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Somewhere in Italy, 1999
Cioccolata was reading. Like he always was.
Well, not really. Secco knew that look. That impossible, glazed-over expression on his face where he'd be reading the words but not actually understanding them. He never seemed to run out of things to think about. If he were to look into Cioccolata's head, Secco was sure it would be full of clutter. That, he reckoned, made them pretty different.
He seemed troubled, now worrying his lip between his teeth. He didn't have lipstick on, nor his trademark green slashes- it wasn't like he had anywhere to be, not at breakfast time. Secco wasn't sure if he preferred a dolled-up Cioccolata or a makeup-free one; seeing his face so bare was a little unnerving, made him some semblance of a human. But seeing him wear those pretty purple and jet black hues always gave him a fuzzy feeling, reminding him of the careful stains that somehow always stuck to Oasis.
Secco shook his head in that strange way that made it seem like he was some ghastly vermin with a terrible fleas complication. There was a problem, and the problem was that Cioccolata looked like he was figuring out a particularly difficult maths sum. Or like he was constipated.
Quietly slinking into the room, bright eyes fell on a shiny platter of baked goods, probably French pastries of which the names he could never quite pronounce. Secco flopped beside his partner dramatically, causing the ensuing ''thump'' to alert Cioccolata of his presence. Not looking up, Cioccolata made a low ''hm,'' sound, lip curled upwards ever-so-slightly. ''Morning Secco,'' he drawled, ''You're up early.'' Secco grunted noncommittally. He was not a morning person.
Secco looked to Cioccolata cautiously. Cioccolata turned a page. With that, he leaned over to the coffee table to grab as much food as he could and stuff it in his mouth. Cioccolata turned his head sharply, chuckling at what he discovered. ''Wow, Secco. Seven whole chasson aux pommes? That's a new record.''
Secco rolled his eyes, mustering the best grunt he could. His jaw was unlatched in a way that most medical professionals would consider a ''miracle'' or even an ''impossibility'', but then again, most medical professionals hadn't met Cioccolata. The former nestled into the couch, a little too much, as Cioccolata felt the telltale signs of the furniture beginning to sink into the floor. ''Secco,'' he chided, though with no true malice behind it, ''We just bought this one.'' Secco blinked girlishly at him in his best attempt to be cute, prompting a pinch and a ''Come off it now, you rascal,'' from the doctor.
When Secco had finally swallowed his breakfast, he huffed in Cioccolata's general direction. ''W-what's gotten into you?''
Cioccolata faked obliviousness. ''Whatever do you mean, my darling?''
Secco opened his mouth to retort, stopping when a large hand began to pet and fondle his head. His eyes slipped shut, before flying open again when he remembered where he was. Secco swatted at his counterpart with annoyance. ''S-stop that. D-don't try to butter me up!'' He turned his face away, flushing under Cioccolata's amused stare.
''Y-you're all angsty today, it's weird.''
Cioccolata sighed and placed his book down, crossing one leg over the other. ''I don't want to burden you, dear... I know how you hate my theatrics so...''
''Out with it!''
...
''Well, it's just... I've been thinking... of course, even with all of our research, we can't truly know what happens after death, hm? What... what will that mean for us?''
The two sat in silence for a little, until Secco formed his response.
''I don't caaare.. ugh... It's all so... boring,'' he stifled a yawn and nuzzled into Cioccolata with sudden affection. The latter arched an eyebrow in mock judgment. ''Is that you talking, or is it the chronic laziness?'' He prodded at Secco playfully. ''Honestly, Secco, one would think you're more of a cat than a dog, some days.''
Secco furrowed his brow in thought, ignoring Cioccolata's teasing. ''I m-mean, t-to answer your stupid question,'' this earned him another poke, ''I don't know what will happen. Y'know, l-like, after.''
''B-but I guess... I know where I'd like to be... when we are gone.'' Cioccolata looked intrigued.
''Um, well, I g-guess we'd have to wait til we're, uh, old and all w-wrinkly and stuff..'' Secco scrunched up his nose. Cioccolata tapped it with a laugh.
''Awfully poetic there, Secco.''
''S-shut up! I'm n-not done.''
''There's, well, there's also...'' His expression turned guilty and he shifted a little where he was sat. Cioccolata hummed in encouragement.
''We could lose a f-fight.. B-but I really don't think we would, not as long as we're working together, anyways.''
...
''If we w-were to, though... it would have to be a tie.'' His eyes lit up, grinning unnaturally and looking up at Cioccolata with an expression some people might consider fondness. ''Isn't that right, Doc?''
Cioccolata purred out a laugh and rubbed at Secco's chin through Oasis, low baritones instantly putting Secco at ease. ''I've no doubt about it, darling; it's you and I versus the world, remember?''
Secco nodded far too eagerly for someone envisioning bloodshed and destruction. ''And, uh, ah,'' he scrambled to find the correct words, brain not quite catching up. ''It'd be the coolest. E-everyone would fear us... Naples would be in flames.''
Cioccolata laughed lightly, earlier worries seemingly subsided. ''Now that,'' he tickled Secco's side, ''Doesn't sound too bad.''
Secco giggled and jabbed him back. ''We'd be together, o-of course, for the end. Maybe on some cool battlefield... It'd be all w-warm... and you'd be wearing one of your dumb flashy o-outfits. Y-yeah, I'd like that.''
If Cioccolata's eyes crunched up with endearment, Secco didn't say anything. He stood suddenly, brushing invisible lint from his jacket. ''As lovely as that is, cucciolo mio, we'll just have to see won't we?'' He laid a lingering hand on Secco's head and then clapped his hands together.
''Now, who wants a hot chocolate?''
Rome, 2001
Bullshit. It was all utter bullshit, Secco thinks bitterly, as his teeth chatter together. It's too cold. Oasis is starting to trickle away, and the evening breeze is unforgiving. Nothing's colder than Cioccolata, though. He's almost unrecognizable, save his wild mop of hair. His skin is paler than it's ever been, all mottled and bruised. Secco's mouth feels dry from screaming, yelling out Cioccolata's name. It wasn't like he could hear himself, anyhow, thanks to that Bucciarati guy. At some point, he'd crawled over, draped himself over Cioccolata, desperately, stupidly, trying to feel for a heartbeat. Trying to feel warmer.
There was no fantasy ending, Secco realizes. No cool herculean fight with an even cooler gladiator-esque rival. No angels, no devils, certainly in both senses - Diavalo couldn't give less of a shit about the two of them and everyone knew it. Just Bucciarati, and that weird blonde kid.
Huh. Secco starts to feel giddy, something of a wet laugh bubbling up in his throat. What had Cioccolata taught him, again? Was this the endorphins kicking in? Oh, well. Secco let his head go limp against his partner's chest. 'We lost,' is the last thing Secco thinks before it all fades to black, and two corpses lie in the back of a garbage truck, unbeknownst to the world.