contains swearing (because it's me) and smoking. text in complete bold is spoken in Italian.
started: 20/10/2023
the Noise knew that Peppino would be on the next floor, but he didn't expect the Italian to stop by him for longer than a second. and at first, he hadn't - Peppino had spotted Noise, turned his nose up, scampered off when he'd received a scathing glare, and disappeared through the pipe. the crashing sounds gave Noise a momentary joy, before the general ambience of the sewers resumed their gross drips and disgusting sloshes.
so it's surprising, and a little vexing, when not five minutes later, Peppino pops up in front of him again, looking as annoyed and deflated as he feels.
the Noise doesn't grace Peppino with a greeting; he doesn't even acknowledge Peppino's arrival. he keeps his focus on his smoke, eyes remaining closed and arms staying crossed, head tilted back so the acrid toxin flutters away. not until a shadow encompasses Noise does he lazily tip his chin down and crack an eye open, to see if the same scalding glare from before will make him run off again.
it doesn't.
he almost bites the cig in half with irritation, barely keeping his teeth from going sharp as he huffs dramatically. all Peppino does is stand there. looking at him. he seems tired. so this is what we're doing then, the Noise thinks, as he straightens up the tiniest bit, plucking the cig from his mouth to flick the ash away. he blows a plume at Peppino, who grits his teeth in annoyance, lazily batting at it, but the action doesn't make him lunge at the Noise like he'd expected, which is weird.
'what ya want, Italian? you're cutting in on my me time.' he sticks the cig back in his mouth and cocks a brow. 'yer look like shit.' he unhelpfully tacks on.
'taking a break.' Peppino shrugs, which. okay. he hadn't expected an answer, especially one so straight forward. 'you got an extra smoke?' the ire is gone now, replaced for genuine confusion. both of the Noise's brows reach his hairline, and the strangeness of them having an actual conversation for longer than two seconds without one or the other being a jackass gets him to properly stand against the wall.
'huh. I thought you quit?' he replies, slowly, giving Peppino his full attention. Peppino gives another shrug as Noise pats at his pockets. he'd expected Peppino to be itching for a fight - for them to be on the floor in a tussle because someone (usually him) had said the wrong thing, and Peppino had needed an excuse to get all in his grill. not. this, whatever this even is. them, talking, as if they could stand each other? like they were civilised people? and Peppino, asking Noise for a smoke? he can remember the last time this happened, which was years ago, when he wasn't best known as the Noise, and Peppino wasn't serious about pizza.
he finds his pack and retrieves a fresh cig, and he can't help but notice how eagerly Peppino steps forward for it. Noise swaps out the pack for his lighter as Peppino takes it, his face scrunching up with disgust at the offer. Noise clicks the lid of the lighter open, Peppino tilting the stick this and that-a-way for his full revolted inspection.
'you still smoke this shit?' the Noise presses his thumb down on the wheel. it fails to light.
'they were out of the usual.' he isn't looking at Peppino, focused on the lighter, his lingering annoyance regrowing. more unsuccessful clicking.
'then why didn't you steal the good ones?' Peppino is a head taller than Noise, something he's always resented. he knows Peppino is standing over him, but continues to pay the Italian no mind. the lighter refuses to produce a flame no matter how hard he presses on the wheel.
'why don't you steal 'em if you like 'em so much?' Noise puffs, much like an angry dragon. 'why do yer even wanna smoke? you already kicked my ass - which you didn't by the way, we were totally even - so why the hell are you-'
he's cut short when Peppinos face suddenly becomes level with his, pushing into his personal space. the Noise's eyes snap up, from the stupid lighter, to the stupid, half lidded expression of Peppino, who isn't even looking at him, his focus on the end of his cig. one of Peppinos arms is braced on the wall, directly over the Noise's head so he can lean down, his other hand keeping the cig steady between his lips. without much warning, he gently pushes the butt of his dead cig into Noise's half burnt one, breathing in deep breaths as it slowly begins to ignite.
and the whole thing makes the Noise stop dead in his everything. his futile attempts of creating a flame, his thoughts, his feelings, his heart, because Peppino is so close, not because they're fighting, but because he's trying to catch a light, something he's never, ever done before. he's so close to me, the Noise's frazzled brain echoes. he can practically feel the heat radiating off of Peppino, can smell pizza grease and sweat, and it's so gross, but he's so close.
what the fuck is he doing?
Peppino mutters something in Italian that's completely lost to Noise. he's not sure if he's still breathing. if he even dares to. from under his lashes, Peppino glances up at him, and it saps what little air is left in Noise's lungs. his eyes are brown, his brain half screams now. they're brown and shiny and warm. it's a miracle how nothing has fallen from his grip. he shamelessly watches Peppino, confused and startled, wondering when the punch-line is gonna hit in the form of a sucker punch, and Peppino watches him back, like he knows damn well what he's doing to him.
finally, after what feels like a millennia, the end of Peppinos cig turns a faint amber, and without breaking eye contact, he inhales a deep pull. like someone cool and sexy, he sighs the smoke from his nose, not moving an inch, eyes locked on Noise.
and it's ridiculous, because it's Peppino, and Peppino isn't someone cool and sexy, he's someone fat and sweaty. he's just some loser guy who's always stressed, who acts before he thinks, who rams his head into walls at mach 5 with no hesitation, then walks it off like he didn't smash clean through concrete; someone with no money, someone who doesn't wear oven gloves when he bakes, someone who tries to kill him when he cracks wise, because Peppino never finds the Noise funny, which means he's a big sucks, and not someone cool or sexy. like him. he's cool and sexy. Peppino wishes he were him.
but he can't tear his eyes away, and he can't will the heat to leave his cheeks, and he can't stop the thunderous pound of his heart, because Peppino still hasn't moved away. he keeps gazing at him, leaned in close; so close that Noise can faintly feel his warm breath fog against his neck. not even the smoke from his freshly lit cig blinds Noise from those deep brown pools.
the Noise realises too late that he's trapped between a hard place and an Italian, Peppinos arm remaining steady against the wall, his left side blocked. he could duck to his right to escape, but he's frozen solid, legs glued to the spot. Peppino could do anything he wanted in his moment of vulnerability - hit him, stab him, rip a chunk out of his neck with his teeth. just all kinds of awful shit. Peppino hates him - you never know what someone might try and do if their hatred for a guy is as high as Peppinos is for Noise.
what the fuck has Peppino done to me?
just like that, though, Peppino exhales another sigh, and straightens up. he cracks his back and removes his arm from over Noise's head, taking a step away. he plucks the cig free, blowing a cloud from the corner of his mouth, then drops it and crushes the cigarette under foot.
'still tastes like shit.' he murmurs. Noise doesn't respond. can't respond even if he'd wanted to. 'thanks, friend.' Peppino doesn't wait for Noise to get unstuck from his shock. not even the crashes of Peppino tumbling down the pipe bring Noise back to clarity.
it's not until much later, when Peppino is half way through the final floor, that he gasps, like he's resurfacing out of water for the first time in ages. his face is on fire, heart hammering a tattoo against his ribcage, eyes dry from glaring straight ahead for so long, yet all he can think about are those big brown eyes gazing up at him from under long lashes. his eyes are brown. why have I never noticed that before?
'what the fuck?' he squeaks into empty air. his only answer is the continuous rush of water from somewhere far away.