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“We are idiots.”
“For real, we are the dumbest.”
“Speak for yourself, Narancia.”
“Hey, you trying to start something with me, Fugo!?”
“Both of you shut the hell up! So… you’ll let this slide, right?”
Abbacchio’s frown deepened, his eyes sliding from one anxious face to the next as the gaggle of young men continued to chatter. The more plaintive their excuses grew, the less inclined he was to believe a single syllable that came tumbling from their mouths. “Do you really think I should let you off the hook for this one?”
He’d meant the question more as a rhetorical, but the sarcastic tone he’d chosen seemed entirely lost as the three of them resumed their babbling, voices clamoring over one another in an attempt to see who could proclaim their innocence the loudest. Abbacchio began to wonder if it was possible to actually feel a brain aneurysm forming. It would certainly explain the headache.
Perhaps the universe had decided to have pity upon Leone Abbacchio. Or maybe whatever cosmic forces that existed had agreed that he hadn’t undergone enough punishment in his day thus far. Either way, he nearly jumped when he heard a door open a few feet away, followed by the sound of a voice he knew all too well. “What seems to be the matter?”
A couple of the boys–Narancia and Mista–squealed Buccellati’s name, eyes shining and hands clasped as if paying homage to a passing saint. Abbacchio felt his jaw tighten reflexively. Shit.
Sighing, Abbacchio turned to face his fellow RA just as the other man exited his room. Buccellati’s expression was as impassive as ever, though the corners of his lips seemed to tug up ever so slightly at the sight of his fellow dorm mates doing their best to grovel before Abbacchio. He’d always been a little too soft on this group. Which is probably why they had become a near permanent pain in Abbacchio’s ass these past few semesters.
“These geniuses were trying to cover everything in Giovanna’s room in plastic wrap. They were arguing over whether they should individually wrap his pillows when I caught them.”
The smile finally broke free across Buccellati’s face, eyes softening as he turned to look at Abbacchio. “It seems like a pretty harmless prank, don’t you think? We did worse in our first year here, after all.”
Abbacchio was still trying to decide on if he should be cursing or adoring that damn smile when Narancia began squealing, waving a finger in Abbacchio’s face like it was the key piece of evidence that would prove his innocence. “See, it’s tradition! You didn’t have to dime us out like that, Abbacchio!”
Abbacchio growled and slapped Narancia’s hand away, ignoring the indignant shriek that action earned him. “What part of this being my job do you idiots not understand?”
Behind him, he could hear Buccellati laugh, the sound causing Abbacchio’s shoulders to stiffen in response. He brought a fist up to his mouth and forced a cough. “Anyway, Giovanna’s the real victim in this. We should ask what he thinks about this.”
They all turned to look at the young man standing slightly apart from the group. Giorno Giovanna had been silent this entire time, watching the lot of them as they argued over the prank at his expense. His eyes seemed to linger on the three would-be pranksters before turning to Abbacchio and Buccellati and giving them a noncommittal shrug. “It’s not really a big deal.”
“You’re awfully forgiving for someone who just had half of their belongings wrapped up like Christmas dinner’s leftovers,” Abbacchio drawled. Ever since he’d met him, he’d found Giovanna to be more than a little suspicious, and this sure wasn’t helping his case any. There was something about the overly composed way in which he carried himself that just didn’t seem to settle well with Abbacchio.
To his surprise, Giorno answered him with a small, gracious smile. “I’ll get them back later.”
Mista, Narancia, and Fugo seemed to flinch in unison, passing worried looks between each other at the unnervingly even tone Giorno had spoken in. If he wasn’t still so irritated by the fact that he had to deal with this nuisance in the first place, Abbacchio might’ve been impressed.
“See? Then it’s all settled,” Buccellati said, waving in Giorno’s direction and and nodding. “Don’t worry about getting everything cleaned up, Giorno. These three will make sure everything gets put back just as they found it.”
“We will?” Fugo asked, raising an eyebrow. At his sides, Narancia and Mista were already beginning to pull a number of disgruntled faces.
The smile was back on Buccellati’s face, though it was considerably less warm and comforting this time. “Yes, because I’ll be watching you, and you’re not going to leave until I’m satisfied you’ve done a good job."
The three started to groan and complain, but Buccellati was quick to cut them off. "Unless you’d prefer I report this to the university?”
That seemed to cut the bulk of their whining down immediately, though they did let the occasional disgruntled mutter slip out under their breaths as they began shuffling back towards Giorno’s room. Buccellatti moved to join them, but not before placing a hand on Abbacchio’s upper arm. “Go back to studying, Leone, I’ll handle this from here.”
Abbacchio let his shoulders sag ever so slightly, punctuating the action with a sigh. “You’re too easy on them.”
“Maybe so,” Buccellati replied softly, the slightest of lilts marking his voice. And then all too soon he was pulling away, his fingers lingering for only a moment before he turned to Mista, Narancia, and Fugo and began herding them along, meeting their grumbling with offers of extended chores and bathroom duty for a week.
It was only after the group had disappeared into Giorno’s room that Abbacchio realized the owner of said room was still standing next to him. Not to mention staring at him owlishly. Abbacchio scowled. “Why the hell are you still here?”
“I wanted to ask you about getting a job as an RA.”
Abbacchio squinted at the younger man, trying to scrutinize his face for any sort of clue that might reveal just what in the world Giorno was planning. “You’ve barely been here for a month. Isn’t it a little early to be thinking about an RA position?”
“Well,” Giorno said, that same infuriatingly even smile on his face, “it’s good to be ambitious, isn’t it?”
A few beats passed as the two of them stared at each other, neither willing to concede any ground, and then Abbacchio found himself sighing again. There was no use in giving himself a headache over trying to crack the walking enigma that was Giorno Giovanna. “Fine, follow me. I’ll print you out a copy of the questions they sent me if it’ll get you out of my hair.”
That seemed to please the other man, eliciting a curt nod and little else. Abbacchio just rolled his eyes and began walking back to his dorm room.
Neither said a word on the short walk, though Abbacchio was sure to watch Giorno from the corner of his eye. His long legs afforded Leone a fairly large stride stride, but even when moving at such a good clip, Giovanna seemed able to keep apace with him without showing the slightest bit of irritation. What would it take to really piss this kid off?
Abbacchio shook his head and bit back a huff. Giovanna would probably slip up eventually, so best to save the worry until then. Silently he let the other man into his dorm room and instructed him to sit (“quietly”) on the bed while Abbacchio booted up his computer and logged into his school e-mail.
For the most part, Giorno appeared to be keeping the “quiet” end of the bargain, content to look around at the meager offerings Abbacchio had chosen to decorate his room with. Which is why Abbacchio nearly jumped out of his skin when the other man chose to speak up finally. “How long have you lived in this room?”
Once he’d returned his heart rate to something resembling normal, Abbacchio spared Giorno a withering look and resumed looking for the document in question. “About two years.”
“And you’re studying… law, is it?”
“Criminal justice.”
“Ah. Do you enjoy it?”
Abbacchio finally tore his eyes from the computer screen to glare at the younger man. He looked entirely too at home, perched on Abbacchio’s bed with his hands politely folded over his knees, and somehow this only increased Abbacchio’s mounting annoyance. “It’s a goddamn laugh riot. And as riveting as this conversation is, I’d like to get back doing something actually worthwhile, so would you please shut the hell up so I can find this damn e-mail already?”
If he’d been expecting a change in Giorno’s demeanor, he would’ve been sorely disappointed, as all he received in response was a slight raise of the eyebrows and an obedient nod. So he almost felt the slightest twinge of guilt when, upon returning his attention to his computer, he immediately spotted the e-mail in question sitting patiently at the bottom of his browser.
Almost.
A few clicks and his printer whirred to life, spitting out two sheets of questions dutifully before returning to its slumber. Abbacchio didn’t even bother to look it over before grabbing the sheets and thrusting them in Giorno’s general direction, keeping his eyes glued to his computer screen the whole time. “Here. You’re welcome.”
A beat. He could hear his bed springs creak as Giorno shifted, followed by the papers being tugged from Abbaccho’s fingers. “You don’t like me much, do you?”
“Congratulations,” Abbacchio muttered in the flattest tone he could muster, “you have eyes.”
There was another pause, and then, surprisingly, Giorno laughed. It was a soft sound, brief and breathy and small, and yet Abbacchio couldn’t help but find himself taken aback by it, turning to stare at the unexpected gesture. Giorno was looking at the print-outs and grinning, the emotion actually reaching his eyes for once. Abbacchio hadn’t thought Giovanna even capable of anything beyond that carefully composed mask of detached pleasantness he seemed to live in.
The grin firmly in place on his lips, Giorno shifted his gaze to Abbacchio and bowed his head softly. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Abbacchio made a vague gesture with his hand. Whether it was to wave off Giorno or his gratitude, he wasn’t sure. Probably both.
Unfortunately, the message must not have been received because Giorno just… sat there. Not really doing anything, just sitting and staring at Abbacchio in a way that made him feel like a protozoa futilely trying to escape under the watchful eye of a microscope. He was just about to snap and ask him what the hell he was so captivated with when Giorno broke the silence again.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking–”
“I do, so stop.”
“–but are you and Buccellati seeing one another?”
Abbacchio blinked a few times, hoping it would distract from the color he could feel draining from his face. How…? “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“It isn’t,” Giorno said, folding his hands in his lap neatly. His voice was back to its usual even, calculating tone. The same tone that always sent warning klaxons off in Abbacchio’s mind. “But I was curious.”
Abbacchio frowned and turned away, desperately looking for something to distract him on his computer. This was his room; he should be the one making Giorno feel unwelcome, not the other way around. His right hand found his mouse and began clicking the buttons rapidly. If only Giorno would get the fucking hint and drop this uncomfortable line of questions. “We’re friends. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“But you have feeling for him.”
“Even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t be telling you!” It took every ounce of his composure to keep from picking up his mouse and throwing it straight at Giorno’s nosy little head. Asking all of these invasive questions, picking Leone apart like an overzealous psychiatrist with something to prove; just who did he think he was? Oh god, what if Giorno tried this maddening interrogation with Buccellati? Worse, what if he already had?
Abbacchio closed his eyes and breathed deeply. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Over and over again until he didn’t feel like he was likely to jump up and start throwing punches. “Just do me a favor and take your damn papers and get out. I have enough to worry about without you trying to pry into my social life.”
The room lapsed into silence once more, Abbacchio feeling drained and Giorno–well, Giorno could go fuck himself for all that he cared. Abbacchio sighed and placed his head in his hands, letting his hair fall in a curtain across his arms. The overwhelming desire to be alone had overtaken him, and since Giorno didn’t seem keen to move his ass any time soon, he might as well withdraw into his own barrier.
Three years. It’d been three very long, very awkward years that Abbacchio had been holding this damn torch for Bruno Buccellati; three years of incremental growth and trust-building, three years of wanting more but being terrified of even the slightest step forward. Three years of painstakingly covering any sign of longing that might give him away with disaffected disinterest and three years of hurried subject changes whenever asked about his love life. And then Giorno Giovanna had to come slinking into their dorms, with his unnervingly keen eyes that seemed to pierce through everything he set them on, and suddenly the fortress Abbacchio had built around himself seemed in danger of imminent collapse.
He really should’ve let those idiots turn Giorno’s room into a plastic-wrapped nightmare.
Abbacchio almost didn’t catch it when Giorno started speaking again, accompanied by the groan of the bed springs as he righted himself. “Alright, my apologies. I’ll leave you be. But if–and this is merely speculation, but if you did have some sort of attraction to our other RA, I’d say there’s a high chance of those feelings being reciprocated.”
That finally got Abbacchio to open his eyes. He turned to face his intruder, watching as Giorno folded the papers neatly and tucked them into the pocket of his jeans, smoothing out the denim with a surprising amount of care. The longer he stayed in Giorno’s presence, the less sense the young man made to him. “How the hell would you know that?”
The smile returned as soon Giorno locked eyes with Abbacchio. Not his usual, pleasantly distant one–the real smile that caused his eyes to crease and lips to part, revealing the slightest hint of even, white teeth. “It’s like you said. I have eyes.”
Again, Abbacchio found himself speechless, too busy wading through the torrent of emotions this conversation had forced upon him. His first instinct was to throw everything out wholesale; he didn’t consider himself a very trusting person, and everything about Giovanna screamed at Abbacchio’s inner skeptic to disregard anything that slithered off his calculating little tongue. And yet, some small part of him–the part he’d been carefully imprisoning these past three years–seemed to strain against its shackles at Giorno’s words, latching onto the tiny morsels of hope and devouring them greedily.
He shouldn’t trust Giorno. Couldn’t, really–everything about him screamed of ulterior motives and a frightening, cunning mind, and yet.
And yet.
Giorno was halfway through the door when the urge to call out to him overtook Abbacchio. “Giovanna.”
The other man stopped in the doorway, looking back at Abbacchio expectantly. Abbacchio found himself sighing for what seemed like the umpteenth time in an hour.
“Mista can’t stand having anything in groups of fours, and I’m reasonably sure Narancia has some sort of allergy to numbers in general. Fugo’s too smart for his own damn good but he’s got a temper like a landmine. But I didn’t tell you any of this.”
It took a moment for Abbacchio’s words to sink in, but when it did, that rare, honest grin wormed its way back onto Giorno’s face once more. He bowed his head again and finished exiting the room without a word, closing the door behind him with a gentle click.
With his solitude finally restored, Abbacchio allowed himself to slide down in his chair, arms dangling at his sides and knees sticking out at unflattering angles. He had a couple of forum postings to do for his ethics class, and he should probably check in to see if they’d managed to clean out Giorno’s room yet, but after the whirlwind conversation he’d just survived, Abbacchio felt perfectly content to stare up at the ceiling and let his mind wander.
Three years, huh?
Idly, he began to swivel back and forth in his chair, letting his arms sway limply along. Maybe Giorno was wrong. Maybe this was all some sort of bizarre set up to establish dominance by embarrassing the dorm’s resident hardass. But maybe there was some truth in there. And maybe it was enough of a lead to follow up on.
Abbacchio brought himself to a stop and then, before he felt his cynicism rear its ugly head, fished out his phone from his pocket and began typing out an invite. There were a couple good movies opening the following Friday, and Buccellati hadn’t taken a night off in a while. Maybe it was high time for a change.
Besides, Fridays were usually when Mista, Narancia, and Fugo went out drinking, and something told him that, just this once, he and Buccellati should probably be as far away from the dorms as possible.