Chapter Text
“Alright, we’re heading out then,” announces Bucciarati while shrugging on his coat.
“Try not to burn the house down this time,” comes Abbacchio’s gruff farewell, housekeys spinning around his index finger in an act of obvious impatience.
“That was one time and it was just the kitchen!”
Bucciarati rolls his eyes good-naturedly before opening the front door with one hand, his other landing on Abbacchio’s lower back to usher him out lest they spend the following ten minutes arguing about that particular incident. “We’ll see you tonight. In one piece, hopefully.”
And just like that, they’re out, leaving the rest of the gang to stare at the front door as it clicks shut.
“I’m not sure about you guys,” starts Trish, breaking the almost-silence, save for whatever is playing on the television, “but Bucciarati and Abbacchio are kind of…”
“Close?” offers Narancia.
“Very into each other?” Mista scoffs.
“I would almost call it intimate,” Giorno supplies around the rim of his teacup.
“Come on,” Fugo quips while thumbing through one of the magazines left on the coffee table with little interest, “Abbacchio practically confessed his undying affection back in Venice.”
The rest of the team hums their agreement, some snickering at the memory of Abbacchio’s oddly timed, yet heartfelt admission.
Trish furrows her brows, sitting up a bit straighter in the loveseat she’s sprawled out on, “So why aren’t they dating yet? They’re obviously made for each other!”
A series of contemplative hums resound throughout the living room.
Mista shrugs and leans back against the armrest of the couch. “Probably stupid reasons like professionality or whatever. At least on Bucci’s side.”
Fugo nods his agreement and shuts his magazine when he adds, “Bucciarati has mentioned a handful of times in the past that relationships don’t belong in the mafia. Too risky.”
“And Abba once told me he doesn’t wanna get close to people ‘cause he doesn’t wanna hurt ‘em or something sappy like that,” Narancia mumbles around a mouthful of chips. “Wasn’t really listening but I think that’s what he meant.”
“I don’t quite see the issue though. It is obvious they would both risk their lives to protect one another. Romantic relationship or not,” Giorno reasons, and Trish nods her agreement.
“How long have they been like this anyways?” she asks for good measure, to which Fugo instantly scrunches his nose.
“The moment Bucciarati recruited Abbacchio, he was all over him. Constantly talking about him. Felt like I was back in highschool.”
Mista laughs at that, poking Fugo’s side with his socked foot, much to the other’s disgruntlement. “Remember when I first joined and I deadass referred to them as boyfriends?”
“Abba’s tea came right outta his nose!” Narancia exclaims while imitating tea spurting out of his own nose with his chips-dusted fingers.
“Admittedly, I thought their relationship exceeded professional boundaries as well when I joined the team,” admits Giorno.
Although this is possibly the first time they have gathered altogether to discuss this particular topic, there is no denying that they have all wondered about the implications of the relationship between the eldest members of their team.
The chemistry between the two is clear as can be, though it seems as if they are the last to realise that.
“It’s been years,” sighs Fugo, who seems more than happy to put an end to their joint suffering. “I don’t know how much longer I can handle the blushing and blatant flirting.”
“And the staring.”
“The super obvious touches.”
“The sudden first name basis.”
Another beat of silence follows, with looks shared across the room. A silent consensus.
They have to do something.
“So, what’s the game-plan?”
“It’s gotta be done in a way so they won’t know it’s us,” Mista ponders out loud, “casual but with purpose!”
“It’s been casual all this time and it’s not doing shit! We need something more… y’know, wowing!” argues Narancia with an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression on his face.
Fugo shakes his head in disapproval, “It should be realistic , if anything. I don’t think either of them would expect or appreciate a grand show.”
“Can’t we just talk to them about it?”
All eyes instantly shoot towards Giorno, who barely flinches under the sudden attention and pregnant silence.
It’s an oddly mundane solution that, quite frankly, might work if they approach it strategically. Perhaps a separate intervention with the two just to nudge them into the right direction, letting them do the rest of the work themselves.
But…
“That’s kinda boring, man.”
And so, the bickering resumes, all of the living room’s occupants suddenly posing as masters of the art of romance, match-making experts, and relationship therapists. Or rather, all of them very willing to put an end to Bucciarati and Abbacchio perpetually tiptoeing around each other and their feelings.
“Okay, okay, stop!”
The pointless bickering sizzles out into mere murmurs, all eyes on Fugo who had risen to his feet.
“At this rate we’re not going to reach an agreement. There is no way of knowing which method will work.”
Fugo crosses his arms over his chest and sighs once more. “I’m afraid we will have to resort to our only option.”
A series of glances are shared around the room before they return to Fugo in silent anticipation.
“We’re drawing straws to determine who will go first.”
All is fair in love and war, and thus, the battle to unite Abbacchio and Bucciarati begins.