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Faint music could be heard through the open window of a home on the end of a narrow street. Dirt guided the homeowners and guests to their locations. Rocks beside the evenly paved sidewalks. A crack or two in the cement beneath one’s shoes.
The day was bright and full of wind. Wind blowing opportunities to anyone in its presence. A gust grazed the curtains in the musical home. Sun shining through to reveal an old record player propped against an off-white wall. An oil painting of a martini glass hanging above the device. Transparent olive green liquid with a spiraling orange peel placed within the glass.
At his feet, the charging air caught the end of a dark jacket. The figure stood tall, legs spread slightly, making his leather shoes farther apart than necessary. They pointed towards the door of the house. Leaves scattered around the steps he stood on. Vines danced along the stone walls. Climbing up into the hatch under the roof.
In his hands was a small box. Wrapped in sparkling red with a matching bow. He did not particularly like the overly glamorous appearance of the box. It was just a box. Not a very extravagant object.
Behind the door was a man sitting on a chair. Reading a daily newspaper he had picked up on a shopping trip to the grocery store. On the table in front of him was a bowl with an assortment of various fruits. He had one leg crossed, ankle resting on his keep. He was very aware of his guest’s arrival, but decided to wait for him to welcome himself in. Unless he took too long.
Looking through the peephole of the door, the guest saw a blurry and distorted vision of his partner. Resting a hand on the doorknob when he noticed a faint smile on the other’s face. He grinned to himself, watching him peacefully reading as he reached for grapes.
Knocking was pointless considering he had been in this house so many times. However, it was difficult to turn the bronze knob in his loose grip. He brushed his thumb across the keyhole, engraving its shape into his fingerprint.
“There is nothing wrong, Leone,” The quote of reassurance replayed in his head. He was almost tempted to manifest Moody Blues to hear the voice of the speaker and all. A name plate rested above the mailbox sheathed into the bricks. It read ‘Buccellati’, the name of the man waiting for his lover who was hiding sheepishly behind his front door.
When a stand is present behind its user, a certain feeling washes over them. Every user treats their stands differently. Viewing them through any possible lens depending on who they were and what their stand represented about themselves. Stands could be guardians to some. Acting as a knight for their noble king or queen. However, stands could also be troublesome. Especially if they could bring about danger to their user.
Abbacchio knew somebody with a stand that could harm its user. He knew him very well. They worked together on the same team for Passione. There was a special, almost familial connection the two shared. Neither of them would ever admit that though. Most of their sentimentality towards each other was allocated unconsciously. Even if Abbacchio were to express his affections, the boy would most likely become defensive. Displaying anger, not towards Abbacchio but towards himself for his inability to accept kindhearted gestures naturally.
The way Abbacchio viewed his own stand was conflicting. The view did not harbor complete negativity or positivity. It switched back and forth depending on the situation and how Abbacchio was feeling in the present time. Moody Blues was convenient for tracking people and what they have done in the past. That was helpful to him when it was instructed to be used. However, its reflectiveness and artificial production of the past was a mirror into his own previous errors. Moody Blues had manifested from his mistakes.
Drastic omissions called upon great guilt. One that would live on for the rest of his life. Although, it was easier to ignore it at this point than to continue to let dread haunt him. Enough thought had been put into the affair.
Suddenly, before Abbacchio could be swept away by his own thoughts, the door opened in front of him. He stood patiently awaiting to be greeted by the owner of the house. Gift box pressed closely to his chest. Slowly sinking down as he was welcomed by Bruno. “Hello, Buccellati,” He stepped forward, foot pressing against the metal door frame on the floor.
“What’s with the formalities?” Bruno responded, backing up to allow Abbacchio to step further into the room. He remained standing still. Thin air touched his face, a soft coldness cooling his body. Spring was shifting into summer. A long, eventful spring was coming to a close. Objectives had been reached, now all they could do was wait. Wait for the next orders of their new boss.
A leader that had barely any place in bearing the title of the organization’s boss. Change was unbearable. Especially when the thing that has provided security for somebody undergoes it. Bruno trusted Giorno’s hands with the direction of Passione. And Abbacchio trusted Bruno. However, he could not help but have his doubts.
While the rest of his team saw this as an advancement, Abbacchio still remained sunken in his worries. Well, if you could even call them a team at this point. In his heart, Abbacchio still could not help but refer to them as such. Even if they had all split and gone their separate ways. The group that Bruno had worked so hard for would always remain close to him no matter how far the distance was that separated them.
Stability and consistency was everything to Abbacchio. Working alongside Bruno and his team was the only thing that could fuel his ideals. Now that his team was divided, it was a shame. Everyday, he dreaded waking up, going to work for a lonesome cause with limited sources of comfort in his occupation. There was always the option to leave Passione all together but what else did Abbacchio know? What else did he have? No other organization would accept him as a respectable member of their societies.
“The formalities?” Abbacchio snickered. “Force of habit, Bruno.” He tilted his head down to view the floor. Realizing that the middle of his shoe was compressing against the center of the doorframe. The rigid metal scraping along the leather. It reminded him of when he practically stomped his way onto that speedboat a month ago. Joining Bruno on his expedition. With his team.
When Fugo dragged his foot along the pavement in resentment behind himself should have been the first sign of conflict. Abbacchio often wondered what happened to that kid. Probably wandering the street again to find something to latch onto. That was the thing about him, the thing about Abbacchio. They both hung onto the perception of somebody else, a higher power that could guide them towards assurance. Guidance was important in their lives because without it, they would be so lost in their voids of insecurity.
There was no way that Fugo could ever come running back to Bruno. No matter how much guilt and sorrow he could muster to his former Capo, there was no way Bruno would have any desire to assist him again. Bruno felt no malice towards Fugo. Only disappointment and mistrust. Maybe he could earn an ounce of that trust back but Bruno had no interest in watching him kiss ass to no reward. That would benefit neither of them anymore.
Abbacchio, however, did worry about Fugo often. He still had Bruno to latch onto. What did Fugo have after his departure? It must be scary for the kid to feel alone. Unless he came running back to their newly beloved boss.
“Fugo Pannacotta? He’s still out there, huh?” Abbacchio handed a folder to Bruno.
“That’s what I heard from the higher ups, sure.” A stoic expression remained on Bruno’s face. Shadows dimming the creases of his eyes and nose.
“I wonder how he’s holding up. He’s still a kid. You recruited him when he was 13, right?”
“Yes. But you can only be 13 once.”
“What do you mean?”
Bruno’s face grew harder. It did not appear to be anger but a much more complex emotion. It was a thoughtful look plastering his expression. “Would you ever work with Fugo again?”
“If I was instructed to, yes,” Abbacchio sighed. He really missed his colleague. He hated calling him his colleague. A word lacking any emotional value. There was no other appropriate word that came to mind, though. Not one that could be thrown around loosely in a crime syndicate. Even if they treated each other like family, acknowledging it would be unprofessional. “Would you?”
“No, not comfortably.”
“I am surprised to hear that…”
“Why? I have no desire to work with somebody who turned his back on me. It all worked out in the end, Trish is safe. Giorno is now the boss. He was a coward for not lending me his power to fight forward.”
“No need for formalities when there is nothing to be formal about. There is no longer a team to address me by my surname, is there?” Bruno almost sounded sarcastic but there was a hint of anguish in his tone.
“Don’t say such a thing,” Abbacchio shook his head, placing the box he was holding into his coat pocket. “It would be difficult to remain the same after everything we’ve experienced so quickly.”
“You’re one to speak. You’re still hung up on mistakes you made years ago.”
“When did I mention anybody making mistakes?”
“Fair enough point. But you should see yourself sometimes. Part of life is continuing ahead.”
“You’re saying all of this nonsense to no avail.”
“No, I’m not. I’m reminding you that you didn’t have to call me ‘Buccellati.’ You don’t seem to get it. By addressing me as such, you’re still hanging onto the thread of history.”
Abbacchio faced the floor, his head tilted in a crooked direction. What Bruno was saying was not false. Subconsciously, Abbacchio did feel that way exactly. His inability to release prior routines was apparent to everybody but himself. Bruno could see right through him. Normally, he had to outright express his intentions and feelings to him. It was unnatural for him to be reading him without hesitation. Being correct was even creepier.
Rarely could other people truly understand the thought pattern in which Abbacchio saw life through. So for somebody to guess perfectly the intentions behind his words upset him, even if he was unaware of this fact. Encountering such a skill was troublesome. He lacked enthusiasm towards being deciphered.
If there was anybody who could view a person transparently and understand the internals of their intent, it was Giorno. Now the man that he trusted most is telling him exactly what that pest would be saying in this moment. Although, that would all be an act to intimidate Abbacchio. At least Bruno actually understood and knew his notions.
“Will you ever let go of the past?” Bruno grabbed Abbacchio’s idle hand resting at his side.
“Eventually, sure.” Abbacchio smirked with a small shrug.
“You’re lying,” He pointed to Abbacchio’s forehead. “I can see your sweat in the light of the sun creeping in.” He smirked back but with confidence rather than doubt.
Bruno dragged Abbacchio into the living room. He glanced into the hallway leading to the bathroom and bedroom. Beside it was an open kitchen with an island in the center. It was a clean home producing the smell of citrus throughout the airways.
Hands interlocked tighter as Bruno spun them near the side of the couch. Abbacchio nearly tripped before catching himself mid-fall. He stood up straight, facing Bruno. “What’s with all of this, suddenly?” Abbacchio questioned, snickering.
“Nothing, nothing. Take a seat,” His open hand gestured towards the couch cushions. He obliged, the requester following suit. Leaning forward, he tugged a grape off its vine. Raising it up to Abbacchio’s painted lips, gasping briefly, he inched forward to take a bite. He found it a little weird that he was being fed but he played along. Bruno ate the other half of the fruit.
As they chewed, they awkwardly stared into each other’s eyes. Abbacchio focused on his own reflection in the irises in his vision. Through the small dot of black he could see himself sitting patiently in Bruno’s home. The action of gazing into his own reflection reminded him of his battle with Illuso. Audibly, a tiny hum escaped his mouth. “What’s on your mind now?” Bruno asked.
Abbacchio turned his head away slowly. He shook it there after. Clothed spine grazing against the back of the couch. His hand glided into his pocket. Shifting towards Bruno as he dug further into the fabric. He swallowed the bite of the grape he took a moment prior. Skin stuck to his teeth, leaving a gross texture on his gums.
Cardboard with tiny bumps pressed into his fingers. He pulled the box from his pocket, holding it up in front of himself proudly. Soon transferring his arm towards the direction of Bruno. The force of another hand pushed his forearm to the side. “Tell me,” Bruno restated his question.
“Nothing in particular,” Abbacchio smiled dumbfoundedly. “Just staring into your pretty eyes.” Attempting to charm Bruno to shut him up. Very obviously growing nervous by the inquiry. He did not want to further enforce the idea into Bruno’s head that he was trapped in a cycle of constantly reflecting on past events.
“I understand that you’re afraid. I can feel it. The fear that you harbor is one that I will share. Believe it or not, I myself am worried. Never did I think that somebody would come along and alter our lives as drastically as they did. But alas, here we are. Could have been worse. And I trust the organization in his hands. Even if you don’t, but I wouldn’t expect you to easily. It’s only logical!” Bruno paused. “Here I am talking about logic, as if I’ve ever used that as my first solution.”
Abbacchio clenched his teeth in his mouth. Tongue pressing against the top of his gums. “I am afraid, you’re correct. I didn’t know how to verbalize that. But…” He drifted off, going silent. Before he let his mind wander any further, he handed the gift box to Bruno. Officially placing it into his hands with assertion. “Here! Take this.”
No longer ranting, Bruno pulled the ribbon back in his direction. Creating a knot in the center of the box. As he tugged, the contraption of plastic followed. Zippers flew across the ribbon, splitting it apart at the tangle. It fell onto his lap beneath his hands. Abbacchio waited anxiously for the box to be opened. The gift was nothing super fancy or complex. But a trinket that caught his attention that could be used to show his gratitude.
Bruno raised the lid of the box into the air. Inside it housed a sheet of gritty white cloth. On top of it was a lighthouse the size of an ornament. Made of wood with looped paint in the shade of a bright red and white. He held it close to his face, inspecting the finer details of the object. It was crafted well with good tools and patience, he could tell. Abbacchio did not bother inspecting that closely but he would never buy Bruno something lacking in quality.
Craftsmanship is important for an item but that was not his focus while purchasing the gift. There was a reason behind why he specially chose a lighthouse. Abbacchio placed the pads of his fingers on the underside of Bruno’s palm as it held itself between them. “It’s a lighthouse, I got this lighthouse because it represents navigation. You have helped navigate me through so much. Look where we are now, it may be confusing but I know that you’ll always be the light that I can sail towards.”
“It also has to do with the fact that my father was a sailor, hm?” Bruno’s mouth shifted into a jeering smile. He could not help but laugh at his own comment. Abbacchio continued to gaze at him, growing paranoid. Did he not like the gift? Did he do or say something wrong? Unconsciously he began to breathe shallowly.
Starting up again, Bruno followed, “I’m messing with you, Leone. I love the gift. And I loved your little monologue even more. I already expressed my worries about your tendency to always relate anything to the past. I will not continue to weigh it on you. At least not today.” He leaned forward to kiss his cheek gently.
Abbacchio attempted to hide his face to conceal the very faint tears welling in his eyes. He could not allow himself to get overly emotional. He was completely free from judgment but expressing such feelings would only exhaust him. Instead, he decided to indulge in the recognition he was receiving from Bruno.
With his index finger, Abbacchio pointed into the seemingly empty box. He raised his eyebrows, jerking his hand forward to emphasis that there was still something lying within. Bruno bent over the sheet on the bottom to reveal a folded piece of paper. He placed the box and lighthouse onto the end table.
There was a message that read: “Thank you for always understanding the way I think and feel. Love, Leone.” Straight to the point and simple, the note was written in tiny print. Bruno giggled, rocking slightly in his seat.
“Well, I certainly do love Leone!” Bruno continued to smile, wrapping his arm around Abbacchio’s side. He dragged him closer by his waist.
“No need to get all cheesy,” Abbacchio rested his head on Bruno’s shoulder.
“Says you.”
“Says me?”
“Says you."