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‘drip…drip….drip…'
Pannacotta Fugo doubted he’d ever heard a sound as disgusting as this. The horribly specific sound of thick drops of blood falling from the corner of a closed book.
Beneath him was a man on the ground. He barely still recognized him, but Fugo knew very well who he was.
This was the first time he saw this person below him. Not looming over like a predator… so this sight, which would point out victim and culprit to anyone seeing it… would he be the predator?
Muffled and distant, more sounds returned to his ears. His own loud panting. Screaming on the background. An annoying beep in his ears was soon replaced with the sound of a siren, rising and falling, rising and falling…..
Fugo looked at his own hands, a filthy red liquid stained them. It was sticky and disgusting, almost mocking him that the line he had finally crossed only deviled him more….
Ah… this was it, then… this was the result of having fought the feeling for years. Only to shatter.. Shattered, yes, that is what Fugo felt. The ground disappeared underneath his feet.
‘kid… hey, kid!...’
Fugo could feel his soul plunge into a deep darkness. How did it end up like this? Did it really matter, honestly? He just wanted to be left alone here… He had never felt this lonely… Lost… Someone…
“Hey! Kid! Answer me!” someone held a firm grip over his arms. The deep, urging voice penetrated Fugo’s head, forcing him back to reality.
He looked at the hands holding on to him. They belonged to a man in a blue uniform.
Fugo couldn’t breath. With his mind in so much turmoil, the thought of repeating what he had done to his teacher, doing them to this unrelated man too, crossed his mind. But…
“Are you okay? Are you hurt??”
…huh?...
…what a funny thing to ask… it was almost as if this man….. thought he was the victim…
Fugo’s eyes slowly, tiredly, glided up the arm. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact. He didn’t get much further than seeing a strong jawline, accented lips and a pristine uniform.
“Hey kid! Stay with me! What happened?” the man held him tight. Fugo hadn’t ever felt anything like this grip before. Nor the worry in the other’s voice.
Instinctively, he thought this must be how he addressed his children too, Even though he couldn’t be much more than 5 years older…
The young boy could finally feel his limbs again. He could move. And in his mind, there was only one movement he could think of.
Not to run. Not to shout or retaliate or continue the destruction he had caused. He simply wanted… to hold on to this person…
Shyly, with a shaky hand, he clung his fingers in the sleeve of the uniform. It felt warm and soft against his clamp skin.
Greedily, he knitted both hands onto that warm surface, looking as his bloodied hands stained the clean royal blue fabric.
Any second now, he knew it would be rejected. The only longing for touch he has had in years would be denied and shoved away.
Staining this uniform felt like blasphemy. More so than beating the shit out of his teacher. More so than defying his parents. More than throwing his future away in one momentarily flurry of rage…
But… A foreign sensation pressed on his hand.
The man had dropped his hold on the boy’s shoulder and laid a warm hand on top of his, pinching it slightly.
Fugo could feel the rough callus, the fine muscles, a hint of well trimmed nails. It felt like the only real thing in this bottomless nightmare he had invoked only seconds ago.
“Hey. Talk to me. What happened?” the deep voice sounded slower and hushed, like the world outside of the two didn’t exist.
Fugo felt a burning sensation in his chest, in his throat. He lost all grip in his hands as he was held so tenderly.
He opened his dry lips, gasping for air, tears pricking in his eyes. Was he allowed? Allowed to be scared? Allowed to convey in this person? Allowed to be selfish and cry?
Fugo spoke a word he had until that day never used for himself. He knew its meaning, knew its implications.. but until today, he hadn’t ever known its power:
“Aiuto…”
He nearly breathed the word, doubting the other had heard it.
But the hued lips of the man gasped silently. And in an unexplainable moment, their eyes met.
‘such beautiful eyes…’
”Abbacchio! What are you doing! Hold the suspect down!”
before either knew what was happening, they were forced apart and Fugo felt himself get pressed to the ground with his hands on his back.
“wait! He wasn’t being—”
“Are you insane?? He clubbed a grown man with a 4kg book in one hand! Never mind, I got this! get the car around!”
“……yessir..”
Things happened so fast after, it made those 60 seconds tops of before blurred into nothingness.
As the boy was released from custody, the man who had held his hand was no longer on his mind, swallowed up into a deep darkness of his broken soul.
But the stain on the uniform…. Had stained so much more.
It wasn’t until a year later where this story had a continuation.
It may be hard to imagine, but joining a crime syndicate had made Fugo’s life hit gentler waters.
It was too early to say he had room to process all that had happened, as it had severely traumatized him.
But his heart felt lighter as he kept himself busy and useful for his new superior and ally since a few months: Bruno Bucciarati.
In his survival on the streets of Napoli, the youth barely had the time to keep up with events outside of his own bubble.
But as he had a new sense of purpose, he had deemed it wise to catch up on all he had missed in the newspapers of last year.
But nothing could have possibly prepared him for the article he found, 8 months prior to current date: ‘Police Corruption led to Murder.’
It was a sensational article on how a police officer had accepted bribery, which had given space to let the culprit commit murder on both the owner of a jewelry and a different policeman.
It contained a heartbreaking interview of the murdered officer’s family and empty apologies from the police department.
But none of that caught Fugo’s eye.
He bolted out of the library’s archives, the paper still in his hands. He didn’t so much as blink at the possibility of this being thievery at this point in his life.
The face of the bribed officer in question had been slightly blurred. But despite that, it was a face Fugo couldn’t possibly forget.
The face of the only person who had been on his side. The only ally in his darkest days.
He nearly punched the door of the little restaurant called Libeccio open. Legs heavy and out of breath, he scanned the seats for the table that was always a bit secluded from the rest.
He sat at this table when he first met a man who changed his life. He sat at this table as he had plucked a homeless kid his age from the streets.
And today too, this same man was enjoying a well deserved cup of cappuccino after lunch.
“Bucciarati!” The younger heaved. As the elder looked up, the worry on his friend’s face was impossible to miss and he frowned. In silence, he put his cup down, folded his hands attentively and gave his full attention to the other.
“Bucciarati..” the 14 year old repeated. “I have a favor to ask of you.” He clutched the newspaper tightly in one hand.
Bucciarati glanced at the picture on the cover for a moment, before locking eyes with his friend.
“Of course.” He replied.