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Coco Jumbo was a perfect teammate. He knew that from the top of his head to the tip of his tail. And as the perfect teammate, sometimes he needed to be a proper caretaker for his humans.
It wasn’t their fault. None of them were smart enough to understand that they needed to take care of themselves before they could be released into the big wide world. They would constantly work and sacrifice themselves to the point that they were never living at 100%. It was a sad existence his humans lived. He understood that there was more than basking, running wheels, and soaking for a human to be properly cared for, but Coco Jumbo was beginning to think that he was the only one on the team who understood that they weren't treating themselves right. It was a good thing that Coco Jumbo was a highly respected member of the team, or else it would be so much harder getting them to care for themselves. Giorno would never take breaks to go garden if he didn’t need tend to Coco Jumbo’s food. Fugo wouldn’t take a moment to himself in the morning if he trusted anyone else to clean Coco Jumbo’s water bowl. Trish wouldn’t have someone to talk to if he didn’t offer his shell for pats and scritches. Coco Jumbo was an indispensable member of the team. He doubted that any of them would survive without him.
Except Mista. Coco Jumbo respected the Sex Pistols. They were survivors. They knew what they wanted and went for it. They’d survive at a lake, even with the threat of frogs potentially eating them. He could trust Mista in their care.
But he wasn’t talking about Mista right now. This was about Buccellati and Abbacchio. They were hopeless. It was lucky they were domesticated because they would be beyond screwed if they were left to their own devices. No shame to them; Coco Jumbo vastly preferred his domesticated lifestyle. (Foraging for his berries himself? Nay nay nay. Coco Jumbo was a king and lived like one). But even taking that into account, their mating displays were absolutely pitiful! He had come to understand that humans had vastly different mating displays than turtles. Must less biting, chasing, and tongue displays if he understood correctly. However, what Coco Jumbo had seen up to this point was nothing short of a disaster.
It took some intensive research on Coco Jumbo’s side (that is, movie nights when Mista or Trish chose the film) to compile enough information to understand whens, whys, and hows of human mating displays. This was no easy feat. Humans were such nurturing mammals that Coco Jumbo had a hard time differentiating between mating rituals or care between friends or toward juveniles. However, after careful observation of each member of his team, Coco Jumbo felt like he could reasonably say that Buccellati and Abbacchio treated each other differently from the others.
1. Although Buccellati was harder to read from a nurturing perspective, Abbacchio was as far from a “mama hen” (Narancia’s words, not his) that a human could be. Obviously, he was human and, as aloof as he could be, he wouldn’t outright leave the juveniles on their own like Coco Jumbo would if he met a lovely lady turtle. However, there was a clear prioritization of Buccellati’s well-being over everyone else on the team—including Abbacchio himself because, as many virtues as he had, he was a dumbass like the rest of Coco Jumbo’s humans. He would insist on making sure that Buccellati was properly fed, watered, and rested; and although Abbacchio treated Coco Jumbo the same, Buccellati could rest easy knowing that Coco Jumbo had MUCH higher standards than being charmed by a mammal.
2. Buccellati had a different demeanor with Abbacchio when compared to the juveniles. Yes, he naturally acted differently with every member of their family, but there was something about their interactions that was laced with both a lazy relaxation and a strange tension. They had enough late-night talks sitting on the couch that Coco Jumbo could see from his suite that he could confidently say that he was an expert in their interactions.
And then there was…
3. The Narancia Factor.
───※ ·✥· ※───
“Those two just need to bang,” Narancia said with a mouthful of food after Abbacchio and Buccellati left the breakfast table.
───※ ·✥· ※───
Nothing escaped Coco Jumbo’s careful observation.
But all of this data collection meant nothing if neither Buccellati nor Abbacchio knew this information. Unfortunately, for humans, it wasn’t as simple as deciding that someone was an optimal partner. There was something called “romance” to take into account, if the movies and Polnareff were to be believed. From what Coco Jumbo could tell, “romance” was just the human word for their long-term mating displays. But it seemed entirely too easy to mess up, if Mista’s “revolving bedroom door,” as Fugo put it, was any indication. (Poor guy, but he would have to wait for Coco Jumbo’s help.) This was where Coco Jumbo’s research hit a wall. As animals that mated for life as far as he could tell, this romance thing seemed to require a gentle touch. And although Coco Jumbo was by far Italy’s smartest turtle, he didn’t know where to begin with helping those two. Was there an order to things? Could he break up the team entirely if he went about this the wrong way?
To move forward, all Coco Jumbo could do was wait and watch. He endured this terrible period of watching two fools misunderstand the other’s intentions for months. It might seem silly for a turtle like Coco Jumbo to become so invested in a human’s relationship, but he was a protector by nature. He was his humans’ shield. Their shelter. He wanted what was best for his humans, and wishing for their happiness seemed to fit well into that category. And yes, his humans were perfectly content with their friendship, but was it so wrong for him to want them to be even happier?
The answer to all of his problems came in the form a nice evening watching movies with his team. Abbacchio and Buccellati were…somewhere, Coco Jumbo couldn’t remember. So it was just him and the juveniles strewn about the couches. He was sitting on Trish’s leg, getting scratches on his shell as the others gossiped above him.
“So, here’s the idea,” Mista said as he leaned forward. “We get reservations to a restaurant. We tell them that we’re all going to be there. And then we just don’t go.” He suddenly clapped loudly. “BAM! They’re on a date! Thoughts?”
“Not a bad idea,” Sheila E said from where she was crouched on the couch.
“Won’t work,” Fugo said, killing yet another scheme before it could get off the ground. “It would just make Buccellati sad.”
Mista snapped in annoyance. “Damn, you’re right. Buccellati loves us too much. Okay, who’s next?”
“Can we just shove them in closet or some shit?” Narancia threw out, waving his hand in the air while he stretched across Giorno’s lap. “Let nature take its course.”
Fugo snorted. “Yeah, if you can find a room that can hold Buccellati, be my guest.”
…
Coco Jumbo could work with that.
───※ ·✥· ※───
Coco Jumbo muscled himself on top of the little skateboard that Narancia kept near his suite. He was perfectly happy crawling over the floor at his own pace, but this mission called for speed. He scurried to the doorway of the living room, stopping only when he reached the threshold. He felt distant vibrations steadily approaching, so he forced himself off the tiny skateboard and scampered toward the small table by the wall. His humans were always leaving small piles of paper on top, but it wasn’t unusual for the slight breezes from the foot traffic to send a few sheets fluttering to the ground. Today was no different. Coco Jumbo grabbed the paper in his beak and dragged it as he returned to his skateboard. It took a bit of finicking, but Coco Jumbo was able to maneuver the paper to completely cover the tiny skateboard, giving him just enough time to crawl away as the vibrations grew more intense.
Abbacchio was running his fingers through the book he borrowed from Fugo a few weeks back. He knew he had a bookmark in there somewhere, but the length of the book was longer than the bookmark, and it had slipped down the page enough that he couldn’t see the marker without leafing through the pages. All he wanted was a quiet afternoon off, lounging on the couch and finally making his way through the book. He knew the bookmark was in there somewhere, but it had been long enough since he had the time to read that he couldn’t quite remember how deep the apparently very flimsy marker was jammed.
Because of this frustrated focus, he was oblivious to the small trap laid out until his foot landed right in the middle of the paper. His eyes shot open as his foot slid out from underneath him. He threw his arms out, trying to catch himself as he teetered off-balance. Coco Jumbo took this opportunity to run behind Abbacchio, sprinting like someone summoned him for a mealtime. He reached his position just as Abbacchio completely lost his balance, but instead of squishing the much smaller turtle, Mr. President activated, swallowing Abbacchio and sending him crashing into the room.
Within Mr. President, Abbacchio grunted as he landed onto the sofa. He shifted until he was comfortably stretched out. He had a brief flare of annoyance, but after taking a moment to relax, he shrugged and picked up his book from the floor. He was planning on reading in the living room anyway. There really wasn’t any difference reading in Mr. President, all things considered.
With one target contained, Coco Jumbo ran to grab his skateboard, which was sent flying when Abbacchio’s foot caught it. Once Coco Jumbo was settled, he went on the hunt. Finding Buccellati was a struggle. Coco Jumbo had to scour the first floor for who knows for how long, which had such a wide area that it was entirely possible that Buccellati could walk from one side to the other without Coco Jumbo crossing his path. That didn’t even take into account that Buccellati could be on one of the upper floors: an area inaccessible to Coco Jumbo without human assistance. As time went on and on, Coco Jumbo was getting worried that his master plan would be all for naught, that he would be forced to give up once Abbacchio decided to leave Mr. President.
The feeling of footsteps up the hall reignited his determination. The plan was a go!
Buccellati had just hung up the phone and started leaving the room, planning to head to the kitchen and finally get something to eat. He ran his hand over his neck as he tried to work out the knots in the muscles. His eyes were half-lidded as he sought relief for his strained neck. This made the world just blurry enough that the sight of something rushing in front of the threshold made him lose his composure. The surprise nearly sent him out of his skin, and he halfway fell out of the room as he tried to see what ran by. His eyebrows shot to his bangs when he saw Coco Jumbo turning around and starting to charge at him. Buccellati tried to carefully angle his leg so he didn’t accidentally step on Coco Jumbo, but he was uncertain where it would be best to set his foot so he didn’t hit the speeding turtle. This uncertainty was all that Coco Jumbo needed to push him into Mr. President.
Buccellati waved his arms, trying to figure the best position to catch himself after falling forward. Unfortunately, entering Mr. President at a bad angle meant that visitors were more or less destined to crash somewhere into the suite. The Stand seemed to account for this possibility and landing poorly didn’t hurt beyond a bit of discomfort, like the Stand intentionally absorbed the energy from the fall and softened the blow. However, this consideration flew right out the window if someone else was in the faller’s flight path.
Buccellati only saw a flash of black before his head cracked against something hard. With a groan, he tried to push himself up, rubbing the surely developing bruise on his forehead. He shifted his arm, only for it to sink into something soft and pliable. A wheeze by Buccellati’s ear startled him into shaking off his daze and opening his eyes.
“Abbacchio!” Buccellati shouted as he pushed himself up. “Are you alright?”
Abbacchio grimaced. With a bit of a wheeze in his voice, he said, “Hello, Buccellati. Could you get your elbow out of my solar plexus?”
“Merda,” he hissed as he shifted his body off Abbacchio’s. He stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of his suit. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Abbacchio set his book aside and shifted his weight so he could sit properly on the couch. “What happened?”
“Oh, Coco Jumbo startled me, and I fell in.”
Abbacchio gave a short laugh. “Yeah, same. It’s been a while since there's been a falling-in-Mr. President incident, hasn’t it?”
“Two months now, I think.”
“Damn, we had a streak going.”
Buccellati smiled and gave Abbacchio a quick wave. “Well, I’ll leave you alone.” With that, he raised his arm to exit Mr. President. He stood there for a few seconds, brow becoming increasingly furrowed the longer it took to be released from the gem. No matter. His arm must not be raised high enough. He raised his arm a little further up. Still nothing.
“Um, Abbacchio? Could you try leaving the turtle? I can’t tell what I’m doing wrong.”
“Yeah, sure thing.” Abbacchio stood up and raised his arm, only to stand there for about a minute with his arm in the air. “What the hell?”
Outside, Coco Jumbo was glowing with a deep red aura, the same hue as the stone in Mr. President. It took a bit of effort on his part to stop someone from leaving, but he could if paying enough attention—further proof of his superiority over the stupid clones of him that Giorno could make. He scurried through the villa until he reached the small enclosure by the garden doors. Once he waddled up the ramp, he settled in the water dish and waited.
───※ ·✥· ※───
Abbacchio and Buccellati were stretched out on opposite sides of the curved sofa. After an uncomfortable amount of time trying to escape Mr. President on their own, they decided that it might be best to wait for one of their friends to pick up Coco Jumbo. It was inevitable. When Coco Jumbo was full of energy like today, he had to be physically returned to his main enclosure in the living room. Once someone had Coco Jumbo in their hands, they’d shout for one of them to release the key. Certainly, that would release them from their admittedly comfortable prison. It was all a matter of waiting at this point.
Fortunately, the team had been on enough missions with Coco Jumbo that they had stocked the room with ways to occupy themselves for long stretches of time. At the moment, Abbacchio was reading while Buccellati was working through a puzzle book.
“Hello there, Coco Jumbo.”
The two jumped at the sound of Giorno’s voice coming through the gem. On the outside, Giorno was crouched in front of Coco Jumbo’s mini-enclosure, smiling as he talked to the little turtle.
“I’m going to go into the garden, would you like to come?”
Coco Jumbo stepped out of his dish, allowing Giorno to grab around his shell. Once the men trapped inside Mr. President saw fingers above them, they started shouting.
“Giorno!”
“Hey, Giorno!”
“Take out the key!”
“Stop talking to the damn turtle and GET! THE! KEY!”
Buccellati dropped his hands from where they were cupped around his mouth. “I don’t understand. Usually someone this close would be able to hear us.”
“The hell is going on?” Abbacchio shouted, kicking at the wall.
Coco Jumbo tucked himself into his shell, starting to get tuckered from the amount of energy he was spending on his Stand. Keeping someone inside Mr. President was already draining. Adding muting his visitors into the mix was exhausting.
“And who could forget to put on your little hat,” Giorno said as he dropped the small gardener’s hat that they made to cover his key onto Coco Jumbo’s shell. With Coco Jumbo completely protected from birds, Giorno grabbed Coco Jumbo’s dish and walked out to start gardening.
“And he just put the hat on,” Abbacchio grumbled, looking more deflated than he’s been in a good while. “Fantastic.”
Buccellati sighed and took a seat. “I hope there’s nothing wrong with Coco Jumbo.”
Abbacchio dropped next to him. “Yeah, me too. I hate taking him to the vet. She’s such a bitch.”
“I don’t know why you have so many problems with her. She’s perfectly nice to me.”
Abbacchio’s eyebrow raised. “You know exactly why she’s nicer to you.”
“What can I say? A little politeness goes a long way.”
Abbacchio’s gaze briefly glanced down, staring intently at the lingerie stretched over his toned chest, only to flick back up to the nice, if smug, smile and eyes bluer than the Mediterranean. Yeah, she was captivated by his politeness. Whatever. Buccellati could have his win.
He leaned his head against the back of the couch and sighed. “Well, it could’ve been worse.”
Buccellati raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Could’ve been Purple Haze acting up.”
Buccellati snorted and lightly shoved Abbacchio’s arm. “Stop. You’re terrible.”
“Been trying to tell you that for years.” Abbacchio shrugged, a smile on his lips despite his words. “You’re the one who refuses to listen.”
“You know me. Bad Listener Buccellati.”
Abbacchio closed his eyes and shook his head. He was such an oddball when he wasn’t in business mode. All in all, if he had to be stuck with someone, Buccellati was far from the worst choice. Though it could get messy if Coco Jumbo continued his reign of terror and started collecting the rest of the team.
Wait.
“Hey, Buccellati? If Mr. President’s acting up, why wasn’t Giorno dragged in?”
“Hm. Maybe it’s because we fell in?”
Abbacchio was skeptical but couldn’t quite figure out why. It wasn’t like he had a better explanation, so he let the matter rest. Speaking of resting, that actually sounded nice. It was pretty damn comfortable in Mr. President. Buccellati probably wouldn’t mind if he passed out for a while—not like he wouldn’t benefit from doing the same. The kids would figure out that something was up by dinner anyway. Why shouldn’t he take advantage of having some peace and quiet for once?
The only thing stopping him from settling down was something fluttering on top of his eye. Abbacchio opened the uncovered eye and grabbed whatever just landed on him. Between his fingers was a wafer-thin red petal. He looked around the room, trying to find anything that had red petals. Sometimes Giorno left flowers in the suite before a mission, but those were imbued with Gold Experience’s power and acted as emergency first aid. There wasn’t any sign of plant life in the room at the moment, red or otherwise.
“The hell?” he mumbled, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. His brows pinched as another flower petal fell on him. Then another. And another. Abbacchio looked up. “The fuck?”
There was a steady stream of petals raining from the ceiling. Looking closer at the gem, Coco Jumbo’s hat had been knocked askew. Every few seconds, another petal fell from the gem. A few had fluttered onto Buccellati, but a grand majority had landed over Abbacchio’s body.
Abbacchio brought the petal closer to his face. “Is this a rose petal?”
A snort to his side took Abbacchio’s attention away from the petal. Buccellati had a hand in front of his mouth, covering a series of closed-mouth laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
A laugh escaped his mouth. “I’m sorry, but between the petals and your laces,” Buccellati traced the pattern of the ties of Abbacchio’s overcoat over his own chest, “you look like the cover of a romance novel. The kind my seamstress is always reading.”
Abbacchio blinked rapidly, trying to let his thoughts catch up while the words absorbed into his brain. Not for the first time, Abbacchio was happy that he funneled some of the money that he would’ve wasted on cheap, shitty wine into buying better quality makeup. His foundation was the only shield hiding his flush from Buccellati. Abbacchio wasn’t sure if he should shove all of the petals to the floor or leave them right where they were. He knew exactly the type of novels Buccellati’s menace of a seamstress read—bodice rippers, he’s seen them—but he wasn’t certain what Buccellati’s complement meant coming from a man who wore the closest thing to a bodice.
Instead of confronting…all of that, Abbacchio turned his gaze upward and asked, “Where are all of these coming from anyway?”
Outside, Coco Jumbo was crawling through Giorno’s rose bushes, tugging off petals as he went. With a jerk of his head, Coco Jumbo threw the petal over him, letting it land on his key and absorb into his Stand. Once it settled inside, he moved onto the next petal until he couldn’t find an acceptable one on the bud anymore. Over the course of his research, Coco Jumbo came to understand that flowers were a common offering in human mating displays. Perhaps it was a way to show they’re good at foraging? Coco Jumbo wasn’t certain. However, he did know that floral displays of affection weren’t always shown to partners. Giorno was the most obvious example of that…unless he was trying his luck with the entire household! (Different problem that Coco Jumbo could solve on a different day.)
But there was one thing that remained consistent across every movie that Coco Jumbo watched: red roses were only given to desired partners. So he sank his beak into another petal and sent it his friends’ way.
───※ ·✥· ※───
A good while after the petals stopped raining down and the villa could be seen through the gem, things were pretty calm in Mr. President. Occasionally something random would fall through the ceiling—some of their emergency blackout candles, a book of matches, exactly two chocolate bonbons, some more candles (scented this time)—but those annoyances had petered off over time. Abbacchio had returned to reading, petals now brushed onto the floor. Buccellati was looking through the fridge to find anything edible. It was a fifty-fifty shot on a good day if Mr. President was stocked. The team did their best to remove perishables from the Stand when they got back from missions, but they’d usually leave the non-perishables. There weren’t bugs around to get to them, so it was perfectly fine keeping them in Mr. President. The only real threat to those snacks was Narancia, who had lumped Coco Jumbo in with his long list of emergency snack hiding spots.
Unfortunately, one of kids had raided Mr. President’s shelves. Buccellati didn’t want to point fingers, but now was not the time, Narancia.
Buccellati grabbed a water from the fridge and settled back on the couch. He rubbed his temple, trying to coax his headache away. Hours ago, he wanted to get some food. As the minutes ticked by, his body grew angrier and angrier at the absence of sustenance. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world—he had certainly been denied food for far longer—but knowing that his own kitchen was in arm’s reach made the hunger all the worse.
With a groan, Buccellati looked up to the ceiling. “Coco Jumbo? If you can’t get us out, can you please go get some food?”
Coco Jumbo perked his head up from his heated rock. Dang it, Coco Jumbo! How could you forget? His humans ate more frequently than he did. He hopped off his rock, walked to the door to his suite, and raced down the ramp. He crawled his way to the kitchen, stopping only when he reached the tiny fridge dedicated to Coco Jumbo’s food. The “turtle fridge” as the others called it.
It wasn’t common knowledge among the team that he could open the fridge. He didn’t see a reason to alert them to this. It wasn’t that interesting of a trick, and Coco Jumbo preferred to have his food served over foraging for himself. However, this was an emergency, so Buccellati and Abbacchio would need to be brought in on the secret.
With the door open, Coco Jumbo pushed himself on the shelf. There, he got to work. All it took was a strong headbutt to knock the container of leaves over. Once the pile was spilling out, he focused his Stand’s energy on the leaves and allowed them to be absorbed into the gem. When he decided that he sent an adequate amount of greens to them, he did the same with a box of berries.
Inside Mr. President, Buccellati rotated a dandelion leaf between his fingers, biting back a grin as a blueberry bounced off his brow. Abbacchio was gaping in awe of Buccellati’s calm demeanor. The two looked like they got in a fight with a salad bar, and the salad bar was hellbent on taking over Passione. The rain of berries had the mixed effect of bouncing off their bodies and making a mess of the couch or splattering against them and, again, making a mess. Buccellati, clearly stopping whatever debate was running in his head, grabbed a berry off the couch, wrapped it in the leaf, and popped both in his mouth.
“Are you seriously eating this?”
Buccellati looked at Abbacchio like he was the odd one for not eating the freestyle salad around them. “I’m hungry. Yes, I’m eating whatever I can get.”
“But it’s just a handful of leaves and berries.”
“Well, if you think about it, this is what food is to Coco Jumbo.” Buccellati laughed to himself as he shoved another berry-leaf combo into his mouth. “Of course he wouldn’t go get something from the pantry. That’s not his food.” Buccellati made a mental note to make a short grocery run tomorrow. Something told him that Coco Jumbo was going to need a restock earlier than later.
After throwing a blueberry in the air and catching it in his mouth, Buccellati directed that isn’t-the-world-wonderful smile toward Abbacchio. “I think it’s pretty cute.”
Outside the gem, Coco Jumbo had finished his business with the berry container and turned his attention to the tub of live mealworms.
───※ ·✥· ※───
“It’s CUTE huh?” Abbacchio shouted as he shook out his overcoat.
Buccellati stood next to him, similarly stripped to the waist. His coat had been abandoned on the sofa, left to the mercy of the mealworms squirming along the fabric. His bodysuit was pulled down and bunched around his waist, carelessly peeled off when worms found their way beneath the lace. His hair was sticking out in every direction known to man, and a large chunk of his braid had fallen out. Neither of them was certain where one of his hair clips went.
Not that Abbacchio was in a better state. Even as he furiously shook out his coat, he couldn’t say for certain that it was free of mealworms. He didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that his hat was hanging for its life and his hair looked like it got stuck in the blender.
Buccellati set his mouth in a firm line and sighed out his nose. He didn’t rise to Abbacchio’s goading, not that Abbacchio expected him to. He was too used to Abbacchio at this point and too calm to get into a pointless fight—he wasn’t one of the kids after all. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked past Abbacchio. He threw open the closet and sat down, bare back against the wall. He stretched out his legs, crossing one over the other, and stared at Abbacchio from beneath his lashes.
The intensity of his gaze was enough for him to put a stop to beating his coat senseless. In another scenario, Abbacchio could imagine a few situations where that collected pose and intense expression would be better placed. Sitting at his office desk, ready to put some problem soldati in their place. Lazily stretched out over a bed…also ready to put someone in their place. Anything would be a better context than “just survived a worm shower.” That’s not to say that Buccellati patting the spot next to him wasn’t inviting and not to say that Abbacchio didn’t immediately abandon his coat to settle next to him. But the context wasn’t exactly the most charming in the world.
Though sitting in the closet wasn’t much more relaxing than the looming threat of getting up close and personal with the mealworms on the couch. It wasn’t enough that the closet was so narrow that their thighs were firmly pressed against each other. No, both of them just had to leave their jackets. It’s not as though Abbacchio would faint at the sight of bare skin, but it was a bit of another thing to have his bare arm and the side of his torso brush against Buccellati’s every time one of them moved. That was a little more than Abbacchio had bargained for when he set out to read that afternoon. Every brush sent his lax muscles tensing up, which he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Buccellati could feel because he fucking apologized and tried and failed to shift away to give both of them some more room.
Buccellati blew his bangs out of his face and slumped further down the wall. “At least nothing will fall on us in here.”
“Small mercies,” Abbacchio grumbled.
He risked a glance at Buccellati. He looked so exhausted, ridiculously so. As much as Abbacchio didn’t ask to get trapped in Mr. President, at least he didn’t really have anything planned for the rest of the day. Buccellati was tired, hungry, and probably had a pile of work that he had intended to finish that would be added to tomorrow. And all of this was because he dared to take a break and get a late lunch.
Abbacchio would never claim to be good at the whole comforting thing, but he was wasn’t so callous that he couldn’t drop a hand on Buccellati’s shoulder and give it a little squeeze. Buccellati sighed, and Abbacchio could feel his shoulders sink under his hand, ever so slightly.
“If it’ll help,” Abbacchio said, “I can take over some of your work tomorrow.”
Buccellati tucked one knee close to his body and buried his head in his arms against it. Abbacchio grimaced in sympathy when he heard a closed-mouth groan rattle through Buccellati. He rubbed circles into his shoulder muscles with his thumb. It was the closest facsimile of the days Buccellati would rub circles into his back when he went on a bender that Abbacchio could muster. He wasn’t nearly brave enough to do the same when Buccellati’s coat was several meters away.
“I mean, I’ll have to sell my soul to Mista to get some shit covered on my end, but I can suck it up if it takes a load off.”
Buccellati shifted his head so one deep blue eye could peek out. Abbacchio couldn’t see the rest of his face behind his arm, but the creases by his eyes were enough to tell Abbacchio that he won at least a little smile from Buccellati. It was muffled, but Abbacchio could hear, “Thank you for your sacrifice.”
Abbacchio smiled back and gently removed his hand. He pulled his eyes off Buccellati and glanced out into the room. “Laundry is going to be a nightmare.”
Buccellati scoffed. “Please, I’ve seen a laundry nightmare. This cannot be worse than the time Fugo left a pen’s ink cartridge in his pocket.”
“Why did he have a broken pen in his pocket?”
Buccellati let out a breathy laugh. “No, don’t get confused. There wasn’t a pen, just the cartridge.” Buccellati sighed and flopped back against the wall. “Ink stains are their own special type of hell.”
“Was your suit white before that fateful day?” Buccellati snorted and leaned against Abbacchio as he let out tired chuckles.
“How did you know? That suit used to be as white as snow.”
Despite the looming threat of his flush traveling beyond the limits of his foundation, Abbacchio couldn’t fight his smile watching Buccellati relax. “And now that I know your secret, you’re going to have to kill me?”
Buccellati’s grin widened as he twisted around to face Abbacchio. He loosely wrapped one hand around Abbacchio’s throat in mock strangulation. “You’ve been a good and loyal underling, but unfortunately, you dug where you shouldn’t have. Any last words?”
Abbacchio snorted and wracked his head for the perfect retort. However, all thoughts but one were wiped from his mind when he felt his whole body being stretched and forcibly pulled through the suite.
“What the—”
───※ ·✥· ※───
Fugo drummed his fingers against the small table in the kitchen, his jaw twitching every time he looked off to the side. Coco Jumbo repeatedly tried to run over to comfort his distressed friend, but Narancia would snatch him up every time he started getting too far. Just beyond them, Mista, Giorno, and Sheila E were puttering back and forth as they prepared dinner. Occasionally, one of the cooks would glance away from the food and stare at the clock. They weren’t as obvious as Fugo, but it was clear his humans were distressed about something.
Coco Jumbo jumped back when the table shook from the impact of Fugo’s hands slamming against the surface. They stayed firm as he pushed himself out of his chair. “That’s IT! It’s been hours! I’m calling them!”
None of the others stopped him from stomping over to the table where the phone sat. He nearly forced his fingers through the phone as he pressed the buttons and didn’t look much calmer when he pressed it against his ear. Slowly, his angry expression shifted to confusion, and he stepped out of Coco Jumbo’s line of sight. He was gone for a little while before returning with an agitated expression, different from before, but just as intense.
“Giorno, I just heard Buccellati’s phone ring. It sounded like it was in his office, but he wasn’t there.”
Giorno set his knife down and shook the tomato juice from his fingers as he turned to him. “Did you try Abbacchio’s?”
“Yeah, but he keeps his on vibrate when he doesn’t want to deal with us.”
“Did you send those two out to deal with something?” Mista asked as he stirred some noodles.
Giorno shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’ve seen them since a little bit before lunch.”
Fugo ran his hand threw his hair and released a very not relaxed breath. “Sheila, can you get Voodoo Child out and help me look? I’m getting worried.”
Sheila nodded and wiped her hands. “Yeah, totally. Narancia, can you tag in?”
“On it!” Narancia jumped up and took her spatula, leaving Coco Jumbo alone.
Fugo and Sheila were nearly out the door before Coco Jumbo realized that he could cure Fugo’s distress in an instant. Besides, if their time in Mr. President wasn’t enough to kickstart this romance thing, there was no way that having Abbacchio and Buccellati miss food time would help matters in the least. Coco Jumbo scurried across the table until he reached the vase in the middle where Giorno liked to arrange flowers. The arms were positioned just low enough that Coco Jumbo could dislodge Mr. President with only a little bit of balancing and wiggling. The key bounced out of the indentation, sending Coco Jumbo’s world into silence without his Stand to translate the sounds around him. However, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t immediately feel the vibration of two grown humans crashing to the ground on the other side of the table.
“—fuck?!”
The younger ones turned and rushed to their friends, only to freeze when the full image sank in. Buccellati was stretched over Abbacchio, jacket abandoned and lace bodysuit rolled to his waist. Abbacchio was similarly stripped to the waist, with Buccellati’s hand around his neck being the only thing covering him between his hat and waistband. Their hair was beyond messy, and accessories were knocked out of place. Almost like the two had been in a rough fight or…
No one had the courage to speak up. The kids stared at the older two, eyes wide and mouths at various levels of agape. The team stared, like if they didn’t acknowledge what was happening, it would go away. The tension was thick and only getting worse, but Giorno eventually found enough strength to pull out his wallet, take out a few Euro, and pass them to Narancia.
Narancia took the money and pocketed it without taking his eyes off Abbacchio and Buccellati. In shock, he whispered, “I didn’t think I’d be right. I didn’t have faith in Mista either. Totally thought he’d mess around in there first.”
Mista, after shooting a confused glance at Giorno, shook off his confusion and exchanged it for anger. He shoved the others aside and strode forward, stopping right in front of Buccellati and Abbacchio. As he loomed over the two, Mista leaned over and hissed, “Did you two fuck in Mr. President?”
Abbacchio turned beet red and gaped at Mista but couldn’t seem to find the words to tell him off. In contrast, Buccellati’s face went through every possible emotion before settling on incredulity.
“Excuse me, Mista?”
Mista shook his head and laughed in amazement. “I can’t believe that I have to say this, but—holy shit—do not fuck in Mr. President! What the hell you two?!”
Buccellati gathered himself, and his expression steeled as he stood up and straightened himself out. With ice in his eyes, he matched Mista’s intense glare. With every bit of warmth sapped from his voice, he said, “Do not forget who you are talking to, Mista.”
Mista’s rage was briefly tempered, and he stepped away from Buccellati with a bit of trepidation. He opened his mouth to apologize; however, his lips twisted into a grin when he was interrupted.
“As your boss,” Giorno’s calm voice cut through the air from where he was squatting in front of Coco Jumbo’s fridge, “I second Mista’s motion. Please do not have sex in Coco Jumbo.” Buccellati sputtered, not quite sure how to argue against Giorno. To his credit, Giorno didn’t seem to mind too much. He was more focused on investigating the empty tub in his hands. “How did you all get out?” he mumbled as Gold Experience appeared behind him.
“Look, brats.” Abbacchio stood up, finally finding his voice. “We’ve been stuck in the damn Stand for hours. We didn’t put up with that just so you all could start throwing around accusations!”
“By the way,” Buccellati sighed, “thank you to whoever removed the key.”
“Oh, Coco Jumbo did that himself,” Narancia said as he flipped his phone open and quickly thumbed out a message.
Abbacchio and Buccellati’s eyes went wide at that. Slowly, they turned to face Coco Jumbo, who was happily munching on a mealworm that landed on table next to him.
Buccellati leaned down, and with a tensely polite voice, asked, “Coco Jumbo, did you trap us in your Stand? Is that something you’re able to do?”
Coco Jumbo tossed his head back in what could be interpreted as a nod but could just as easily be him throwing his food toward his throat so he could stuff his face more. However, that motion was all that was needed to set Abbacchio off.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snarled. “Do you think this is some kind of joke?”
“Abbacchio,” Buccellati tried to interrupt.
“You lock us up for hours and even though you knew we were trying to get out, you just went along with your damned day like you weren’t keeping us captive in our own home!”
“Abbacchio!”
“And all of the shit you kept throwing at us?! What the hell was that?” The room jumped when he dropped one of his hands on the table. “Did you get some kind of kick out of screwing with us all day?!”
“Leone!”
Abbacchio started and turned to Buccellati, his annoyance temporarily stifled. Buccellati sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what the endgame is here, but you’re not going to win this fight.”
“Bullshit! He—”
“Is a turtle, Abbacchio.”
Abbacchio blinked rapidly before looking down at Coco Jumbo, mouth agape. Nothing came out for a few seconds, like Abbacchio had a recalibrate after realizing that he couldn’t shout at the little turtle the same way that he could with the very human kids. With an expression that looked like he just got smacked, Abbacchio whispered, “Son of a bitch.”
Coco Jumbo, happy to have the attention on him, started wiggling. He couldn’t hear what was being said to him anyway.
Abbacchio’s eye twitched, but he stepped away from the table, lest he be tempted to get into another one-sided fight with a reptile. He heard Mista, Narancia, and Sheila E start to snicker. Mista and Narancia were successfully cowed by Abbacchio’s glare. Sheila E wasn’t nearly as intimidated by him—her time in Passione was second only to Buccellati’s after all—but at least she had the decency to step out of the room before she started laughing at him.
Buccellati shook off a mealworm as it tried crawling on his shoe and addressed the younger ones with as much professionalism as he could muster in his current state of dress. “Since you all think this is so funny, I’ll leave cleaning Mr. President to you. Coco Jumbo made quite the mess after all.” The sensation of fingers picking through his hair made Buccellati pause. He turned to see Gold Experience hovering behind him, dropping a mealworm into the tub that Giorno was holding. Buccellati shuddered at the thought of where the worm was just retrieved. He turned back to the others in time to see Fugo slipping the key into Coco Jumbo’s back and slipping into the Stand, most likely to investigate the damage.
With another exhale through his nose, Buccellati continued. “I’m going to get cleaned up. I’ll be back when dinner is ready.”
Buccellati didn’t need to turn around to know that Abbacchio was following his lead. The heavy footsteps just behind him were enough to tell him. They made it out of the kitchen and through the living room without interruption; however, Buccellati couldn’t help but pause when he heard Fugo make his landing out of Mr. President.
“Holy shit.” Buccellati didn’t need to be in the same room to know that Fugo was running his hands down his face.
“What’s wrong?” Giorno asked as the mini-fridge’s door closed. Fugo’s voice came through clearly, no longer muffled by his hands.
“There were about fifteen candles and rose petals everywhere.” Fugo’s voice thickened with disbelieving laughter as he added, “I think Coco Jumbo was playing matchmaker.”
Buccellati’s and Abbacchio’s eyes widened, briefly met, and then refused to glance in the other’s direction.
“WHAT?” Narancia screamed, voice laced with hints of laughter. “Coco Jumbo was trying to get Abbacchio to seduce Buccellati?”
“Or the other way around. I can’t imagine the little guy is picky.”
Narancia’s voice dropped in volume in thought. “Good point. I don’t think he’d care which one was the seducer or the…seduce-ee, I guess?” Then, he added, “Coco Jumbo wanted Buccellati and Abbacchio to FUCK?”
“…Yes, I think so.”
This conversation was a train wreck, but neither man could bring themselves to move away.
“Damn,” Sheila said, “the turtle has better game than I do.”
“It usually helps to not bite someone when they’re hitting on you, Sheila,” Mista said.
“You saw it! They were asking for it!”
“Oh yeah, they totally were.” Mista went quiet for all of two seconds before adding. “But I guess Coco Jumbo doesn’t really care if people have sex in Mr. President.”
“NO!” four voices screamed in unison, with Fugo quickly adding a “What is wrong with you?” afterward.
Buccellati and Abbacchio took that as an opening to make themselves scarce. They quickly walked into the hallway, taking determined strides until they reached the point that they would need to split up. Unfortunately, they positioned themselves in a way that made it necessary to cross paths to get to their respective rooms. They turned to scooch past the other without incident, but in a moment of great synchronicity and poor coordination, the two immediately ran into each other, forcing them to acknowledge the other.
Abbacchio rubbed the back of his neck, which was mottled with a splotchy flush. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be back out to help with paperwork in a bit.”
Buccellati nodded. “That sounds good. Thank you. I just need to wash today off of me.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll do the same,” Abbacchio added calmly. After a beat, he tensed and started backtracking. “I mean like washing myself off as well. You can go ahead and wash the worm guts off yourself in the privacy of your own shower.”
…Worm guts? Really? That’s what Abbacchio was going with? He looked over Buccellati’s shoulder to stare at the window that the end of the hall. Would jumping out of it be enough to kill him?
Buccellati bit his lip as he let out a breathy laugh. “Somehow, that sounds worse than washing off blood. Glad to know there are still things that can unsettle me.”
Abbacchio smiled in thanks for the save and rested his hand on Buccellati’s shoulder, lightly squeezing it in reassurance as he walked past. When he heard Abbacchio start up the stairs, Buccellati rubbed his shoulder where the phantom heat was lingering on his skin. With a small smile, he walked toward his private bathroom, completely ignorant to Abbacchio screaming into a pillow a floor above him.
───※ ·✥· ※───
A few hours later, the two were working in Buccellati’s office, dressed in loungewear and with stomachs full of carbonara. They were making pretty good headway on the work that Buccellati had planned to complete over the course of the afternoon. No, they weren’t going to cross off everything on Buccellati’s to-do list, but they were steadily pulling him out of the hole he would be in the following day.
Buccellati’s cell phone rang. He’d be inclined to ignore it, but a glance at the caller ID was enough to get Buccellati to drop his pen and answer.
“Ciao. How are you doing?”
“This is a ten second warning.” Polnareff’s voice was hushed and desperate. “Trish is on a bit of a rampage.”
Buccellati’s eyebrow raised as Abbacchio’s phone started to ring. “What do you mean?”
Before Polnareff could elaborate, Abbacchio answered his phone, only to immediately hold it away from his ear with a wince. Buccellati didn’t need the phone to be on speaker for him to hear what Trish was screaming.
“You two did WHAT in Coco Jumbo?”