Work Text:
Usually, it’s Pesci who visits the main headquarters, rather than Buccellati who comes to the assassins’ place. The reasons are many, chief among them being that the headquarters is larger and affords more privacy.
Buccellati works long hours, whether or not Pesci is there. It’s past midnight and he shows no signs of even looking up from his paperwork. Pesci waits for him to be done, but it’s taking forever, and Buccellati’s yawns are convincing him he needs to take drastic action.
When Buccellati feels a sharp tug on his arm, he automatically turns to look. His jacket is now carefully hooked onto Beach Boy. No skin is broken, but the line nevertheless has a solid grip on him.
“It’s really late,” says Pesci. “You should be in bed by now.”
Buccellati raises an eyebrow. “I usually work this late.”
“It’s not good for you.” Pesci reels in the line a little, forcing Buccellati to get off his chair or knock it over.
“I could just take this off.” The line isn’t attached to him but the jacket, after all, and Pesci isn’t likely to actually stick him with his Stand again.
Pesci says nothing, only turns and heads out of the office. Despite his words, Buccellati doesn’t shed the jacket, and ends up being pulled along.
In the hallway to Buccellati’s bedroom, they pass Giorno, who only nods and gives them a knowing smile.
Some time after midnight, Risotto finds Prosciutto sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee, his gaze firmly locked on the front door.
“It’s late,” says Risotto. “You’re usually the one who reminds us to get enough sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when Pesci comes back.” Prosciutto doesn’t look at him.
Risotto takes a seat next to him. “You know he’s just spending the night at headquarters. This isn’t the first time, and he won’t come back any sooner even if you stay up all night.”
Prosciutto sighs. “I know that, of course I know that. But if something happens with Buccellati-”
“Nothing will happen. Prosciutto… everyone leaves the nest eventually. Pesci has grown enough to make his own decisions. Isn’t that what you wanted for him?” asks Risotto.
Prosciutto shuts his eyes. “Of all the people he had to decide on, it had to be Buccellati?”
“If he chose someone who was weaker than you,” says Risotto, “would you consider them to be worthy?”
Prosciutto doesn’t answer.
“Come to bed. If he does return before morning, someone will be sure to wake you.” Risotto gently takes the cup of coffee from Prosciutto’s hands.
“...It would be more healthy for me to get some rest tonight,” Prosciutto mumbles.
Risotto takes that as a small victory.
When Pesci emerges from the guest room, dressed in yesterday’s clothing, Buccellati is already awake and working on paperwork again.
“Good morning,” Pesci says, yawning. “I should really go back to my squad now…”
“They’ll be worried about you.” Buccellati looks up from his work. “Send them my regards.”
“I will.” Pesci hesitates before moving to leave.
“One last thing before you go, Pesci.” Buccellati beckons Pesci to come over to his desk. When Pesci obliges, Buccellati tugs him by the jacket into a quick kiss.