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Abbacchio laid on the alleyway floor, wasted on alcohol and beating himself up for mistakes he made in the past.
It's happening again.
Abbacchio is doing the same thing. Drinking his problems away and feeling worse about it. Abbacchio hoped to drown from the pouring rain just so he could escape the excruciating pain of his past mistakes. He wanted someone to put him out of his misery. He wanted so badly to get away from the pain of it all. He didn't want to be there at that very moment, he wanted someone. He needed someone.
And almost as if an angel answered his desperate prayer, he saw a figure holding an umbrella emerge from around the corner. He could barely make out who it was, but as the figure approached his drenched body, he knew who it was. He remembered the only reason he still walks this earth.
It was Bruno Bucciarati.
Bucciarati kneeled before Abbacchio's cold breathing corpse and caressed his soaked lavender hair, knowing exactly what happened.
"It's happening again, isn't it Leone?"
He wanted so badly to shout out how awful it felt, but all he could do was nod, for he didn't possess the energy to do it. He was thankful that Bucciarati came to rescue him from his drunken depressed state. His wobbly arms pushed his tired body up, giving way and allowing his body to land in Bucciarati's arms.
"It's okay, mi amore, I'm here for you once more. We should get back home now." He spoke gently.
Abbacchio agreed, and rose to his feet alongside Bucciarati, walking with him underneath the protective umbrella, holding his warm hand.
When they finally returned, Bucciarati went to retrieve towels for his soaked lover. Abbacchio simply waited for his return, contemplating taking off his soaked clothes so he could dry off easier. Bucciarati returned with a pile of neatly folded towels in his hands, instructing Abbacchio to take off his soaked clothes and wrap himself up with the towels he had retrieved.
Obeying, Abbacchio removed his soaked garments and settled himself in towels. Bucciarati took the clothing and hung it up elsewhere to dry. Abbacchio sat on the couch with his remaining anxiety, desiring for someone to hold him and keep him safe.
"Do you care for any tea, Leo?" He asked, waiting patiently for a response.
"Sure." Was all he replied with.
Hastily striding into their kitchen, Bucciarati prepared the tea kettle and the mugs and the small bags of tea.
After a few excruciatingly long minutes, the kettle whistled angrily with boiling water, and Bucciarati wasted no time further preparing the tea. While the bags settled in the water, he allowed himself to spend time with Abbacchio, who was still panicked and anxious. He held the slightly warm wrapped up Abbacchio, who still shivered from the cold and his intense feelings.
"Everything is okay" Bucciarati reassured. "I'm here now, you're safe again. Breathe in, breathe out." He continued, allowing Abbacchio to relax more.
Abbacchio followed through and took deep breaths, beginning to relax more. He focused on the warmth of his lover and what their tv displayed. The channel was just the regular old news, reporting on the Italian mafia slowly diminishing mysteriously. 'Probably the work of Giorno,' Abbacchio thought to himself. 'Good on him, I guess.'
Unexpectedly, Bucciarati got up to stir and retrieve the mugs of tea settling in the kitchen. Abbacchio felt a little cold, but he knew he'd be warmed back up in no time. Returning a few moments later, Bucciarati handed him his respective mug. Abbacchio took a sip. It's a sweet jasmine tea, he thought as he tasted the warm tea. He loved jasmine tea, which is why Bucciarati always got some whenever he went out shopping. He knew Abbacchio loved all sorts of tea, and so did he.
They both relaxed a few minutes, staring at the bright television and sipping tea. Abbacchio felt more and more relaxed as time went on. He thought to himself: 'Maybe next time this happens.. I wont have to rely on Bruno...'