All I need to know [ After hours / Gino ]

『 Knock Knock. 』

Gino is not fond of those words.

He has always been one partial to jokes, the corners of his lips curving up into an imperceptible smile when someone made a pun or dropped a pick up line, years from an uncle with a love for flirting and an aunt with a love for puns impressing on him. Yet knock knock jokes could never light up his eyes with amusement no matter how clever, and that’s something that leaves a bitter taste in Gino’s mouth. When he hears the words “knock knock”, he hears it in a voice that differs from the actual speaker, in a smooth but mocking baritone that pops into his dreams to turn them into nightmares.

* * *

“Knock knock, little Reisi. I’m coming in.”

His head snaps up, and something close to fear shines in brown eyes as he snaps his mouth shut so hard it stings. Gino is fourteen years old and on the verge of breaking, and he’s grown to hate that sentence more than he hates anything else. He’s grown to hate it with a tenacity he didn’t know he was capable of feeling, to the point where bile claws to escape his throat as a promise of murder flashes in his eyes, as distaste overpowers him like a wave he has no hope of fighting, dragging him down to depths of despair and bitterness without so much as a hand to pull him away. Two sentences; yet they make him want to vomit, because those words are the start to a downhill spiral into insanity caused by a need to survive, half-hearted delusions appearing as an attempt to stave off the feeling of his bones cracking and hunger panging. They are the start of a session of sharing secrets, except Gino has no wish to let anything but insults and sarcasm to leave his mouth, much less sensitive information. Those words are a beginning, and it is one Gino finds no wonder in.

He watches as the man takes careful and calculated steps towards him, the heels of his shoes clacking against the graphite floor as the man ensures his steps are measured and nowhere nearing eager. Gino meets his eyes to find a sadistic glee though, and he counteracts it with a glare he hopes is biting and promising a difficult death.

Gino hears a laugh, slow and mocking as the man kneels down to meet Gino’s gaze head on.

“What, I was polite like you told me to and knocked before coming in, didn’t I?”

Gino spits on him.

And he takes the hit that rocks his head back, makes the chains constricting his hands together clatter and clang against itself.

“Just you wait little Reisi, I’ll break you yet.”

* * *

He closes his eyes, as if to will away the memories that came without prompting. Instead, the male focuses on the speaker who belongs in this time, this present, right here right now and real and solid in a world where Gino can shoot away all those that irk him. In the back of his head, he thinks that the voice sounded familiar, and there’s a fleeting memory just as his grasp of whom it might be before it escapes due to the migraine-inducing memory of that time.

So Gino turns the corner, crossing the threshold he had suddenly froze at the moment he heard those words to see Ira Defaire’s father. He’s sporting a wicked gleam in his eye reminiscent of cruel words and crueler actions, a promise of something Gino doesn’t want to see the aftermath of and a smile that’s anything but kind. Dark but musing words whisper in his mind as he gazes at the man, listens to those words idly wonder if Ira would be angry if Gino took out his gun and shot the man in the head or not right this moment.

He’s always been wary of the man and his wife, after all, his mother warned him about them:

He remembers his mother’s gaze turned sharp the moment the family left, blue eyes scrutinizing the parents before bluntly stating that she didn’t like them. Gino had looked at her in curiosity, but the male didn’t need to wonder whom she meant for long because of the explanation that left his mother’s lips. Her voice was staccato and sweet as always, something that reminds him of honey, a soft lilting accent to her English as she brought herself closer to her son’s ears.

“Her parents. They aren’t good people- Doubt them, outsmart them, but more than anything, take their words with a grain of salt, darling.”

Gino had looked at her, wondering how she could tell so with just a single meeting before chalking it up to be one of the many mysteries that made up his mother. Then, he was not yet Ira Defaire’s friend, he was not attached to her in the way he was with so few people, was not someone who particularly felt anything for her rather than the initial surprise and interest at their first meeting.

The thirteen year old simply ducked his head down into a nod. “Bene,” he murmured, his answer in Italian.

Gino’s outer expression is still impassive, but his hands are clenching into fists as he remembers the scene. He also remembers the very parents his mother warning him about telling her that Ira had left to Iceland to study, remembers disbelief coloring his brown eyes before he simply shut his mouth to accept it. (He knew better than to think they would tell him anything relating to the truth, but he was tired and disappointed, she was gone like the wind and he was here left wondering what could have been if only he caught her before she left.)

He had stayed for a few weeks in hopes she would return, and when she didn’t and he was asked to return, the male had no choice but to do just that- Because he had a mafia he was learning to rule, had people he was learning to manipulate and a duty already bearing a comfortable weight on his shoulders.

But now, Ira is here, not gone without a trace of where to find her. And he’s here too, practically stripped of all his duties prior to try and live a normal (or not) highschool life, to be safe in a country a sea away from the war raging. She’s angry at him a rightly so, but now she’s in front of a father Gino knows was ever kind to her despite the things she never said, and he… Makes a decision.

(He decides he doesn’t want him to take her away, regardless of whether or not they’re talking.)

He strides forward with an uncaring confidence and takes her hand, gently but firmly as he pulls her away from her father.

“What do you think the best thing you can do for someone is, Gino?” His uncle had asked him one day as he watches Gino shoot bullet after bullet into targets without a single deviation from the bullseye. The young Italian had simply shrugged once and kept on shooting, eyes intent on getting a good mark before he quietly gave his thoughts.

“Not kill them?”

The laugh that’s surprised out of his uncle makes Gino stop his shootin for a second as a pleased expression makes it’s way on his face at garnering a laugh from the man, but that only lasts for a second before the steady sound of bullets leaving its chamber begins to fill up the space once again. “What is it though,” Gino asks after a few more shots, “that you wanted to say it was?” The boy finally puts the gun down to look at his uncle, expression curious but also amused.

Gino’s uncle gives him a smile that tells the young Italian that the man is delving back into old memories, and he takes a moment Gino thinks is purely for dramatic effect before finally speaking the words he probably meant to in the beginning.

“The best thing you can do for someone is take them away, little don.”

Gino didn’t understand then, but then he was kidnapped, broken and ruined, and when his father outstretched his hand to help Gino up and take him away, he thinks that maybe he understood now.

So he’ll take Ira away, and maybe he’s reading this all wrong, but he can’t seem to care about that. Gino meets Ira Defaire’s father’s gaze before he leaves though, and his face is calm yet not passive, a quiet challenge of something he doesn’t quite know himself. He debates bowing his head and saying it was nice to see him again, but it really wasn’t. He could also comment on how Ira was not in fact, in Iceland at all, but that’s the past and he has no need to go back to that no matter how bitter he is on the matter.

So what he does after meeting his gaze is leave the premises, making sure he’s dragging Ira along with him as he makes his way out to the courtyard. He notices that their surroundings are quiet, that there are some gazes focused on them as he takes Ira with him, and he's probably going to constitute that to the hand holding. He's not going to let go to hold her wrist or something just because they're staring though, and they can think whatever they'd like to. What they think doesn't mean it's true, anyways.

He can tell they think it might be something done out of romantic reason, someone taking the hand of the First Pillar and dragging her away from wherever. Not many may think so, but some well, because people jump to conclusions quicker than eager divers into water. From an outsider's point of view, Gino might be seen as a knight in a tie, saving the girl who is obviously not a damsel away from an asshole, but the truth is, it isn't that.

Gino isn't interested in romance or any of that, love is not what motivates him to move. He's never understood why people believe romance is the greatest force of all, why people fall for people and hate themselves for things they couldn't help, why they so stubbornly believe in a perfect soulmate even though Gino doubts such a thing could exist. He may recall his father and mother sometimes to ascertain it does exist, but he doesn't find a need for it anyways. He just wants to go about life as he wants, and if romance happens, it'll happen. It is not what urged him to take Ira's hand in his scenario though, not one bit.

"I know you're mad at me." He finally speaks up, but he as yet to let go of her hand or stop his steps. "And it'd be awkward if taking you away would be the wrong thing to do, but." The male shrugs helplessly, and his steps halt to a stop, trailing off into he's simply standing. Gino let's go of her hand now, unsure of what else to say, wondering if he should leave now since all he really wanted to do was done, anyways... He thinks he might, and takes a step back to do so, but before that- He studies Ira's expression, head tilting to the left as he awaits either a demand for him to leave or something else. "I wanted to take you away, that's kind of it."

And that's it, just a simple reason of want. Not romance or any other interior motive, he just felt like doing it, especially since the memory of his uncle's word flitted to his mind, and he did. He's oddly satisfied now, and it's as if the discomfort emanating from him earlier due to that unsavory flashback is gone completely in lieu of a calm relaxation.

"Do you want me to leave now, Ira?"

[ Ira Defaire ]