Melone was not alone. It was relieving. It was frightening.

In a hit, you always want to make sure everyone that was around, is dead. No matter their role, if they were so much as even nearby, they were gone. It seemed he missed one, hiding behind a pillar, not really willing to show themselves.

His handgun cocked, he slowly crept toward whoever he'd left, which even after his head count should've been no one, and approached. One step, two-- He stepped on some glass.

The sudden crunch, the snapping of the fragile thing, made whoever was hiding whimper. Though, maybe whimper wasn't the right word. Perhaps 'squeak' would've been better. Somehow it was a gross mix of both.

By now, if someone knew of his advancement, they would've shot, or attacked, or did something. This person did nothing.

So he finally looked around the corner, a stupid move really, as a gun could've connected to his forehead then and fired. But regardless, he looked, and there crouching on the ground, was a worrisome, shaking, little thing.

It was trembling in a white coat, thick rubber gloves clasped over its mouth as it waited, hazed eyes staring straight ahead, focused on nothing.

"(Y/n)," Melone called. "What is it you're doing here?"

Their head snapped up, like a gun dog who'd heard a shot, attention on him. In a shameful stammer, they stumbled to their feet and brushed themselves off, letting their fingers pick at each other in a nervous degree.

"Oh-- you saw me..." They say, awfully embarrassed. "Sorry. About following you, I mean. I just got worried."

"Worried over what? I thought Pesci was home today."

"No, and I wasn't lonely anyways, it's just... You haven't been eating right lately. No- you haven't much been eating at all."

Melone winces at their harsh tone. It was a wonder, how the blind member of la squadra managed to notice before those that could see.

If he was any less of the man he was, he would've broke. He'd be crying his soul out, pulling himself inward in the hopes that the earth would split and swallow him whole. He can hear the disappointed breath that leaves (Y/n) in a sigh, the sudden drop of their fidgeting hands as they let concern show freely.

"Yeah, I tend to forget every now and again." Melone tried to laugh it off, yet he can't seem to let out more than a deflated wheeze. They approach him, slowly, deliberately. Their hands trail between his abs, along his stomach, feeling the sunken plush of his flesh react coldly to their touch.

"You know that's only half of the truth," (Y/n) huffed, "As I said, You haven't been eating at all recently. I don't recall hearing what you ate yesterday, nor the day before. Are you starving yourself?"

"What-? No! I just--" He adverts his gaze to the wall. "It's just a bit of a struggle to remember, and my stomach doesn't really growl or give me pains when I don't eat..."

"Do you need reminders, then?"

"If they'd work. I sometimes try to eat when I do remember, but most of the time I can barely bring a spoon to my mouth." He takes a moment to realize they're conversing in front of a mass of corpses, and hopes the oncoming smell won't be a bother.

"Where do you often eat?"

"My room." Melone replies, taking them by the hand and leading them out of the warehouse.

"I see. How about you start eating with me then, at least two meals a day?" They suggest with hesitant hope. "You'll have someone to share food with, maybe it'll encourage some calorie intake. You're already so thin, you might as well turn into a bag of bones."

"A bag of bones?" He repeats with a laugh, which quickly turns into a cough. "Fine, two meals a day. That's it?"

"To start out with, yes. I don't need you forcing too much food down your throat at once."

"How about we have something to eat once we get back?" He watches as their face brightens at the suggestion.

"Yes! I already have some food prepared that I was going to give you this morning, but you'd already left. We can have that!"

As they bounce and prance in excitement, following every tug and pull of his hand as he lead them back to the base, he couldn't help but take a small peek at their wounds.

Most of them should've healed, given the incident that sustained them happened a few days ago, but for some reason most looked new. A few purple bits shown around their ankle, where their pants lifted as they skipped along. He saw in the small bit of their collar that there was a scratch, a thick one.

His malnourishment mustn't have been the only thing that compelled them to come seek him. They must've spiraled into another panic in everyone's absence, and decided to flee instead of shudder in their room as before.

He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, deciding not to ask. All seemed well with them near him now, so there was no point. The damage had already been done, anyways.

All Melone could do was wish that this would be the last time their panic gets the best of them. But we all know wishes don't come true.