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Bright summer days melting in dark summer nights were Abbacchio's favorite time to drink. Wine tasted better after a long day. It was still incredibly hot outside, but soon it would be dark, so at least the sun wouldn't be a problem.
Choosing the roof to sit on wasn't Abbacchio's best decision to escape the heat, but it was the quietest one. Away from everyone else in the villa. Giorno would be too busy with Don work to both him, Mista and Narancia were probably playing some game and Fugo would be behind them saying the game was dumb but still watching, he could see Trish swaying in a hammock in the backyard. Abbacchio was safe up here from the rowdiness.
Or so he thought.
Behind him, Abbacchio heard the wooden sound of the hatch landing on the roof. He leaned on his hand and turned to see who was bothering him.
"Sorry," Bucciarati said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to slam the hatch. It slipped from my grasp."
Abbacchio physically relaxed. It was only Bucciarati. "You're trying to let everyone else in the house know I'm up here, aren't you?" He meant to sound teasing, but it went over Bucciarati's head.
"No, I was hoping to have a peaceful moment up here with you. It's not very often I sit and watch the sunset. I even brought my own glass." Bucciarati, in all of his weirdness, pulls out a random wine glass from a pocket zipper.
Bucciarati sat down next to Abbacchio, not too close though. Bucciarati mirrored Abbacchio's position. His hand almost, almost, rested on Abbacchio's. He was staring at the proximity of their hands when Bruno held his glass out.
"Pour me a glass?"
Abbacchio was glad for the distraction. He quickly turned and grabbed the bottle, focusing heavily on pouring just the right amount for his capo.
Bucciarati took a sip and Abbacchio watched him, the way his throat bobbed—he took a sip of his wine. He needed to breathe, breathe through this emotion—to shove it back down where it belonged.
"Thank you. I didn't realize how thirsty I was." Bucciarati's glass was drained. He looked a little embarrassed by how quickly he drank his glass.
Abbacchio offered the bottle. "Would you like more? The bottle is still pretty full."
"Yes, I would."
Bucciarati watched him pour. It was a little distracting, but he didn't spill a drop. Bucciarati quickly started drinking again.
"It's not going to run away; you can slow down."
Bucciarati paused and looked at the drink. "Are you sure? I've seen stranger things happen before. Mista's plate ran away from him once."
Abbacchio chuckled and stared at the remaining sun peeking above the city. "I see your point, but that was because of a stand. I can assure you that you're safe here with me."
"You promise?"
Abbacchio turned and saw Bucciarati was staring directly at him. "Y—yeah. Of course, I do. I'll do anything to protect my capo. You know that."
Bucciarati smiled and took another drink. "That's good to know…but I think the only thing you'll have to protect me from right now is the edge of the roof. The wine is going straight through me."
"You forgot to eat dinner again, didn't you?"
Bucciarati decided finishing off his wine was better than responding.
Abbacchio sighed. "You're a workaholic, you know that?" He grabbed the wine and poured Bucciarati a little more, but not as much as he had before. A capo drinking on an empty stomach was never a good idea.
"I have a very demanding job."
Abbacchio rolled his eyes and sighed. "You should still eat, especially if you're going to drink my wine. You've almost drunk all of it."
"You didn't seem to have much of a problem pouring into my glass."
"I swear, if you were anyone other than my capo, I'd—"
"You'd what?"
"I'd tell you that you're being an idiota. That's what I'd do."
Bucciarati started chuckling and Abbacchio couldn't help but smile. He liked seeing Bucciarati loosen up a little. He still wished he'd eaten dinner but seeing Bucciarati's guard down was a rare treat.
The sun was almost completely gone. The soft glow of the sun had almost been completely consumed by the night sky.
"You know you could," Bruno said with slightly slurred words.
"What could I do?"
"You could call me an idiota. I have it coming sometimes, I'm sure."
Abbacchio let out a muffled chortle. "Me? Call my capo an idiota? Sounds like a death warrant to me."
"I know you wouldn't do it to just say it. You'd call me out for a dumb idea…I trust you."
"I'm not going to call you that, Bucciarati."
"But I want you to!"
Abbacchio sighed into his hand. "I'm not going to, okay? I'll phrase it better, more respectable."
"Fine. I guess that's better than nothing." Bucciarati tried to take another drink, but his glass was empty. "More, please?"
Abbacchio shook his head. "No, I think you've had enough tonight."
Bucciarati pouted. "Please, I'm having fun up here with you and I want to enjoy what you enjoy."
A slight lip twitch was the only sign that Abbacchio almost smiled. "You can only have more once you eat. I'm not having you wake up with a terrible hangover tomorrow. You'll be grouchy at everyone."
Bucciarati leaned closer, his breath smelled like a bottle of wine on its own. "No, I won't…I'll be happy."
Abbacchio tried to be unfazed by Bucciarati's closeness. "Yeah, sure you will."
"You don't believe me?"
He smirked. "Not one bit."
Bucciarati surprised him—he grabbed Abbacchio's hand, the one leaning on the ground, and held it. "I can be happy—I am happy here with you. You always make me happy…"
"Bucciarati—" he swallowed past a feeling in his throat. "I didn't think you'd get this drunk."
"I'm not drunk," he said slurring his words and holding Abbacchio's hand in his. "I'm happy."
"No, you're definitely drunk. You wouldn't be holding my hand if you weren't."
With a glare—a cute one at that—Bucciarati held Abbacchio's hand to his chest. "I would—I always want to anyways. I like your hand…it's large and warm…and you."
He wanted to melt into those words, but he knew he couldn't take what Bucciarati was saying seriously. Not in the state he was. With a deep and almost painful sigh, Abbacchio stood up. He pulled his hand free of Bucciarati's grip in doing so.
"Hey—give me your hand back!"
"Nope." Abbacchio bent down and scooped Bucciarati up and tossed his capo over his shoulder.
"We're going downstairs to sober you up. You're talking nonsense."
"Whoa!" Bucciarati giggled when he was swung around. "That made me dizzy—I'm not talking nonsense."
"You are."
"No, I'm speaking what I feel. I don't want to sober up, I feel fuzzy on the inside!"
Abbacchio chuckled as he carried the drunk man downstairs. He knew Bucciarati was less than likely to remember this, but a part of him hoped he did. Abbacchio wanted to ask Bucciarati what he meant by some of his comments, but he was terrified of the answer too.
"Your ass is huge, Abbacchio," Bucciarati said while poking at his butt.
Blood rushed to Abbacchio's face. "Okay, that's it. It's time for you to take a cold shower." He made a quick turn towards the bathroom.
"No—"
Abbacchio didn't listen to Bucciarati as he marched towards the bathroom with only half an intent to throw his capo in a shower. He wasn't going to Bucciarati know that though, this was Abbacchio's revenge for Bucciarati drinking all his wine.
The sun had fully set outside, leaving a clear and starry night and two glasses on the roof.