Being a ghost is hard, dude. (La Squadra x reader)

Aftermath

Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, one thing you can taste.

The bodies of Tipolio, Ryan, Rocco, and the other man who Tipolio killed. Blood that paints the walls and the floors a deep crimson. Your hands, shaking and covered with blood. The comb knife that Formaggio gave you, stained with the blood of the men youd killed only moments before. The ghostly figure in front of you, its white garments unaffected by the grisly, bloody carnage around it.

The cold floor beneath your feet. The warm blood on your hands. The smooth fabric of your pants.

The sound of Formaggio moving behind you. Hes waking up. The sound of a clock ticking on the wall to your left. The sound of a phone going off.

The smell of tobacco and blood.

The taste of chalk. Your mouth is dry.

"...What the fuck?" Formaggio is awake. Formaggio is awake and you're surrounded by corpses. You don't face him.

"What the fuck is that, [y/n]? What the hell?" Formaggio sounds confused. The ghostly figure stares, its eyes blindfolded yet its gaze pierces through. It stares, and fades away. You're not sure if you should be relieved or hope it comes back.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your thoughts. Formaggio stares at you with his deep green eyes, his face the picture of concern.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I dont know." You finally speak. Your throat is dry and your voice is hoarse. You bring your hand to your face, brushing your hair back. It leaves a stripe of blood on you. Formaggio narrows his eyes slightly.

"You did all that?" He gestures behind him, at the men who lay dead on the ground.

"Yeah." It feels wrong to admit this. It feels wrong to say anything. You finally meet Formaggio's eyes. He's got a weird amused smirk on his face, like he approves.

"...Lets get the hell out of here, yeah?" He extends a hand, helping you up and leading you out to the car.
€——————>>
Once back to the car, Formaggio pops open the glovebox and passes you a crumpled up handful of napkins.

"Get that offa you. Ghiaccio'll flip if you get blood in his car." You graciously take the napkins, drying your hands, arms and face. The clothes Risotto gave you are wet with blood.

The drive is silent. You cant wrap your head around anything youve just done. Formaggio lights up a cigarette, filling the car with the acrid smell of it. Formaggio takes a long drag before offering it to you. On a whim, you take it.

You take the cigarette in your mouth and take a long, deep breath, only to immediately choke. The bitter feel makes your dry mouth feel gross, your lungs burn as you cough up smoke. Your eyes water as you try to get a full breath. Formaggio chuckles.

"You never smoked before?" His voice is light despite the circumstances. You shake your head, still unable to speak from the smoke in your lungs.You practically fling the cigarette back at Formaggio.

Spluttering and gasping, you finally get your breath back. "Is it always that disgusting?"

"Yeah. You get used to it." The cigarette hangs out of Formaggio's mouth as he speaks around it. You take a glance at him, staring for a moment before you turn back to stare out the window.

Cars zip past you. Moments had felt like years, yet its not even dark out. If you had to guess, youd say its around 3 or 4 in the afternoon. The radio fuzzes in and out, but the drive is relatively silent. Formaggio seems relaxed. To you, though nothing feels right. It doesnt feel real. The figure that spoke to you, whatever happened to Formaggio, none of that feels right. As you get lost in thought, you start to drift off to sleep. You hadnt processed how exhausted you were until now.