed them up in the head, and bad, so who was he to deny them? To hurt them anymore than they've already hurt themselves?

"Alright, calm down, I'm not going anywhere. You want me to hang out with you till you're settled?" Their grip seemed to soften as he neared them again, sitting down on the bed next to them and allowing the nurse to curl into his body.

"Yes, please."

"Ok, I'll sit with you. For as long as you'd like." He wished they'd say to stay forever, but he kept that little hope a secret. One day, maybe.