When Ghiaccio awoke, he was briefly confused. The perspective was unfamiliar. He sat up and looked around to realize he was still in Melone's bed and he was alone. He threw the covers off, stood up, and stretched. The clock on Melone's nightstand said 10:30. Ghiaccio didn't usually sleep that late; normally, he got up around nine most mornings. Much of last night had consisted of laying there watching Melone sleep, but he must have passed out at some point. There was a pain in his eyes from a lack of sleep and the strain of trying to focus the morning light into recognizable shapes. He still felt tired but wanted to find Melone, so he grabbed his glasses and left the room.

All was quiet when he entered the hall. Melone must have been downstairs as the bathroom door was ajar and the room dark. He descended the stairs and heard a sound once he got to the living room. He only realized once entering the kitchen what it was. Melone sat at the kitchen island with his hands covering his eyes.

He was crying.

Ghiaccio wanted to go to him but he didn't want to startle him either. Ghiaccio hated when people saw him cry. He didn't know if it would be the same for Melone or not. Usually seeing others cry made Ghiaccio uncomfortable because he never knew what to do. People, like himself, just wanted to be left alone while they purged their system of emotional buildup. But this was different. They were grieving, trying to soldier on as the last survivors in a war that left nothing but devastation in its wake and Ghiaccio wanted Melone to know he wasn't alone. He crossed the threshold, the squeak of the floor heralding his presence, and Melone quickly wiped his face as he turned and mustered a smile.

"Oh! Hey, Ghiaccio!" Melone said in a forced, sing-songy voice that warbled at the end of his name. "How did you sleep?" Ghiaccio walked up behind Melone who gave him a look of confusion. He wrapped his arms around Melone and rested his head on his shoulder. The hug turned into a sway as Ghiaccio tried to offer comfort. He did so until Melone's mask finally cracked.

"They're not coming home," Melone gasped. Ghiaccio just continued to rock him in his arms while squeezing him. "I... really don't know anymore if things are gonna be okay... how can anything be okay?"

"Shhhh," Ghiaccio hushed him softly. It disturbed Ghiaccio to see Melone like this. No matter what, Melone always had a positive outlook on things. His nonchalance was something Ghiaccio had taken for granted, something he only now realized had gotten him through more hard times than he could count. Seeing the anxiety of the world's cold indifference finally permeating that calm exterior was disconcerting. The battle had changed Melone so much. It really left Ghiaccio believing his words, nothing would ever be the same.

Ghiaccio wanted to tell Melone that it would be okay, and he wished more than anything that it could be true, but that uncertainty weighed heavily upon his shoulders. He wanted to tell Melone that he would never leave him no matter what Giorno did. There was so much he wanted to say—to scream and cry and shout the things inside his head, inside his heart. But expression of the soul was not something that came easily to Ghiaccio; as a man of words, he did the best he could choosing syntax and connotation, making sure every word had meaning, even if it was shouted in rage. As harsh as his words could be, he meant every word he said, which often made Ghiaccio a caustic man to befriend. Yet Melone still desired to stay with him despite all that had occurred. He would not leave Ghiaccio.

He promised. If you go, I go.

Those words were a sacred vow, a pledge of devotion. As close to a declaration of love as Ghiaccio would ever get, and he could not return the sentiment. Not in a way that Ghiaccio felt was significant. The written word had its place, but such an oath was too substantial not to be vocalized. It took far more courage to speak than to leave a note quietly in the night.

"I can't sleep anymore," Melone whispered. Ghiaccio turned his head to look at him. Their faces were so close. He rubbed Melone's arm and frowned. It was all he could offer. "I keep having the same nightmare." Ghiaccio stroked Melone's hair urging him to keep talking.

"Some of the details change: where I am, who I'm with, or what I'm doing. You're there a lot," Melone said as he looked at Ghiaccio. "But it always ends the same. A snake comes out of nowhere and attacks me... I feel my body grow cold as the venom paralyzes me. Not being able to move my hands... or ask you for help..." Ghiaccio sat down on the chair next to him but still held his arm.

"I thought it would be different, y'know? Having you with me last night..." Melone blinked back more tears. "But it was just as bad, if not worse. It got me. Then I watched it kill you too. And I couldn't move to help you. I watched you struggle to breathe." Melone stared past him and saw things that Ghiaccio could not share.

He pulled Melone into his arms. Sleep had been dreamless last night and Ghiaccio had been thankful for that. However, he knew the nightmares would plague him soon enough. The last time Ghiaccio had felt this helpless, he had been a child leaving his father's abuse for a life on the streets of a foreign city. The frustration of being silenced stung in his eyes as he gently rocked Melone in his grip. Melone took several staggering breaths as he leaned his head against Ghiaccio's. They remained embraced for several minutes listening to the silence of empty rooms and unfinished thoughts.

Silence taught its own lesson: words were unreliable. They were subject to change and meaning could be distorted in the ears of the listener. Language could be both cold and inflammatory, destroying bridges and the few things that mattered.

Language was imperfect, and Ghiaccio could do nothing more than embrace action to convey his thoughts.

He stood up and pulled on Melone's arm for him to follow. They walked into the living room and Ghiaccio sat down on the couch. He guided Melone to sit next to him where he put his arm around Melone's shoulders and pulled him close. He summoned everything he wanted to say, all the feelings he longed to express, the dreams he had of peace and hope for his partner and poured them into that embrace.

They would find a way to make it work. No matter what.

"Thank you." Melone didn't say anything more but Ghiaccio knew exactly what he meant. They sat for a time until Melone had quieted and regained his composure. Ghiaccio's head rested on Melone's and he thought if he had to stay here in this moment for the rest of his life, he would be fine with that. There was peace and comfort here and Ghiaccio could almost believe that they were something more. He was weary of the world and tired of always being trampled on. Always something new to fight at every new juncture, never time to reflect on things bigger than himself. Never considering the future. A life of violence only knows how to live in the moment, just trying to survive to tomorrow.

But Ghiaccio wanted more. So much more.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and Ghiaccio sprang from his seat. Melone slowly stood and patted him on the back. "It's alright, I'll get it. Besides, I'm a bit more sociable anyway." The joke about his silence didn't ease Ghiaccio any. His body tensed as Melone walked toward the door. No one should be knocking at that door. Everyone that could be there knocking—and should be—was dead which meant whoever was beyond the threshold couldn't mean them well. Ghiaccio stomped his foot and Melone turned back just before the door.

"It's probably just one of those anime figurines that Illuso was always buying. It'll be fine," Melone said, smiling as he unlocked the door. Ghiaccio took a few steps forward as the door opened. "Hel—lo..." He was quickly silenced by the sight before him.

Giorno stood with Mista beside him at the entrance. Ghiaccio wasted no time. He stormed over to the doorway and forced his way in between Melone and the new Don. He gave the newcomers such an incendiary glare that he shook from the adrenaline it created. Mista placed a hand on his gun as the hiss of ice crept around the doorway and along the floor from where Ghiaccio stood. Ghiaccio felt the trembling hand of Melone on his shoulder.

"I—think what Ghiaccio is trying to say is: 'can we help you?'" Melone asked calmly. Giorno placed a hand on Mista's arm and looked at Ghiaccio.

"I simply want to talk. That's all," Giorno said. Melone's grip tightened on his shoulder.

"Ghi, calm down. We knew this was coming," Melone said quietly. "Just came sooner than expected." Ghiaccio turned to look at him and then back at Giorno. He took a deep breath and stepped back, the ice retreating instantly. "Come in," Melone said.

Ghiaccio was about to follow them when he felt Melone lean in and rest his chin on his shoulder. He put his arms around Ghiaccio's neck and held him. "Hey, no matter what happens, we stick together. Okay?" Ghiaccio touched one of his arms and glanced at him. "Where you go, I go."

The look on Melone's face was so reassuring, all Ghiaccio could do was nod.

"And behave. He's our boss now." Melone poked Ghiaccio's nose. He pulled away from Ghiaccio and walked towards the living room. Ghiaccio sighed, watching him go. The hug felt nice and he wished they could have stayed like that for longer. If only Giorno's presence wasn't also making him sick to his stomach.

He sighed and followed Melone into the living room.