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Abbacchio rarely attended large parties. He wasn’t a fan of all the people, the social pressure, or the schmoozing. This one was no different, but Bucciarati had been invited and extended the invitation to his team. Everyone else had said yes which meant Abbacchio was in no position to say no, especially with the hopeful glint in Bucciarati’s eyes when he asked if Abbacchio would join.
Who was Abbacchio to disappoint his boss?
The moment they’d walked through the door, Bucciarati had been surrounded by people. They all wanted to talk to him, be near him—well they needed to get in line because so did Abbacchio, but he’d never Bucciarati that.
Instead of hanging out near him, Abbacchio had sulked near Mista most of the night. At least they could have some conversations, or they would have if he would have been able to focus on them. Abbacchio kept glancing at Bucciarati, just to make sure he was okay, but every time he did, Bucciarati was already looking at him.
There was a sparkle in his eyes, one that Abbacchio occasionally saw when it was just the two of them. He tried to ignore the way it had butterflies going in his stomach, but it was hard when this had been going on for hours. Bucciarati never tried to approach him or talk to him, but whenever they locked eyes he would smile, smirk or wink and it left Abbacchio confused.
Did Bucciarati know about his feelings and possibly harbor similar ones? It was highly unlikely, and even if it was true, why here? Why at this party?
“If you’re not going to listen to me, at least say so,” Mista huffed at Abbacchio.
Abbacchio bit his cheek to keep embarrassment at bay and turned his gaze from where it had been locked with Bucciarati’s again. “What?”
Mista rolled his eyes. “You asked to hang out with me, but you and Bucciarati have been eye-fucking all night. Just go talk to him. It’s clearly what you want.”
“I—” Abbacchio was grateful that he hadn’t been drinking, or he would have choked on it. “ We are not .”
“Oh?” Mista questioned and gestured his chin towards Bucciarati. “Then what’s going on? I think you’d be naked from Bucciarati’s gaze if his stand could do that.”
“Shut up. It’s not like that. Bucciarati clearly isn’t interested in me like that— and I’m not interested in him either ,” he added quickly at the end.
Mista snorted and shook his head. “I’ve seen some bad denial, but nothing like this. Hey Narancia! Come’re.”
Narancia, who had been intently listening to Fugo talk about something, begrudgingly came over. “Sup?”
“Bucciarati and Abbacchio like each other, right? It’s clear as day.”
“Oh yeah. Even I noticed it. It’s almost gross.”
“Gross?” Mista chuckled. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Narancia mumbled and sat at the table. “They look at each other with this ooey-gooey look, and Bucciarati’s like my boss-brother-dad person and I don’t like looking at it.”
Mista wiggled his eyebrows knowingly at Narancia. “Is that gross or are you just jealous that someone else doesn’t look—”
Narancia threw an empty cup at Mista, who dodged it.
“Okay, okay. Back to Abbacchio—you see? Even Narancia noticed you two got the hots for each other.”
“This is ridiculous,” Abbacchio grumbled and stood. There was a balcony door that led into the cool night air, he needed a minute to think—and a cigarette.
“You’re the one being ridiculous here!” Mista called after him.
Abbacchio ignored him and headed outside. He glanced at Bucciarati out of the corner of his eye and saw a concerned look. Abbacchio just dropped his head and quickened his pace.
The outside air did feel nice. It was also quieter outside so he could really have a chance to think. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag before he leaned against the railing.
Bucciarati couldn’t like him—not in the way he liked him. There was no way, Bucciarati was Bucciarati. He was handsome, a fantastic leader, charismatic, charming…Abbacchio was good at finding clues? Being an ass? What could Bucciarati see in him if he did like himself?
But what if he did.
The sparkle in his eyes was never anything that Abbacchio saw Bucciarati have with anyone, and he paid close attention. Bucciarati would also seek him out in the most obscure places; he knew all of Abbacchio’s favorite places to hide. Maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to Mista and Narancia’s words.
Abbacchio glanced back at the party. From his current spot, he couldn’t see Bucciarati and that meant Bucciarati couldn’t see him. He wasn’t one to gamble on such an unknown possibility usually, but maybe it was time. He’d taken a gamble on joining Bucciarati’s team and it had saved him. It was time that he took another leap of faith.
He took in an uneven breath and put his cigarette out. Abbacchio rolled his shoulders and prepared himself, he knew rejection was probable, even likely, but he needed to go in with the mindset that this was going to be in his favor.
The party was just as stuffy as it had been before he went out, but he ignored it. He started searching for Bucciarati and immediately found him talking to an older gentleman. Abbacchio hoped it wasn’t anything too important because he was going to interrupt one way or another. After all, if he waited too long, this confident fire in him would burn out.
Bucciarati’s back was to him which made it easy for Abbacchio to quietly approach. When he was beside Bucciarati, he cleared his throat to catch his attention.
When the blue eyes landed on him, they relaxed just the slightest bit. “Abbacchio,” he breathed with a smile. “Ah—my manners. Signore Rossi, this is Abbacchio, he is a part of my team.”
The older gentleman nodded his head to Abbacchio who did the same, although a bit awkwardly.
“Is there something I can help you with, Abbacchio?” A little of the earlier sparkle had returned to his eyes.
"Uh—yes, actually. Could I talk to you?”
Some concern returned to his eyes, but he hid it well. “Of course. Pardon us, Signore Rossi.”
Abbacchio led the way back outside, it was the quietest spot and away from prying eyes. The moment Abbacchio stopped, Bucciarati was asking questions.
“Is everything alright, Abbacchio? You disappeared and looked upset.” He was staring directly into Abbacchio’s eyes. “I was worried.”
The direct attention made Abbacchio slightly flustered. “Everything’s fine—just Mista and Narancia being themselves.”
“You’re alright then?” Bucciarati took a step closer.
Abbacchio nodded vigorously. “Yeah, all good. I just—I have something I need to ask you.”
“I’m all ears for you,” Bucciarati said with a smile.
Now that Bucciarati was in front of him, Abbacchio realized he forgot to plan what he was going to say. Asking him straight up felt wrong, but what other way was there? Did he go for the cheesy route and talk about how he’s had feelings for a long time? Or just bluntly admit his feelings?
Anxiety spiked and Abbacchio suddenly realized this was a terrible idea. Bucciarati couldn’t have the same feelings for him. He would let Abbacchio down gently, he wouldn’t be rude, but he would make it known that there would never be anything but friendship between them. If it could be recovered after this.
“Abbacchio?” Bucciarati whispered. He was biting his lip, which he always did when his emotions were too much for him and he didn’t know what to say.
It didn’t help Abbacchio focus.
Mista and Narancia said Bucciarati liked him. They liked to play pranks, but they wouldn’t do anything cruel. Maybe it was time to trust his friends and follow his heart.
He stared awkwardly at Bucciarati for another moment. Abbacchio was always better with actions instead of words. “Fuck it,” he muttered.
Gently, he grabbed Bucciarati’s face and brought their lips together. It wasn’t a rough kiss or anything hot and heavy like he’d dreamt of, but it conveyed his feelings well enough. He held Bucciarati like he was made of the finest glass from Murano. Not too tightly that he couldn’t pull away, but also not too loose that he felt like Abbacchio wasn’t treasuring him.
Abbacchio was the first to pull away, not wanting to overdo it if Bucciarati was uncomfortable pulling away.
Bucciarati was shocked: eyes wide and mouth agape. It was hard to say if it was a happy shock or an upset shock.
Immediately, Abbacchio tried to make up an excuse to cover himself. “Bucciarati—I, uh—”
Any rambling was stopped by Bucciarati crashing their lips back together and wrapping his arms around Abbacchio’s neck. It almost caused him to stumble, but luckily, he hadn’t drunk much yet. He wrapped an arm around Bucciarati’s waist to help keep the shorter man balanced as he leaned against him.
Abbacchio opened his eyes just a peek to see Bucciarati’s eyes closed and fully leaning into the kiss. He tightened his arms around Bucciarati, holding him as close as he could.
This was much better than sulking on a couch.
They returned to the party sometime later, hand in hand. Bucciarati refused to let Abbacchio leave his side for even a moment. If someone looked close enough, they could see the faintest purple stain on Bucciarati’s lips. Abbacchio on the other hand was lacking the signature lipstick he usually wore, and he didn’t seem too worried this time.
“Pay up!” Narancia nudged Mista when he saw the couple.
“Damn,” Mista muttered. “I didn’t think he’d actually make a move tonight.” Mista grabbed his wallet and passed over ten lire to his friend.
“Sucks to suck,” Narancia said and happily shoved the money in his pocket. “Ew, wait, are they going to kiss and stuff all the time now?”
As if Bucciarati could hear them, he kissed Abbacchio’s cheek as his answer.