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The light streaming into the room alerts Mista that it’s morning. He groans in response and buries himself under his blankets. Finding that sleep refuses to take him, he shuffles out of bed. He stumbles to the bathroom, freshens up for this new day then shuffles back into his room. He plops onto his bed but sleep still refuses to accept him. Rolling off the bed, Mista stands to dress. He looks at himself in the mirror. One curly brown strand is hanging down onto his forehead. He pulls it back. It falls back to its place. He licks his palm and brushes the rebellious chunk of hair back to the top of his head. It obey and stays.
Looking at his handsome reflection, Mista grins lopsidedly, “Perfect!” He pulls a beanie over his head and leaves the bedroom in search for sustenance.
The gunslinger enters the kitchen to find Fugo finishing a cup of coffee and Narancia poking at a piece of fruit with his fork. Although the team is left to their own devices for breakfast, Bruno always sets out a breakfast for Narancia. It’s usually just fruit and a croissant, but he makes sure Narancia never has to worry about going hungry ever again.
“Buongiorno!” Mista says with a smile as he walks into the kitchen. The two at the table mumble, echoing the greeting back to him.
“What?” A voice calls out from the living room.
“Nothing Giorno, just saying morning.” Mista raises his voice in reply.
“Oh! Buongiorno, Mista!” The blonde calls back.
The gunslinger helps himself to some coffee, then sits next to Narancia. He points at something over the boy’s shoulder. When the he looks, Mista throws a piece of Narancia’s fruit into his mouth.
“I saw that Mista! You know we have plenty, if you’re hungry.” Bruno reminds as he walks into the kitchen, fetching his own cup of coffee.
“Buongiorno.” Fugo greets the capo.
“What?” The voice from the living room yells again.
“God damn it, Girono! No one’s talking to you!” Fugo shouts in reply.
“What’s his problem?” Trish’s voice can be heard from the same direction as Giorno.
“It’s ok. He’s just being ‘Fugo.’” Giorno comments. Fugo opens his mouth as if to retort, but decides the comment is correct. Giorno walks into the kitchen to say farewell to his team as he and Trish will be out shopping for the majority of the day.
“Stay alert while you’re out!” Bruno calls after them. Giorno yells an affirmative in return as he closes the door.
Bruno stands, leaning back on the counter as Abbacchio enters the kitchen. The ex-cop’s hair is thrown up in a messy bun of white. Ignoring the men at the table, he walks to Bruno with his eyes locked on his capo. Bruno smiles into his coffee and turns to act like he’s refilling his mostly full mug. He’s intentionally teasing by presenting his backside to Abbacchio. Upon reaching Bruno, Abbacchio slides his arms around the slender waist in front of him. He kisses into the crook of the exposed neck giving a small nibble into the fading purple mark that already resides there. The capo melts into the affection, arching his back to press his ass into Abbacchio’s crotch. A slight moan begins to fall from his mouth, but then with wide eyes, he whispers, “Leone! Not in front of the children.”
Abbacchio’s lips leave Bruno’s skin long enough to say, “It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.” The lips return to place another kiss on the flesh beneath them. Bruno lets his conscience win out and gently pushes Abbacchio back from him with his rear and spins out from under him. He leans back against the counter again, bringing the coffee to his lips.
“So what do you all have planned today?” He speaks to the table of subordinates as if nothing had happened. Abbacchio grumbles something about going back to their shared bed, but Bruno ignores it. Pouting, Abbacchio pours himself a cup of coffee. With a slight blush across his face, Narancia’s gaze is focused on the table as he shoves a too large piece of melon into his mouth. Fugo also adverts his eyes as a vein is threatening to bulge from his forehead.
Mista clears his throat. “Well I don’t know, it looks like a nice spring day. I think I might…”
Narancia cuts off the gunslinger with a chuckle. “Oh, that’s right. I’m surprised to even see you out of bed, Mista.” The statement is lighthearted, but Mista can’t help but to take offense and furrows his brow. When he notices he’s not getting the response he’s expecting, Narancia adds, “It’s April 4th.”
Mista thinks on this statement for a moment, then his jaw drops as he stands from the table. By the look in his eye, Bruno can see his mind is racing. Mista starts babbling a slew of half started sentences. He finally settles on the most urgent, “We need to warn Girono and Trish! Get them back here! They’re in danger.” He’s starting to turn white as his eyes dart to Bruno in panic.
Bruno sets down his mug and holds his hands up to the panicking man, “Okay, Mista, I’ll call and warn them.”
Bruno can feel annoyance starting to radiate from Abbacchio. The last thing Mista needs is for a fight to break out. Turning to his lover, and putting a hand on his chest, Bruno suggests, “Why don’t you go to the bedroom and I’ll meet you there in a bit.” Abbacchio looks to Bruno and then glances to Mista.
Speaking to the capo he relinquishes, “I know what you’re doing, but fine. Please don’t keep me waiting.” He presses a kiss into Bruno’s temple. Taking his coffee with him, Abbacchio walks away.
With conflict avoided, Bruno averts his full attention to Mista. “What do you need right now?” He searches the gunslinger’s expression, knowing Mista has adrenaline pumping through his veins. He doesn’t want Mista to react in fight or flight.
“Maybe go to your room for a bit and wait it out? I’ll worry about Trish and Giorno. I’ll make sure they’re alright.” When Bruno gets no response to his promise, he adds, “Okay, Mista?”
“Y-yeah. Okay.” Mista carefully walks to his bedroom. The hallway fills him with terror at each step. He’s walked it so many times before, but today, each step he takes can’t be trusted.
Mista enters his room, closing the door behind him and throws off his beanie. He lays in bed clutching the blankets around him wishing the day would be over. His mind is flooded with every terrible thing that could happen to him and the people he cares about. He his panic begins to subside as he starts to feel numb.
He jumps and lets out a yelp as he hears a knock.
“Mista, are you ok?” Narancia asks from the other side of the door.
Mista thinks No. No one’s ok. But he replies, “Yeah?”
Narancia lets himself into the room and shuts the door behind him. He sits on an empty spot on the bed next to the large lump that is Mista under the blanket. Not knowing what to say, Narancia says everything. He tells Mista story after story, any that he can think of. Mista listens, grateful for the distraction and even more grateful to not be alone.
Mid story, Mista hears a cry from the other side of the wall. It sounds like Abbacchio. Mista springs to action, throwing off his blankets and running out of his bedroom. He stops just short of the door in front of him. Just as a similar sound is heard, Mista knocks frantically. The sounds is then turned into expletives. Definitely Abbacchio.
“What’s wrong?” Bruno answers the door clutching a robe around him and looking disheveled. Mista immediately understands what kind of cry he heard, but his eyes are still filled with panic. He tries not to look over to the bed where a naked Abbacchio is laying and waiting angrily.
“Maybe you guys shouldn’t... uh… You might break your dick or something.” Mista unceremoniously points to Bruno’s crotch.
“I promise, we’ll be careful, Mista.” Bruno blushes a little. “Thank you?” For once Bruno is at a loss of words. Duty and desire battle within him as he asks, “Are you alone? Do you need company?”
“Uh, No. I’m ok. Narancia’s with me.” Mista replies, motioning towards his room.
“Ah good. Okay... Well, I’m gonna go now.” Bruno awkwardly closes the door. Mista just stands there for a moment. He hears a whine from Abbacchio, a few stern words from Bruno and they’re at it again. Mista’s brow furrows and he turns, walking back to his room. He finds Narancia plugging in his boombox and inserting a CD.
“If they're going to be loud, let’s at least listen to some music.” He presses play and adjusts the volume so it’s loud enough to drown out Abbacchio but quiet enough to talk over.
With the music playing, Fugo comes into the room to check on Mista. He sits down next to the man surrounded in blanket as Narancia restarts his storytelling. Now that Mista isn’t hiding under his blankets, Narancia is animated with his tales. He talks with sweeping arms, vivid expressions, hops or even rolls as needed. Fugo even joins in, if Narancia calls for it. Mista finds himself smiling and getting engrossed in the stories.
That is until he hears the front door open, shut and a voice call from the entryway. Distracted, Narancia turns and leaves. Mista holds his breath as his mind starts racing again. He can barely hear the distant conversation over Narancia’s music.
“Sounds like Giorno and Trish are back.” Fugo says but Mista doesn’t reply. “Let’s go see what’s up?” He continues, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement.
Mista steels himself then stands. “Okay.” He clutches his blankets wrapped tightly around him as he walks out of his bedroom and into the living room. Blanket trails behind the gunslinger.
After receiving a call from Bruno, Trish and Giorno picked up Mista’s favorite snacks on their way back home. Mista’s touched but denies his hunger, just taking a Sprite.
Hearing the voices, Bruno comes out of his bedroom wearing shorts and a button down spotted shirt. When leaving his room he noticed it was half till 4:00. Time to prevent an utter meltdown.
“Why don’t we watch a movie?” He suggests. Bruno knows Mista’s favorites consist of Rambo, Die Hard, and the like. The capo walks over to the TV and puts a VHS into the player. He sits on the couch and pats the seat next to him for the human burrito of paranoia to sit next to him. Mista only stares at the couch for a moment. Narancia plops onto the other end of the couch sitting with legs criss-crossed. The gunslinger has a strong desire to go back to his room. It’s quiet, safe and he can peacefully drown in fear. Instead, he pushes himself to sit gingerly in between his friends. Bruno puts an arm around the burrito’s shoulders and presses play.
“The Princess Bride?” Mista asks looking at Bruno, as the movie starts,
“You know it’s your favorite. Don’t lie.” Bruno adds whispering, “It’s my favorite too.” The three sit and watch the movie as Mista sips his drink. Narancia grabs the snacks Giorno and Trish brought home and passes them among them as they enjoy the movie.
The rest of the team stops in periodically to watch the movie or to check on how Mista’s doing. Half an hour into the movie, Abbacchio enters the room. Seeing no available seat near his boyfriend, he makes one. The ex-cop takes a pillow from the couch and places between Bruno’s feet. He sits on it, leaning back between Bruno’s knees. With the capo’s free hands he runs his fingers through Leone’s long locks.
They sit silently watching the movie, aside from laughter, quotes or silly commentary. The dreadful hour passes and it seems like Mista’s actually enjoying himself. Bruno puts in movie after movie. The only break they have from their marathon is when their dinner arrives.
“Since when does Libeccio deliver?” Mista asks when he recognizes the food Bruno’s handing out.
“They don’t, but they deliver for me.” Bruno replies as if the statement is obvious.
With full stomachs, the marathon continues. Half way through the next movie, Bruno feels a weight on his shoulder. Mista has fallen asleep on the couch. He’s still wrapped in his blanket, with his head hanging forward and leaning against his capo. The movie finishes and Bruno instructs Narancia to put in one more.
Once the last movie is finished, the rest of the team goes to bed. Against Abbacchio’s grumbling protest, he follows Bruno’s orders and goes to bed alone. Bruno stays the night on the couch with the burritoed Mista. He’ll be sore in the morning from sleeping sitting up, but Bruno makes the most of the situation to get as comfortable as possible without stirring his subordinate- his friend.