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It's 2am on a weekend. He's slipped into a sleep as peaceful as he can get, which, to say, for him, isn't much. But it's enough to make it through the day, so he finds he has no reason to complain.
So when something interrupts that delicately tuned mechanism, he's annoyed beyond belief. Abbacchio tosses and turns in his bed, attempting to convince himself that the loud barrage of knocks on his apartment will go away if he wishes it away hard enough. For several minutes, he's waiting there, in his bed his ears plugged with pillows, and on edge for whenever the infernal knocking decides to subside.
It doesn't. In fact, it's quickly replaced by something even more jarring.
"Hey! Abbacchio! Wake up! I know you're not out clubbing today, so answer the door!"
Ghirga. Narancia Ghirga. Abbacchio grumbles to himself as he stumbles out of bed, muttering curses under his breath over the loud-mouthed young currently at his door.
"He should know better, that little shit..." he says to himself as he gets dressed. As he's getting changed, thoughts of how much of a nuisance Narancia was to the gang roll around in his mind. Even if his thoughts are tinged with anger and annoyance, spurred on by the fact Abbacchio was being woken up at at 2 AM in he morning, he doesn't, and never really did, expect much out of Narancia. As the boy was as loud as the color he was almost perfectly named after, Abbacchio never expected much in the first place, but of all things, the little brat should have known better than this.
When Abbacchio finally manages to drag himself to the door to answer, his response is as ugly as his leftover makeup from the day before.
"You better be bringing me an assignment directly from the boss of Passione or Buccellati himself, because if not, I'm kicking your ass and reporting you for noise disturbance."
"You can't report me for noise, I don't even live here!" The younger one barks. Abbacchio's eye twitches, and Narancia, with just enough speed and anticipation, zooms into Abbacchio's apartment just before the taller man could hit him or reply with a comment of equal wit. Abbacchio sighs at the fact Narancia is now in his apartment, as it's two in the morning and he wants sleep like he does death. He turns around fully to to the Napoli youngster and shoots him a furrowed glare. Had Narancia not been a gangster, he would have been intimidated by the other's towering figure and merciless expression.
"Look," Abbacchio begins, with a tone quite obvious he wants to show he's pissed off. "Whatever the hell you want, you can have it in the morning. If you leave now, I'll let you off the hook with Fugo and say you briefly forgot how to tell time. 'Kay?" Abbacchio steps asides and points to the still open door behind him.
He's waiting for an answer, and when it doesn't come, he pulls himself to full focus and narrows his sights on Narancia.
"Did you hear me? Narancia, wake up sleepyhead." He snaps his fingers in front of Narancia's face, which earns him a slight slap as Narancia tries to push Abbacchio away from him.
"No, I'm not tired, a-and I-I'm not that st-stupid!" Narancia stutters. "I can tell time! I'm not that much of an idiot! And...I...I..." He pauses to stare at the ground to collect his thoughts. Abbacchio cocks his head at the display, which is unusual for Narancia, waits for the other to finish. When he doesn't, Abbacchio interrupts his thoughts.
"Look, Narancia," he says, as he takes a step forward. "Whatever you're coming to me with right now, I don't care. I honestly don't. It's two in the fucking morning, I'm tired like shit, and whatever you want can and will be solved in the morning. Okay? So get out of my apartment before I call Fugo to come get you and–"
"I don't wanna fucking see him right now! Shut the fuck about him, okay?! Stop...stop fucking talking about him!" Narancia clutches head with his hands as he spits out his words like they're weights in his throat. Caught off guard, Abbacchio's expression changes from a deathly stare to a confused look, and before he can even register what Narancia just said, the seventeen year old slumps to the floor, holding his head and sniffling. Had Abbacchio been in the same mood from before, he would have called Narancia a crybaby.
"Leave me...leave me alone about him...okay...? Shit, I..." Narancia quickly realizes what he's doing in front of Abbacchio, and scoots back into the dark shadows of his apartment. He ducks his head into his knees as if Abbacchio could still see him and as if he was still exposed.
Abbacchio reacts with nothing but a small gasp. In his struggle for words, a silence settles in-between the two, which subsides only when Abbacchio's face softens and he closes the door. Narancia's eyes trace the footsteps from name brand leather shoes he knows so well to a light switch, which Abbacchio turns on. Narancia squints at the blinding light from above, and he scoots away from it in an attempt to escape it.
He nearly starts to cry, until he registers the sensation of the cold, smooth skin of Abbacchio's hands pulling his own, as well as his knees, out. Narancia makes no protest at Abbacchio's handling of him until the other pulls his pant legs up.
"Hey hey hey!" Narancia says, slapping away Abbacchio's hands. Abbacchio shoots an annoyed look in Narancia's direction, and immediately goes back to what he was doing before. Narancia grunts at Abbacchio's attempt to do...whatever he's planning to do and slaps his arms away.
"Stop touching me."
"Did Fugo hit you?"
"Wha–" Narancia sputters. "What kinda question is that?
"A simple one. Did Fugo hit you? I'm looking for bruises and cuts."
"No. No! No...he didn't hit me."
"Then what's going on between you two?" Abbacchio gives Narancia his other hand back and pulls down his pant legs.
"Hey, hold on a second. Wait...wait," Abbacchio pauses. He lifts himself off the floor to stand up and peer down at Narancia. "Before...before I even get into whatever squall you and him had, why didn't you first go to Mista or Buccellati for this? I'm not a babysitter, or even as maternal as Buccellati is. Plus, you're closer in age to Mista. Why am I the one you're coming to?"
"Because," Narancia says through a sniffle, which Abbacchio couldn't even half believe was real due to the youth's now furrowed expression. Narancia wipes his face off with his arm and stands up to face Abbacchio better, even if it is with a depressed slouch.
"Buccellati said he can't deal with me and Fugo's personal problems right now, and uh...well...Mista is part of my problem."
"Which is...? Did you three get into a fight?" Abbacchio raises his eyebrow at Narancia, who feels a bit shame burning in his face now.
"No...it...Fugo has a girlfriend now."
Narancia makes the statement so bluntly that it catches Abbacchio off guard, and the sentence hangs in the air between them for a few solid minutes because of that. He finally breaks the silence with a snicker, much to Narancia's distress.
"And this is a problem...why?" He wanted to be more serious, but he couldn't help himself. Narancia's situation...it was so juvenile. It was teen love after all. Abbacchio felt like this was straight out of a cheap novel marketed towards pre-teens and adults desperate to hold onto their youth. Narancia notices this and slugs Abbacchio in the arm, which, to his dismay, does not stop the laughter coming from the taller man.
"Oh my god...oh my god, that's what you barged in here for? You're whiny and upset because Fugo has a girlfriend?"
"Shut up!" Narancia slugs Abbachio once again, knocking him down to the floor without much effort. Abbacchio gets up and keeps laughing at Narancia, who's beginning to tear up and shake.
"St...stop it! It's not funny! I love him! I love him! He's...he's the closest person I have...he's my best friend! I...he's..." His knees give out and he collapses to the floor bawling with his face in his hands. "He's the only one who cared! He was the only one who cared when I was alone! He saved me! He saved me when everyone else abandoned me..."
Abbachio stops cold. His laughter dies down and what replaces it makes him wish he never laughed at Narancia in the first place. He leans up to look at the crying teen across the room, but his effort is ultimately met with a deathly glare and Narancia scooting away from him. Abbacchio reaches out towards Narancia as he tries to get on his feet, but Narancia has none of it.
"Stay away from me."
Abbacchio gets up completely and walks towards him.
"Stay...away...from...me."
Abbacchio doesn't listen. Every footstep he takes towards Narancia sets the younger one's hair on end and unnerves him in a way he hasn't felt for a long time.
Soon, he's jumping to his feet and summoning his stand with its aim dead set on Abbacchio. Abbacchio doesn't flinch.
"Can you hear me, you dickhead?! Stay away from me! I'll shoot you! I'll pump you full of bullets of you take a step closer I swe–"
"I'm sorry."
Narancia freezes. He maintains Aerosmith over his shoulder, despite the apology and despite the fact Abbacchio is his ally.
Abbacchio hesitantly puts his hands up, his once half lidded eyes now wide with a mix of emotions Narancia can't register. When Abbacchio takes a step towards him, he gets into a defensive position, despite the fact he's not certain of the goodwill in Abbacchio's intentions.
"Look...look. You can...you can put Aerosmith away. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know what Fugo did for you." Abbacchio takes another step towards Narancia, who's hellbent on maintaining his fighting stance. Aerosmith twitches, yet despite this, Abbacchio keeps walking forward.
"I...I know that feeling...b-believe me or not. I do."
Narancia doesn't move. He's frozen to the spot so tensely that if Abbacchio couldn't see the rising and falling of his chest, he wouldn't even think he was alive.
Narancia recalls Aerosmith after what, to the both of them, feels like forever, and falls to the floor in the same way as before. Abbacchio approaches him quietly, hovering his hands over Narancia when in reach.
"...don't touch me please."
"Alright," Abbacchio says, even though moments later, Narancia's pressing his weight against Abbacchio's right side. He sobs into the soft dark robes and Abbacchio cradles him gently, as to not disturb him and hopefully, not let him know what he's doing.
"I just l-l-love him so much," Narancia sobs, muffled by the robe in his face. "I...I don't want him with anyone else! I...I even..."
He digs around in the pockets of his pants and pulls out two slips of white paper. Abbacchio takes them and looks at each one carefully, and, after careful examination, has no idea what they are. He opens his mouth to ask, but Narancia answers first.
"I even...got us tickets to the opera...yeah, I'm not super fond of them, but Fugo loves 'em! But–!" He pulls his face out from the robe to stare straight at Abbacchio. "Now they're useless! I...I can't...we can't go anymore...I bought those tickets for nothing..."
Abbacchio raises an eyebrow at Narancia and wipes a tear off his face with a firm thumb.
"Narancia...why exactly are these tickets worthless?"
"Because...me and Fugo can't go anymore...I...I already told you...he likes opera, I don't."
"You can still go with him, you know."
"Yeah...but it won't mean as much then...because I...I kinda wanted to tell him how I felt. It would be the best time to do it...when we're walking out of the opera house..."
He trails off and leans his head against Abbacchio, who pulls him tightly into a halfway embrace. Narancia wipes his tears on the robes, to which Abbacchio softly laughs at. He takes Narancia's chin in his hand, and leans the dark haired youth up towards him.
"Narancia...what is the date on these tickets?"
"March 13th. Why?"
"How long is that away from today's date?"
"Uhhhhhh..." Narancia starts counting on his fingers.
"A month. A month and three days. Now, who got Fugo and his girlfriend together in the first place?"
"Mista."
"Now, Narancia, here's where we need to think. Does Mista have any luck with women?"
Narancia snickers. "Absolutely not! He's as bad a flirter as he is a good marksman!"
"Exactly! So..." Abbacchio hands Narancia back the tickets. "Let's save these, shall we? Trust me, Narancia, if Mista got them together, they'll only last two weeks, tops."
"Really?"
"Hm...you know it could last three weeks, if we give Mista as much of the benefit of the doubt here that we can."
Narancia laughs at Abbacchio's statement and looks down at the tickets with a now-cheerful gaze in his eyes. He plays with the tickets for a while until he's lifted up by Abbacchio by the torso.
"Hey! What are you–"
Abbacchio interrupts with a finger to the lips and a sarcastically maternal tone of voice.
"C'mon now! You must be exhausted. You're only seventeen too, and you know what they say! Children need their good eight hours of sleep every night."
"But I'm not tired!"
"Yeah, but I am. Get some sleep while I do, so I'm reassured you're eating my orange cookies when I'm not looking."
"But those are good though..." Narancia mutters. Abbacchio gives a small laugh and carries him onto a large black couch, where's he thrown down playfully like a father would do to their own child. Narancia laughs and Abbacchio flashes him a rare cheek-to-cheek smile, to which Narancia casually pokes fun at.
"Ooooh, watch it Abbacchio. You know what they say: if you keep making an ugly face it's gonna stick to ya!"
"Ha ha, very funny Narancia," he retorts as he goes off to get some blankets. Soon he's back, and throwing down blankets on Narancia like someone asked him to roast Guido Mista in public. The two laugh at each other, and head off to bed.
Before Abbacchio can leave the living room to savor what's left of his time to sleep, Narancia rolls over in the mountain of blankets he's buried in gives the other a good night.
Abbacchio returns it, with the same half-lidded eyes and smile as the boy sleeping on his couch.