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Don Bucciarati ordered his strongest fighters to go out on a mission. You and Abbacchio were the only ones not joining, and you were also the only ones left in the mansion. It was almost 10 and the caretakers had already cleaned up the house a couple hours ago. You slowly closed the door behind the gang as they left, the massive door's creaks echoing throughout the even larger foyer. You waved your arms even though none of them were looking back at you, and locked the door before you and Abbacchio walked in silence to the living room.
Abbacchio plopped himself onto a long, victorian-style black velvet couch with a golden trim .
“Porca miseria!” He facepalmed. “What a wonderful way to say I'm weak." The lavender haired man snickered, pouring himself a glass of white wine. You sighed, knowing that Abbacchio really needed a compliment.
"Hey, they left me out too. I've already come to terms with the fact that I'm not that strong. And pour me a glass too." You replied, playfully not giving him sympathy. You sat down on a matching couch across from him, separated by an equally fancy golden coffee table. He rolled his eyes and chuckled.
"Well that's easy for you to say. You're our intel guy.. "
"Are you not also an intel guy?" You sat forward.
He took a deep sigh and rolled his eyes again. "Pour your own glass, ragazzo." He gave you a false smile and took his first sip of wine.
You reluctantly got up and poured yourself a glass of wine, sat back down, and took a sniff of the happy juice in your glass. You coughed and hacked in surprise at what you smelled in the glass.
"This is not white wine, Abbacchio."
He laughed. "Obviously. You think I'm in the mood for only 10%? I do love Greco Di Tufo but if I could, I'd be downing straight 100%."
You giggled and took a sip of the mysterious spirit. As you were drinking, you took a quick glance and noticed Abbacchio had turned a little red, even though he never got a flush from alcohol. The two of you got wine drunk often and there was a sense of comfort when it was just the two of you sitting an awkward distance away from each other, cracking jokes and complaining. There was an awkward pause before a light bulb lit up in your head.
"Wanna do shots?" You asked. And the night took a turn.
The two of you bolted towards the kitchen in excitement, the brightest, beaming smile coming from the normally gloomy man. You slapped his shoulder as he opened the alcohol cabinet, his smile still remaining.
“I really know how to make you happy, huh?” You observed. He turned a little more red and his smile vanished, resurfacing as a smolder.
“Shut up.”
You laughed, and he covered his face with the enormous bottle of tequila he took off the top shelf, obviously even more flushed. He put the bottle down and the two of you shared a silent moment. You smiled at him, noticing even more how much you liked the lavender haired man.
He actually had a really nice nose, he had a couple acne scars on his forehead and nose, his lips were hydrated, and his eyes… Oh his eyes… The gradient of violet to primrose yellow was like the most beautiful sunset on a beach in Sardinia.
Before you knew it, your faces were almost a centimeter apart, your arms were around his nape, and his hands were almost at your hips. It seemed that he gained consciousness at some point and in a panic, he grabbed your face with his hand. He smiled.
“Not yet…” He mumbled, letting you go and facing away from you to go get the shot glasses. You were fucking panicking internally; your heart was racing in a way you’d never felt before, there were no solid thoughts in your brain other than “Holy shit, what the fuck. Holy shit, what the fuck. Holy shit, what the fuck. Holy shit-”
“What chase do you want?” He asked, as he placed a couple glasses on the counter.
“Do you not chase?” You asked him, noticing that he only brought one cup.
“No… I stopped needing it a couple years ago.” He said, joylessly.
You frowned, noticing his change in tone. You scurried over to the fridge and took out a carton of juice.
“Apple juice? What are you, twelve?” He joked. “I should’ve given you one of those plastic Ikea cups that we got for Narancia.”
“It’s actually an amazing chase, don’t knock it ‘till you try it.” You poured yourself a glass of apple juice.
“ It’th achually an amathing chathe ” He stuck a finger up, mocking you. You raised your hand to hit him and he dodged, masterfully making sure not one drop of tequila had spilled. His hands were veiny, but not like a bodybuilder’s veiny hands, but elegantly. You had a flash of imagination run over you, and the butterflies in your stomach started coming on. You put your hand onto the counter.
“Come on, let’s drink.” You encouraged, raising your glass.
“Cin cin!” The two of you exclaimed, clinking your shot glasses before downing your first shots.
Perhaps (Obviously,) it was the alcohol, but you didn’t remember much from that night from the 6th shot onwards. The two of you really outdid yourselves, really. By the fourth hour, the bottle, another bottle of whisky, and 3 and a half vodka seltzers were empty. Somehow the both of you did not feel sick whatsoever. The two of you were resting on the same couch, talking about anything and everything in your lives. The lights were off, the only source of brightness coming from the fig scented candles around the perimeter of the room. His arm was wrapped around you, the other arm waving around as he talked like a true Italian. You were snuggling up to him, twirling his hair and looking up at him every once in a while.
“You know… You- Actually nevermind.” Abbacchio mumbled.
“Wait no… What? You can’t do that to me! Say what you were gonna say, it’s not like we’ll remember it tomorrow.” You pleaded
“That’s true… Uh.” He looked down at your eyes and turned a little red. “You know… You’re actually really nice.” He admitted, you could hear his heart beating at a cheetah’s pace.
You blushed, redder than a poppy flower. “What… Did you think I was mean before?”
“No, I just never noticed it, you know?”
“Well, I never noticed how amazing you were at kissing until today…” You smiled.
“But we’ve never kissed…” He retorted.
“Well we can find out now, can we?” You sat up and leaned closer to him. Both your hearts were beating out of your chests and it was like a scene in a movie as the suspense built, waiting an eternity for him to answer your invitation. You could see the gears turning into overdrive in his head. His facial expression was illegible. He was beet red, but his eyebrows looked confused or angry. His hands were on your sides but his lips were quivering. Your drunk brain completely ignored this and you just wanted to press on.
Abbacchio leaned back and moved his arm from your shoulder, it looked like he sobered up, somehow.
“Look… I just…” He stammered. Your eyes widened and you had your sobering moment too, immediately pulling away from him.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t read the room right-” You immediately apologized.
“No, no… I just… This is too good to be real….” Abbacchio trying to awkwardly smile, slouching down and letting his pastel violet hair cover his face.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry for ruining the mood, I just…” He grabbed a pillow. “Fuck!” He yelled, hurling it across the room, knocking over a fancy unlit candle. He stared despondently at the candle that was rolling away from him. He put his face in his palms, starting to weep quietly. You tucked his hair behind his ears.
“Leone.” You said softly.
He didn’t break down like this often but you would always try to be there for Abbacchio when he was at his worst. When Bucciarati found you in a dump, just like the rest of the gang, you wanted to stay in Passione. You did everything you could to get the others to like you, and even Abbacchio started showing you his softer side. Cooking meals for him, doing his chores for him, or having late night conversations while you both got wine drunk when he was upset.
Soon enough, even though you had just met a couple months ago, you caught feelings for him. The feelings you had for him were like a strong gust of winter wind hitting you as you left the house. You tried to suppress and fight back these feelings-you were in the mafia for god’s sake! You knew you could never recover if you ever lost him, but he was just so hard to not love.
He kept sobbing into his hands, his gothic makeup getting smudged all over his face and hands.
"Leone," you repeated.
"What?"
“Don’t worry about ruining the fucking mood. It’s my fault for not noticing how you felt. This is real, you deserve all the good shit that happens to you. I know how difficult of a life you’ve lived, and the world is a fucking mess.” You put your hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good guy, Leone. Trust me with everything just this once… I know this sounds cheesy but when I say you are loved, I fucking mean it.”
He sighed and took a swig of the last bits of vodka in the can. "Look, I'm horrible with my words, but... It's so fucking hard to deal with all of my baggage. Sometimes I just feel like rotting in my room, like I should've been, in a fucking prison cell. After Giorno healed me on the beach, I didn’t know why I was still alive.” He took a breath and a couple sobs. You felt tears coming up as well.
“I've never been as close and trusting with anyone since the incident with-” He took a deep breath. “My former partner…” Another tear dropped from his pale face. “As with you. Especially because I joined Passione, everyone I care about could die a horrible death at any time, I just…" He stopped, tears leaking out of his eyes. He slumped over, falling into your arms. "I'm sorry." He whimpered.
"Don’t be sorry," You started. He hugged you tighter. “You are here for a reason, and I mean in Passione and literally.” The two of you were now both sobbing messes, his makeup now smudged all over your shoulder.
After a few more minutes of venting and consoling, Abbacchio pulled away from the embrace.
"Thank you. I really needed to get that out." He looked at his hands and grimaced. "Merda! My fucking makeup is ruined." He sniffled, wiping his tears away. You wiped your tears as well, and smiled at him.
"Did you enjoy venting?" You asked.
"I mean I would still rather beat up some thug." His salty and snappy responses came back immediately, despite still being a bit sniffly. You were a little startled from the juxtaposition of his demeanor from now and a few moments ago. "You're not my therapist though." He joked. There was a short awkward silence. "Uhm.. You know that thing you asked about earlier?"
You were confused for a second, but then you remembered the most absolutely embarrassing moment of your life: when you completely misread the room and tried to kiss him.
“Oh mio dio, I’m so sorry about that. Really, I-”
Before you knew it, Abbacchio’s lips were joined with yours, his hands around your nape, pulling you closer to him. The kiss was sloppy and honestly kind of gross, but it felt like fireworks were going off in your head and there was not a single worry in your mind. His lips were soft and wet, his breath was hot and smelled like cigarettes. You could still taste the lingering alcohol on his tongue. Every time you pulled away to get a breath, you needed more of him. Abbacchio was like your oxygen, you couldn’t live without him from that moment on.
"I love you, Leone." You whispered in his ear, too drunk to understand the weight of your proclamation. He pulled away for a moment and your heart sank. That unreadable facial expression had reappeared.
You thought Abbacchio loved you back, but maybe your confidence was too high. You had been somewhat hinting to him your feelings for a few weeks now, offering him extra snacks, drinking with him when the others were out, getting him special presents for no particular reason. For some reason tonight was different. You were impatient and all he ever did was show a little affection. But before you could utter another apology, he grabbed your face with one hand again.
"I.." He began, not knowing how to put his feelings into words. "I love you too." He admitted.
The man smiled. This rare authentic smile from him, only ever seen when you mention alcohol, made your blood rush to your head, making it painfully obvious that you were blushing. It was unreal- his eyes were almost twinkling like in an animated cartoon, where the background turns pink and flowery.
He kissed your forehead and you were completely frozen. Your brain malfunctioned- It was like you were frozen in time you were so still. He waved his hand in front of your face, before flicking the back of your head.
“Ow, what the fuck, Leone?” You snapped. He giggled as you rubbed the spot he flicked.
"Stay here, tesoro. I'm tired and I want to sleep." He spoke, almost pushing you off the couch to lay down horizontally. He grunted from the excessive effort it took to move you. “You’re surprisingly strong…”
“This couch will not fit the both of us, laying down.”
“No, we’ll make it work.” He insisted, pulling you down with him. Abbacchio put his arm over your waist and the other under your neck, assuming the big spoon position, and you were almost falling off the couch. You were like a deer in headlights, and redder than a tomato. He was playing with your hair with the arm under your head, covering your eyes with his forearm. With the sudden darkness, your eyes shut and you immediately started dozing off.
"Ti amo molto." He whispered into your ear, before planting a kiss on the back of your head.
"I love you too, Leone." You returned, the both of you quickly passing out.
The next morning, you woke up with a killer hangover. Somehow, there was now a fluffy blanket covering the two of you. You scowled at the sunlight from the humongous windows, the sun shining directly into your eyes. You tried to move your hand to cover the sunlight, but your arm was being held back by an immeasurably strong grip. A moment of panic settled in before you realised what is was- or rather who it was.
You sighed in relief, and then a wave of pain hit your brain as the memories from the previous night came back. You weren’t sure if your alcoholism had come to a point where you started having delusions or if you really confessed to Abbacchio, but your head hurt too much to really tell. Your heart started beating faster, and somehow his embrace tightened even more, it was almost suffocating. Combined with the sun in your eyes and your inability to break free from his grasp, you groaned.
Abbacchio immediately woke up with a loud snort and shook his head. You felt him wake up, and then the immediate absence of movement or sound scared you a little. He loosened his embrace, allowing you to turn around and face him.
“Uh…” He rumbled. “Was last night real or was I just too drunk?”
“Yeah, that was real… I mean, I don’t remember much after the tequila was finished but something else happened that I would never forget.” You smiled.
There was a sweet but short moment where you just admired his beauty before it was interrupted by a voice coming from the stairs.
“Oi! Bucciarati, they’re finally awake!” Narancia yelled. You heard his footsteps rapidly coming closer, and the two of you immediately sat up. “You guys thought you were so sneaky, huh?” The boy teased. You sat there, silently staring at Narancia, then switching your gaze to Abbacchio, who was doing the same. “I was just kidding. Everyone knew you two had a thing going, you guys are so oblivious.” Narancia rolled his eyes and left the room. Normally, Abbacchio would have threatened to beat him up or something, but when you looked back at him, he was just looking at you.
“What, is there something on my face?” You blushed.
“No, you’re just so-”
“Good morning, love birds.” Bucciarati interrupted, leaning on the door frame of the living room. It was almost terrifying how quiet his presence was. You and Abbacchio froze, too embarrassed to say a greeting back, even though he was your boss. “Who do you think gave you that blanket?” He said.
“Thank you, Mr. Bucciarati.” You stammered.
“No no no, it was Giorno.” He corrected you. Abbacchio tensed up and rolled his eyes.
“He didn’t need to do that, ass-kissing brat.” He scowled.
“When we came back earlier today, Mista and I were gonna have a couple drinks with you two. But for some reason, the alcohol was gone and you were sleeping blissfully on the couch. I stopped Mista from taking a photo as blackmail, so thank me for that, Abbacchio.” The ebony-haired man reassured. Abbacchio nodded. “Get up now, Trish and I just finished making brunch.”
The two of you stood up, stretching and yawning as you walked over to the breakfast table. The rest of the gang was already waiting for you, eating their meals and having their coffee as usual. Narancia and Fugo were fighting, Mista was going off about something dumb, Trish was touching up her makeup, Giorno was sitting back and watching everyone, and Bruno was reading the local paper. You sat down next to Abbacchio, and started eating the Pasta alla Genovese.