Chapter Text
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The next few days went by without incident, yet buried beneath such a calm exterior was something uncomfortable, specifically, Bucciarati’s behavior. Ever since the death at Libeccio, he’d been acting off, to put it mildly. He was easier to upset, his temper growing shorter each day, and he talked less. Abbacchio felt his own growing perturbation at seeing him so bothered. He hadn’t realized just how much Bucciarati cared for that man.
He supposed a great deal of Bucciarati’s disquiet stemmed from the unknown killer.
“This is who we’re looking for, we need to find him, alive. However, this stays between us as a team. Be cautious with who you question as to his whereabouts.” The two of them went back to Libeccio the day after Mr. Stanco’s death. They once again replayed the murder but Bucciarati had brought a camera, taking a clear photograph of the man’s face and bringing it back to their base, showing it to the rest of the group, “Also, this is not an order. None of you have to go looking for him if you don’t want to.”
They all perked up at that, giving him quizzical gazes as they waited for an explanation.
“Hmm? Why is this an optional mission?” Giorno asked, leaning forward in his seat and clasping his hands together, scrutinizing the photograph further.
Bucciarati sighed, the sound exasperated and weary as he struck them with a grave expression, eyes hard, “I need you all to understand something. This man, I suspect he might be a part of Passione, and if he is, pursuing him could lead to a major conflict among the organization. We were not ordered to pursue him; and while I don’t recognize him, that doesn’t mean he’s someone we can just dispose of. The fact he was in our area means that, if he is part of Passione, he likely works under Polpo like us. We cannot risk getting on Polpo’s bad side by acting recklessly and putting strain on our relationships with other groups here in Naples. This is also why I’m not ordering any of you to complete this mission. This could be seen as a traitorous act, to go after one of our own when the organization likely sees nothing wrong with this man’s actions!” He slammed his finger down on the photo, tapping the picture for emphasis, “They couldn’t care less about some nugatory shop owner being killed, but if one of their own member’s died, that’s a more serious matter, and if it’s revealed that one of their own was killed by another member from the organization, things will go sour, and we will be marked as traitors.”
The room grew deathly still, the gravity of the situation sinking through as they all came to a similar realization.
“Bucciarati, with all due respect…” Fugo swallowed, glancing up at him, face tinted with sweat and eyes spooned, “this… this is a really bad idea. You are fully aware of how dangerous this is. Don’t you think… we should just drop it? I think I speak for us all when I say I’d be willing to look further into this man, but if it turns out he is part of Passione…” his voice became a near whisper at the end, “the risk, it’s simply too high, it’s not worth it. We should just forget he ever existed.”
Abbacchio looked at Bucciarati then, trying to comprehend what was going through his head. What he was met with in his posture and eyes was a strength he’d seen before. Resolve.
“Exactly, that’s exactly why I’m not ordering any of you to do this. None of you should feel obliged to, this is simply something I-“
“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?!” Fugo jumped from his seat, voice booming across the small room. Everyone tensed, “What exactly are you planning? What do you plan to do when you catch this man? Why do you want him alive? What you’re saying, it’s absurd! It’s ridiculous! I never thought you’d let your emotions get the better of you like this, what the hell are you thinking?” Fugo was panting now, breath wavering as he held his shaking fists by his sides, eyes alight with desperation.
As much as Abbacchio wanted to snap at Fugo to settle down, he too had doubts. Where exactly was Bucciarati going with this whole scheme? He understood his need to want closure, but the consequences it could bring upon them were too much.
“I know…”
Everyone turned towards Bucciarati again, “I know what it is that I’m asking, Fugo. You need to understand, this is something that I believe needs to be dealt with. I think that this is the right decision. We know that this man is a stand user, we can’t get the police involved, and so, we’re the only ones who can pursue this man. This is what I must do, with or without your help. I cannot let this man get away without punishment, I simply can’t allow it.” Fugo continued to shake, unsatisfied with that answer. Bucciarati looked at the young man, stepping closer and putting a hand on his shoulder, “Fugo… you’ll understand some day, you’ll need to make a decision where there’ll be no correct answer, and you’ll have to pursue what you know in your heart to be the right path,” Fugo ground his teeth, pushing back Bucciarati and hurrying off to his room.
Abbacchio breathed in heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. Things weren’t going well. He heard Fugo’s door slam, a disruptive crash that was quickly followed by an uneasy hush as everyone remained still. It was several moments later that Mista finally spoke, “I’ll investigate him, Bucciarati.” His comment was followed by murmurs of agreement from everyone else, “He can’t get away with murder that easily, not if I can stop it.”
Bucciarati visibly relaxed, “Thank you, Mista.”
Fugo, for as angry as he could get, was one of the least emotional of them all in regards to his decision making. He was logical, meticulous, and pragmatic. He wouldn’t let feelings dictate his choices, and this was no exception. Even if Fugo chose to remain uninvolved in this search, amends needed to be made. Team work was absolutely essential to maintaining a functional group; they couldn’t afford to have major tension between people. Abbacchio made his way towards Fugo’s room.
At times like these he remembered what Bucciarati had told him once, when their team was first coalescing. He was the first member to join Bucciarati’s crew, followed by Fugo, Narancia, Mista, and Giorno. When Fugo had first joined, he’d been initially volatile and uncooperative. It had taken some reassurance from Bucciarati to finally get Fugo to ease up a bit, and it was late one night, when he and Bucciarati were alone at Libeccio discussing the expansion of their group, that Bucciarati asked what he thought of Fugo.
“The kid is smart, his stand is deadly, and you’ve gained his trust, he’s a good addition to the team,” was all Abbacchio said.
“Yes, but what do you think of him?”
“I just told you, he’s a good addition to the team, and he’s proven himself again and again. Now, I’m not sure how many people we want to hav-“
“That’s not what I meant, Abbacchio.”
Abbacchio folded his arms, looking at Bucciarati in question and waiting for him to clarify, “What I mean is, what do you think of his personality, of Fugo himself?”
He hummed softly at the question, growing pensive as he weighed his interactions with the boy. He’d only known him for a couple of weeks, not having yet formed a particularly intense opinion of him one way or another. They got along well enough, but their conversations had been relatively simple and mundane so far. Before he could voice his feelings, Bucciarati spoke.
“He looks up to you.”
That wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear. Bucciarati continued, “You may not realize it, but he trusts you greatly.”
The tone of his voice sounded like he was about to add more, but his speech cut off abruptly. Bucciarati leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on the table as he remained silent, mulling something over before fixing Abbacchio was a severe look, “That kid, he needs a strong parental role model in his life. He’s only fourteen. He needs someone like you and me to guide him. I know this is a large responsibility to place upon you, and I’m sure you won’t be ready to have your own kids for a very long time, or you might never want to have kids at all, but I greatly encourage you to help and support him.”
He easily forgot just how young Bucciarati was at times like these, how someone of eighteen ended up where he was, a leader of his own group, the favor of a whole city and capo on his side, someone akin to a parent, it wasn’t anything short of incredible, and he found himself in awe all the more for it.
“Look after him, Abbacchio, he needs you more than you know.”
It was some time later that Narancia was added to their team, and Bucciarati had once again reminded Abbacchio of his position of authority in the team, as their senior, as the second in command.
Despite Bucciarati’s encouragement, he remained somewhat closed off and distant from the rest of his group. He was gruff, harsh, judgmental, and fully aware of his behavior but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Generally, Bucciarati could deal with whatever upset was going on with their younger members. Now, however, Bucciarati couldn’t resolve this issue because he was the source of Fugo’s anger, meaning that the situation was left up to Abbacchio, which led to where he was now, knuckles resting against the frame of Fugo’s door, trying to picture how this scenario would pan out. He’d first ask Fugo to open the door. If he didn’t open the door, he could either leave or break it down, and he wouldn’t break it down, so he’d leave. He could then either just forget about the whole thing and let Fugo sulk in private, or get Bucciarati to try talking to Fugo but Fugo clearly didn’t want to be around him. So, if Fugo refused to open the door, nothing would happen. If Fugo did open the door, well, he couldn’t really fathom what would happen then. Fugo would either be relatively calm or, if he’d snapped, totally hostile. If Fugo was aggressive, he sure as hell wasn’t sticking around to see that. If Fugo was feeling a bit better, he could try to explain-
His mental gymnastics were cut short when he heard an annoyed growl come from inside the room, “I know you’re there, Bucciarati, just leave me alone.”
“Actually, it’s me, kid,” Abbacchio replied. He waited a few moments before the door cracked open, “What do you want?”
“I just want to talk to you, let me in,” he tried to phrase it as a question but his words came out as a demand. He internally cringed, thinking he’d just ruined his chance before the door opened wider. Fugo looked terrible, slouched and sullen, he scowled at Abbacchio but stepped to the side, allowing him to enter.
It was dark, all the lights were off and the curtains drawn, leaving only meager slivers of sun to filter through between the cracks of the blinds. He turned on the light, gesturing for Fugo to sit down on the bed before moving to his chair and taking a seat. His desk was covered in books and papers, texts about law, biology, math… he wasn’t entirely sure what Fugo did in his free time, but he couldn’t think of a more fitting image than the boy reading text books for fun. He pushed those thoughts away to better concentrate on Fugo, “Listen, I get that you’re upset, I understand why you’re frustrated. Believe me, I’m not happy about the situation either, but Bucciarati-“
“NO, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” Fugo exploded, leaping to his feet, “You clearly don’t, otherwise you would’ve said something and spoken up, all of you would have, but you didn’t, and now we’re going to get ourselves in trouble because Bucciarati decided that he should prioritize revenge over our own safety!”
“Wait, hold on, that’s not true-“
“Oh, it’s not? Then please, humor me, go on, explain how Bucciarati’s plan is in any way sane! Explain how his plan is in any way helpful to us! You agree with me, that this plan is stupid, and yet you decided to side with him, as you always do-“
“Fugo, calm down!”
“-AS YOU ALWAYS DO! You always do whatever he says, always, always, always! Ever stopped to think that maybe he isn’t always right? He’s got flaws, believe it or not, Abbacchio, and this is the prime example of that grating flaw of his, he’s too emotional! He’s too compassionate and loving and instead of keeping his damn head down he’s got to play the hero and try to fix every issue which he thinks is unjust and you can’t just do that! Not in this world, you just can’t do things like that!”
“Are you saying that Bucciarati isn’t fit to be a leader?”
“That’s not…” Fugo’s jaw snapped shut, scratching at his neck as he collapsed onto his bed, staring at the window, “That’s not what I meant, just… I meant…”
Abbacchio sighed, standing up and approaching the younger man, moving slowly enough that Fugo could back away if he was an unwanted presence. Fugo didn't move else where, allowing Abbacchio to tentatively sit perched on the edge of his bed next to him.
“I don’t want to help him with this.”
“Then don’t. Bucciarati didn’t make this an order for a reason.”
Fugo groaned, scratching harder at the front of his neck, something Abbacchio had figured was a nervous tick of his, “I just… I just don’t get it. I don’t understand.”
“Yeah I don’t completely do either. I’m surprised just how worked up Bucciarati is about this whole thing. I didn’t realize just how close he was with the owner, but he’s doing what he thinks is right, and I trust in him.”
“Even if his choices could potentially harm you?”
“Yes, even if his choices could potentially harm me.”
“That doesn’t-“ Fugo sharply sucked in air, head lolling back, nose scrunched in a pained look before groaning, again, as he leaned back on his hands. As if he found the floor to be something fascinating, Abbacchio caught himself transfixed on a scrap of paper that was torn from the spine of a note book laying next to the leg of Fugo's desk, isolated and discarded, while trying to come up with what to say. He wouldn't consider his relationship with Fugo to be anything other than a casually professional one, and he found his lack of knowledge about the boy to now be of issue. He was sure that Narancia could say something that would get through to Fugo, as the two were close, but he came up short.
“Do you love him?”
Abbacchio felt his eyes grow wide at that comment, train of thought halting as he was utterly taken aback, lips parting in shock, “Uh, I’m not…”
“I don’t mean romantically, just in general, do you love him?”
He furrowed his brows at that. It all depended, really, on what you defined as love. If love was considered to be a deep affection and trust one had towards another, then yes, he did love Bucciarati, but love was something more than that. It was something he couldn’t quite put into words, a feeling that didn’t neatly fit into its own clean package. You knew it when you felt it, but what was it exactly? He knew one thing for certain though, when thinking about Bucciarati, he wished to remain by his side for the rest of his life, he wanted to be the one that Bucciarati turned towards to confide in, he experienced a tightness of his chest when thinking about him dying, and he realized he’d give up everything he had, everything, for Bucciarati, and with all of this, he knew, he loved him.
“Yeah, I guess… I guess I do.”
Fugo smiled at that before a comfortable silence engulfed them both. Abbacchio was quite pleased, he hadn’t expected such a discussion to go over as well as it did, he was usually terrible at offering comfort.
As he turned to leave Fugo called out to him, “Abbacchio.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
He nodded, the corners of his mouth quirking up, “Sure, kid.”
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Partaking in a romantic relationship was something he’d never cared much for. His mother had frequently questioned him on this as he got older, asking along the lines of, “Any girls catch your eye yet, Leone?” or, “Has anyone asked you out to the dance? I heard prom is next week.” Of course, no one asked him out, nor did he go out seeking anyone. He never felt the urge to do so, despite his teenage years, and he took no personal offence to the disinterest others shown towards him. He expected it to remain as such.
Which is why it was surprising when a girl did approach him, handing him an envelope after class and looking up at him from under full lashes before quickly scuttling away. She was a pretty thing, feminine with a delicate frame, thick black hair and even darker eyes, inky pools that made it impossible to discern where the iris ended and the pupil began. The envelope contained a cute letter, expressing in looping cursive how she had a crush on him for a while and that she’d like to go out on a date. Her name was Capriana.
His mother was overjoyed when he told her about Capriana. She doted over him for the next several days, telling him about the best restaurants in town for their date, shopping with him for a quality suit, “To make the best possible impression,” she had said, and even showing him how to properly act, “Act like a gentleman, hold open the door for her, offer to carry her purse, pay for her meal. Treat her like a lady!” As much as he appreciated his mother’s advice, it felt overdone. Her values tended to be old fashioned. Why was he the one required to pay the bill? Was it so taboo to split it? Did he have to carry her belongings? Capriana was perfectly capable of doing so herself, if anything, it seemed insulting to ask if he could carry her stuff for her, she wasn’t a frail elder. In spite of his disagreement, he kept his mouth shut and nodded along to all of his mother’s teachings. She was only trying to help.
They didn’t go to any of the locations his mother recommended. It was temperate the day he met Capriana at the park, and they agreed to go to a quant ice cream shop on the beach, “I heard they just opened, I want to try it out,” she said. He didn’t offer to take her bag.
It wasn’t awkward like he’d been anticipating. She spoke of a variety of engaging topics, and he found himself listening and reciprocating her enthusiasm. She had been good company the whole time, frequently (and not so subtly) squeezing in flirty and charming comments among their casual conversation. Things were going smoothly, and as she slid a pale palm across his thigh, she requested that they continue their date as his place. As unfamiliar as he was with romance, he wasn’t dense. He understood her implications.
Capriana asked if anyone else was home. When he said they were the only ones there, she immediately pulled him in for a kiss, her lips were dry but warm, and tasted of something akin to the tacky cherry flavor put in Chap Stick. She played with the button on his collar with her thin fingers, head tilted away coyly once they had broken from each other’s embrace, “You know, that was my first kiss…”
It had been his first too.
Things escalated from there. She kissed him once again, passionately, tugging on his sleeve as she tried to guess which room his bedroom was. The thought of losing his virginity was appetizing, and to a beautiful girl made it all the more desirable. He led her towards the right room, her fleeting touches caressing his back all the while.
Once the door was shut, he reached out and began to undo the frilly red ribbon that held her summer dress snug around her frame, untying the neat bow only for her to swat his hands away, a breathy laugh slipping past her teeth as she waggled her finger in front of his face teasingly, “No, no! You can’t touch yet, only watch.” She undid the rest of the garment herself, tantalizingly pulling the material off her flushed and rosy skin in a seductive display.
Once she had stripped herself of her frock, cast aside carelessly on the floor, he’d found himself utterly unmoved despite his previous eagerness. Her uncovered breasts were supple, soft and round in a way that was blissfully youthful. Her hips jutted out as she quirked her body to the side, hand resting loosely on the curve of her waist, eyebrows raised in a playful expression. She giggled, again, “What are you waiting for? Come over here, big guy!”
He didn’t move towards her, he froze instead, simply staring at her form as if entranced by such a scene, but it wasn’t interest that she must have mistook his look for, instead, he felt apprehension. He didn’t want to touch her. He didn’t want to be near her. The scent of her flowery perfume seemed repulsive, suddenly, and he briskly walked over towards her discarded dress, the fabric hung limply in his grasp as he shoved it against her chest, “I think you should leave.”
He never saw Capriana again after that. She had first pleaded, desperate and questioning as to where such unexpected words came from. Once he told her to leave again, she exploded, screaming at him with rage, stammering a string of expletives, all the while accusing him of not being able to ‘get it up’ before slamming the front door shut with a loud bang, the house quaking slightly at the force of her exit.
The reasons for him rejecting her was something only he could’ve known, and yet he didn’t. Why he didn’t, he never knew, and never bothered to know, and never cared to know.
“Where’s that Capriana girl you went out with? Are you two not dating?” He shook his head, his mother looked disappointed. “Why didn’t it work out? The letter she wrote to you was so darling, why didn’t it work out, Leone?”
He’d lose his virginity later, to a woman he’d met at a bar. As important of an event as it should’ve been, he remembered little of that night, the only potent memory being of holding that woman in his arms after they’d had sex. He looked down at her naked form resting against his chest, the serenity of her expression, the warmth her body radiated, chocolate hair framing her head like a crown, and he knew, this was something he’d wish to have. Someone to hold at night. Someone to wake up to in the morning.
He peeled himself from her limbs draped lazily across his body, slowly putting on his clothing which had been strewn about the space in odd places, knowing that he’d never see her again. It was when he glanced back at her on the bed, splayed out across the spot that he was laying on previously, that he felt a strange fear. Something about the girl before him appeared untouchable, even though, logically, he knew he could slip back into bed and hold her once again, and talk to her when she awoke, and invite her out to dinner, and maybe even have their relationship develop into something more. All of that was possible, but it wasn’t, not for him. He couldn’t bring himself to pursue such a thing, despite yearning for it. After the incident with Capriana, and now, with this nameless girl, he realized that he would never find love, not romantically. He couldn’t comprehend why he felt such a way, but he did none the less.
It hurt.
He carefully shut the door behind him, watching as the woman’s body faded from view before disappearing entirely behind a slab of wood. He didn’t know it at the time, but a part of him had died, left to rot in that hotel room.