The ceiling was wrong.

The cracks and unsanded spots from quick fix-it spackle jobs were absent. Smooth, white plaster ceiling stared back at him. The images he'd grown fond of staring at as he drifted off each night were simply gone. The walls were the wrong color too. Before he'd even opened his eyes, Illuso knew something was off. The bed was too soft and the room felt too warm. There was a faint floral smell about the sheets that left him more confused than ever.

He sat up and pain erupted through his head, even his muscles felt sore. He blinked and winced, the room was too bright. Where the fuck—? What—? Something moved against his leg and he turned to see a woman's leg over his. She had gorgeous chestnut hair and was tangled in the sheets, but it was not the sight of the foreign woman in bed with him that left him feeling nauseous. Next to her lay Formaggio with a pink-haired woman sleeping on his chest.

Disparate images flashed through his mind.

Skin on his. Hands gliding over curves with just enough give to make him crave more. Heat from another close behind. Mellifluous words from a voice at his ear, egging him on as the brunette spreads herself before him. A hard grip on his face and then a mouth on his. But it's too rough. Too chapped to be those of the women surrounding him.

His eyes fell on the chest of his best friend. It rose and fell, keeping time as it passed. The seconds before Illuso would have to process and grapple with what had occurred last night. What it would mean, for both himself and Formaggio. The light gleamed through the black lace curtains and played upon the lashes of his friend and highlighted the pink mess of hair at his neck in a halo of light. Here, at this juncture, things existed peacefully, in a moment untouched by things to come. A moment that perhaps if Illuso weren't so hungover, he might find beauty in.

He kicked off the covers and stood up looking around the room. Clothes lay splayed across the floor but he was having a hard time finding his. After some searching, he did manage to discover his pants on the other side of the bed. His shirt was a more difficult find, a search which ended in the living room where he found a bra and Formaggio's vest also scattered about. He grabbed the bundle and headed past the bed and into the master bath. Upon walking in, he had already made his first mistake.

He looked at the mirror.

His neck and chest were littered with bruises. Must have been rough, but Illuso still couldn't remember most of it. Yet his body certainly recalled everything. The ache in his muscles indicated that last night had indeed been wild. He gazed back into his own face. He looked tired, eyes redder than usual, and watery.

Ugly bastard.

Why had he looked? He'd gotten so good at avoiding it. Perfected the art of looking through himself to get ready in the mornings. To see without seeing. It was something Formaggio had suggested at one point early on in his recovery process.

"Sometimes… I don't know. I just... lose myself in there." Illuso had stared at the glass before him. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Then don't look, bro," Formaggio smiled half-heartedly.

"But I need it." He hoped Formaggio would think he meant his stand.

"Then look through it." Formaggio placed his open palm parallel to his nose and then extended his arm towards the mirror. "It's a means to an end, man. Nothing more."

So that's what he did. It worked for a time. He got better. He didn't see himself anymore, especially if he just focused on a spot on the center of his face, everything else just vanished after a while. His mood steadily improved and he was back to snooping and sharing his latest finds with Formaggio or Melone. It wasn't until the stress really hit him that he had relapses.

Like Gelato.

Illuso had sat at the edge of the bed and stared at his reflection for hours afterward. That night made him remember just how fragile he really was. Illuso was weak and he'd always known it. If someone as strong as Gelato could break, how long before Illuso would be as shattered as the mirror Gelato smashed that night?

And then Fugo.

Fucking Fugo. Illuso sighed.

He still wasn't sure what Fugo knew. Maybe he'd just thought Illuso was drunk. They had all been drinking. He didn't want it getting back to Formaggio or Pesci that he was relapsing. Twice in a week. He had a handle on it though. He had the urge right now staring at the mirror, but he knew there would be nothing to purge and he didn't really want to fuck up his throat anymore than he already had.

He looked down at his right hand to find old callouses from the habit. Another ugly mark upon him in his search for perfection. It seemed the farther he went, the more he marred himself. He gazed at the scar on his left side. He ran a finger over it and was suddenly overcome by emotion.

He never meant to hurt her. He just wanted it to stop. All of it. The pressure was just too much. More insults and criticisms as they both stared at his body in the mirror. How it was all his fault that his girlfriend, Della, left. He had really loved her, or at least he thought he had, but Illuso just wasn't good enough. No matter how hard he tried. His mother continued to point out the things that needed changing, the things that made him inferior.

Finally, he'd snapped. He had smashed the mirror, grabbed a shard, and slit her throat but not without a struggle. A struggle that led to glass piercing his side, yet being larger than her, he quickly turned the fight around. He looked into his mother's ruby eyes as life ebbed away. He'd never seen someone die before, nor had anyone close to him ever passed. His grandparents were already long dead. Her body slumped against his as he caught her.

His first kill. The only person that had always stood by his side, the one who was always there for him. Even though she silenced his voice more often than not, she was still the most constant thing about his evanescent lifestyle.

He fled the party house as quickly as he could and never looked back. He left it all in an instant. He still remembered the burning of his chest and the cold in his lungs as he ran through the frigid winter—blood staining the earth beneath him with each step. He knew some of the guys that were the main suppliers of his opulent inner circle; they took business seriously and were always packing. He begged them for protection, but everything comes with a price. Being a model, he should have expected it, but as he had no other options, he reluctantly yielded.

With payment received, he was delivered out of central Italy and down to their contacts in Napoli. Passione owned him now. No one else wanted him. No one else cared. He had let his hair grow out in order to be less recognizable. He tried to blend. Those who could identify him quickly learned not to vocalize it out of fear.

Threats and violence became a staple to Illuso as a means of self-preservation. His ruthlessness and covert behavior working with Formaggio and Cookie earned him recognition from on high. Risotto, himself, approached him with an offer. Illuso didn't have much else to lose and he was tired of paying for housing with his body. So he accepted and was put through the Ordeal by Arrow.

He'd lived, and gained his stand—Man in the Mirror—one that was most befitting. It seemed like a cosmic joke somehow. A sarcastic "fuck you" from fate. Now, Illuso needed the mirror more than ever before.

Illuso stared at the mirror before him and wanted to smash it.

But what was the point? There were a million other reflective surfaces to greet him every day. He couldn't continue to hide from it, so instead, he took to hiding within it.

Illuso raised his hand toward the glass when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You're up early, I thought you'd be the last one alive today. You were pretty fucked up last night," the brunette girl chuckled as she strode in completely naked. She approached him and pressed her bare skin against his. "Been a while since I came that many times in one go. You and your friend are really good, y'know that?" She crooned and smiled playfully. "What do you say we go again before they get up?"

There was something in her eyes that reminded him of the women who preyed on him back in his modeling days when he was simply a means to an end. This woman had no interest in him at all past his body, a body that he hated. A hatred that burned inside his heart and turned him into the monster he'd become. The bloodlust churned inside him and before he could consider it, his hand gripped her throat.

He proceeded to touch the mirror and it dissolved around him as he pulled her inside.

Melone walked into the common area and found Glacé sitting on the couch. He was typing away on the laptop, researching as he always had. Ghiaccio sat next to him with one arm around the back of the couch while staring at a book in his other hand. Glacé was leaning against Ghiaccio as his little legs swung back and forth over the edge of the couch. Melone couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Glacé?"

"Mommy!" Glacé looked up at him and smiled.

"Melone, bout time you finally got your ass out of bed," Ghiaccio smirked. Melone didn't know what to say in response.

"How are you here?" Melone finally asked.

Ghiaccio chuckled, "I fucking live here."

"No. Glacé."

Ghiaccio turned to look down at the little homunculus who looked back up at him, then turned back to Melone. "You made him?"

"But he died."

"I'm right here, Mommy," Glacé chirped.

"The fuck are you talking about, Mel? How much did you drink last night?" Ghiaccio asked jokingly, but his face faltered as he saw the look on Melone's face. "Hey, are you okay? Come here." He slid away from Glacé so there was space between them and patted the spot. Melone walked over to them and sat down. Ghiaccio wrapped his arm around his shoulders and pulled his head close to kiss his head. "You feeling okay?"

"Are you getting sick?" Glacé grabbed Melone's arm and pulled it around his tiny body. Melone knew this felt right and everything seemed fine. He didn't understand what was going on but everything was as it should be. Ghiaccio stroked his hair and smiled at him while Glacé hugged him.

"I don't know. I think I just had a bad dream. It felt so real."

"Musta been bad, you looked pretty pale when you walked in." Ghiaccio squeezed him once and Melone rested his head on his shoulder, nodding. Tears fell down his face as relief and happiness flooded through him. He was with the people that mattered most, the ones he loved, and Melone felt at peace.

"Hey, Mel. Melone?"

Melone woke up to Ghiaccio shaking him and staring at him. He looked concerned and Melone was too disoriented to understand why. He sat up and turned his head to look around the room but he didn't see the little homunculus. "Where's Glacé?"

Ghiaccio placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "He's not here. He's gone, remember?" He looked at Ghiaccio who looked back at him pityingly.

"But he was here with you. You were both sitting together and he was laying on you."

"It was just a dream, Mel," Ghiaccio whispered and tucked Melone's hair behind his ear. He kissed his wet cheek and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

Melone closed his eyes and nodded. He wrapped his arms around his knees as Ghiaccio pulled him into a hug. He sat like that in Ghiaccio's embrace for several minutes replaying the little voice in his head again.

Ghiaccio kissed the top of his head and spoke. "Maybe you should talk to the Doc today."

"She won't talk to me anymore," he whispered.

"What? Why?!" Ghiaccio spat as he sat up.

"She said she needed to postpone for a while. For personal reasons." Melone shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well that's—eugh," Ghiaccio sighed in frustration. "Come here." Ghiaccio laid back down, pulling Melone onto his chest and holding him there. "We still need to have this conversation, and now is as good a time as any."

"About Glacé?"

"Yeah. Do you get why I was angry about it?"

"Because I didn't tell you?" Melone guessed.

"Because you didn't ask. You used my DNA for an experiment without getting my consent first. I know that freaked everyone else out too just knowing that you had access to everyone's DNA. We don't know what the fuck you're going to do with it and that's an unsettling thought."

"Yeah, Formaggio made me give him his sample back."

"I don't blame him, I'd like mine back too," Ghiaccio said. Melone sighed. He figured that was coming.

"I just wanted to see what all I could do with my stand after discussing it with Isabella. So I thought I would test it out. You were the most compatible with me…" Melone trailed off and Ghiaccio pet his hair as he sighed.

"Okay, and that all makes sense, but you gotta ask me first before you just do it. I mean you had no idea of the consequences. You coulda killed yourself by being the mother. It was fucking stupid and dangerous without letting someone know what you were doing. What if it went south and it started absorbing you? If I had been there, I could have killed it before it hurt you."

"I hadn't thought about that…" Melone said quietly. It only occurred to him once Glacé had attached himself.

"I know you didn't. That's the issue. You're too fascinated by what could be done, you don't think about the practicality of it."

"I guess that's why I have you."

"Yeah, well... just tell me next time."

"I didn't think you would listen to me."

"That's the other big issue, Melone. We gotta trust each other. You just assume I'm going to respond badly to things instead of trusting that I'll hear you out first." He turned his head to look at Melone. Guilt swelled inside his stomach at that statement. It felt like an accusation but there was no way Ghiaccio could have known about Mela. He didn't think Fugo would say anything either. "I certainly may not agree with something you're thinking or doing, but I'm not gonna shut you down until you've said your piece. Have I ever stopped you from telling me something?"

He thought about it. No matter what crazy thing he said, whether jokingly or otherwise, Ghiaccio had never stopped him mid-thought, never shut him down before he was done speaking. He certainly would offer a scathing opinion or two afterward but never before he'd gotten the thought out.

"No."

"Exactly. If you had a reason to do something like that, I would have heard you out first. Then I would have said if you could or not. It's my DNA and I should have a say about how it's used."

"You're right. I should have thought about that first." Melone said quietly. Ghiaccio squeezed him once.

"Yeah, so how about this? Next time if you're not sure about something and even think the words: 'is this gonna make Ghiaccio mad?' come and ask me about it first." He looked up to see Ghiaccio smirking at him. He smiled back shyly.

"Okay, Ghiaccio." Melone closed his eyes and tried to relax as Ghiaccio's fingers combed through his hair but he continued to think about Mela. He knew he should trust Ghiaccio like he said, but this wasn't a matter of whether Ghiaccio would be angry. He would be disgusted.

"You sick fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?" He could practically hear the words from Ghiaccio screaming in his ear. "You're so broken your therapist won't even go near you! Why else do you think she wore the fucking boots last time? She's got the right idea." Melone squeezed Ghiaccio tight against him; he couldn't stand the idea of Ghiaccio leaving now.

"So, are we good?" Ghiaccio asked.

"We're fine," Melone replied glumly. Ghiaccio grunted in response. He didn't sound convinced. What did it really matter if Ghiaccio didn't know? Melone hadn't seen Mela in eight years anyway. She had fucked off as soon as she got to college and never looked back.

Melone had gone to Cambridge for computer science and had only been there a year before boasting his hacking skills to his fellow peers by uncovering MI6 secrets. He quickly fled England after that and sought protection from Passione back in Italy. He'd been nineteen then. Now at twenty-three, he'd been reflecting a lot more on his life than he ever had before.

All because of Ghiaccio. He made Melone reconsider everything. He wanted to change, to get better. He wanted to talk to Dr. Florence about Mela. He was finally ready and she wouldn't talk to him. He sighed.

"Uh, Melone?… so I was thinking of going to the rink today with Fugo." Ghiaccio began. "You... wanna come with me?"

"You want me to come ice skating with you?" Melone asked and sat up.

"Well, yeah. You seem really out of it and I find it helps clear my head." Ghiaccio reasoned. "Maybe it'll help you."

"But I don't know how to skate." Melone shrugged.

"You're looking at the best skater there is," Ghiaccio bragged. "I'll show you how it's done. 'Sides it'll be funny watching you fall on your skinny ass."

Melone pouted and straddled Ghiaccio. "But that'll mean my ass will be bruised and then you can't touch it." He took one of Ghiaccio's hands and slid it over his hip as he leaned his face in close. "Are you really gonna let me fall and hurt myself, Ghia?" His lips brushed against Ghiaccio's as he asked the question.

"I'm not gonna let you fall," Ghiaccio whispered back, placing a hand on his cheek and kissed him slowly.