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Abbacchio's room was the definition of a mess. Clothes were strewn all across the floor to the point where the carpet was barely visible, despite the perfectly fine wardrobe that was in the man's room. The top of his desk was entirely hidden under a clutter of various different items, and there were a couple of empty bottles under his bed. Fugo had half a mind to tidy the room right now, but he didn't come into the man's room for that. Not right now, atleast.
He slowly crept forward, trying to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible while approaching the man sleeping on the bed. The sheets were just barely hanging off the edge of the bed, but that didn't bother Abbacchio one bit, judging by how he was sleeping like a baby. Fugo was a bit jealous of how easily he was sleeping, despite the likely reason for the slumber being that Abbacchio was drunk and probably just cried himself to sleep or something.
Fugo stopped in front of the nightstand next to the bed, and grabbed the pack of cigarettes on top of it. He himself had run out, and it being two in the morning didn't necessarily make him want to go out to get any. Not to mention that the only place that sold cigarettes to him was about fifteen minutes away from the house. Some teenager his age worked at the specific store and didn't really care about Fugo's baby face, so he only went there so he wouldn't be told to piss off or something.
The pack was almost full, only about four cigarettes were missing from it. Fugo took two, so the difference wouldn't be noticed by Abbacchio, and judging by how he would probably wake up hungover, Fugo was sure he wouldn't notice. Fugo put the cigarettes in his pockets and put the pack back on the nightstand right where it was before. He glanced at Abbacchio for a second and then crept back out of the room.
He finally made it out of the room and slowly closed the door behind him, proud of himself for once again managing to snag a few of Abbacchio's cigarettes without waking him up. His triumph was short lived, though, because the lights turned on just a few seconds after he'd closed the door. He turned around, and Bucciarati was right behind him, arms crossed and a curious expression on his face. He looked tired, like he'd been up for a while.
"Uh..Hey, Bucciarati."
"Fugo. What are you doing up this late? In Abbacchio's room, no less?"
The other man spoke, and Fugo bit his bottom lip, trying to think of an excuse. He couldn't tell him he just took Abbacchio's cigarettes. Bucciarati wasn't a fan of him smoking, or anyone else, for that matter. Fugo found it a bit weird that Bucciarati didn't care about working for the mafia, but cared about smoking, but he digressed. He needed to think of something, and he needed to think of something now. Or else he wouldn't hear the end of it.
"I..lent Abbacchio one of my books. And I was just..going to get it back."
He cringed at his flimsy excuse, but prayed that Bucciarati would buy it. Judging from the expression on the older man's face and the snort he let out, he did not.
"Where's the book then? He asked with a raised brow.
"I..couldn't find it."
"Do you take me for an idiot, Fugo?" Bucciarati's expression switched into more of a serious one at the question, and he held his hand out towards the younger boy. "Hand them over."
Fugo rolled his eyes and stuck his hand in his pocket, fishing out one of the two cigarettes and putting it in Bucciarati's open hand. The older man glanced down at the cigarette and then gave Fugo an unamused stare, still keeping his hand out.
"The other one too, Fugo. And don't roll your eyes at me."
Fugo let out an over exaggerated groan at his words. "How did you even know?" He grumbled as he put his hand back into his pocket and placed the second cigarette into Bucciarati's open palm. Bucciarati just shook his head, putting the cigarettes in his own pocket and putting his hand on his hip.
"I could see them in your pocket."
"Right."
Fugo mumbled under his breath and looked off to the side, not in the mood for the impending lecture that was about to take place. He was already annoyed at being unable to sleep, so this would only make him angrier. He wanted to pretend like this was the first time he was gonna smoke, and that he just wanted to try it out, but taking two instead of one would probably give him away. And not to mention that Bucciarati would definitely see through him. He couldn't lie to the man in front of him, no matter what. Bucciarati always knew when he was lying or when he was telling the truth. And he didn't want to..get licked. He still didn't know how Bucciarati could just..do that and know if he's lying or not. It creeped him out, honestly.
"So, mind explaining why you're stealing Abbacchio's cigarettes in the middle of the night?"
Bucciarati spoke, and Fugo just kept his gaze away from him, not wanting to look him in the eye. He was already getting annoyed at the mere idea of this conversation, so he kept quiet.
"I asked you a question, Fugo." The older man pressed on, and Fugo grit his teeth at the condescending tone in his voice. He snapped his head to him, his hands balling into fists at his sides.
"Oh, I just wanted to look at them and admire them." He said sarcastically. "I wanted to smoke, obviously! What kind of stupid question is that?!"
He said, his voice getting a bit louder as he spoke. Bucciarati's expression remained serious, not at all deterred by Fugo's obvious irritation. He'd gotten used to it by this point.
"Keep your voice down, Abbacchio's still asleep. And you're smarter than this, Fugo. You know how bad smoking is for you." He said, and Fugo grumbled something under his breath before replying.
"So what?! You don't bug Abbacchio this much about it!"
"Abbacchio is an adult. He can do what he wants." Bucciarati started, poking Fugo's nose, which earned him a scowl from the younger boy. "But you, on the other hand, are a kid. You shouldn't-"
"You're not my dad! It's not your goddamn business if I smoke or not! You just want the cigarettes for yourself because you're an asshole that thinks he's better than us because you only smoke behind closed doors!" He cut him off, but immediately faltered at the change in Bucciarati's face. It wasn't obvious, but Fugo was sure he saw his expression fall just a little. He immediately felt bad, cursing himself for letting his temper once again get to him. Bucciarati was just looking out for him, why did he feel the need to get so..mean about it? Before he got the chance to apologize, Bucciarati spoke again.
"Grab your coat and put your shoes on. We're going out."
Fugo stood in silence for a moment, just staring at Bucciarati as the other man looked down at him after making that request. Out? This late at night?
"..What? Out? Right now? Why?"
"Let's go for a walk. Neither of us will fall asleep anytime soon, so let's get some air."
The older man replied and went towards the living room, leaving Fugo standing outside of Abbacchio's room. A walk..at two in the morning. He stood there confused for a moment or two before shaking his head and leaving the hallway. He really didn't wanna go out, much preferring to lock himself in his room and whine to himself, but he already felt awful for what he'd said, so he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself until he apologized to Bucciarati.
By the time he got to the living room, Bucciarati was waiting for him by the front door. When Bucciarati saw the younger boy, he opened the door and stepped out quietly. Fugo stepped outside, the cold weather making him shiver as he closed the door behind him and followed after Bucciarati.
The two walked side by side in silence, the only sounds being the crickets chirping and the sounds of their shoes hitting the sidewalk. Fugo kept his hands in his pockets as he looked down, thinking over how to word what he wanted to say. He had to apologize. What he said had been completely out of order.
"I'm sorry for what I said, Bucciarati. My temper got the best of me. I don't really believe that you think you're better than us. I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry."
His voice was quiet as he spoke, spotting a rock on the ground and kicking it forward while the two walked. Bucciarati turned his head down to look at him when he heard his apology. He wasn't surprised, Fugo wasn't one to not apologize. The younger boy often felt guilty after lashing out rather quickly.
"It's alright, Fugo. I know you didn't mean it. And..you're right. I'm not your dad. But I am your guardian, you know. I care about you." He started and nudged Fugo's shoulder with his own.
Fugo snorted a bit at his words, but a small smile crept its way onto his face. Bucciarati calling himself his guardian was funny to him, taking into account how the other man wasn't that much older than him. Fugo kept kicking the rock as they walked, but accidentally kicked it in front of Bucciarati. He followed Fugo's gaze down to the sidewalk and kicked the small rock back to him before continuing.
"That being said, I want what's best for you, Fugo. You're still young. I know it's ironic with the work that we're doing, as that is already bad enough, but you shouldn't be putting yourself into even more risk by smoking. You know how dangerous it is."
"I know, I know. I just couldn't sleep tonight, and..smoking helps me calm down."
He mumbled and heard Bucciarati let out a disappointed sigh next to him. He immediately felt even worse at the sound. He hated upsetting Bucciarati. He was the worst.
"So you've been smoking then? This wasn't just you wanting to try it out because of curiosity?"
He questioned, and Fugo cursed himself internally. So if he'd said it was just him wanting to try it out, Bucciarati would've bought it. God, he was an idiot.
"..Yeah. For a while now. It just helps. I don't know."
Bucciarati looked down at him with a sad expression on his features at his admission. He ran a hand down his face, seemingly in thought. Fugo felt nervous at the silence between them. It wasn't a good sign whenever Bucciarati got quiet. It always meant he was really upset or angry. Or worst case scenario, both. And Fugo was thinking it was both this time around.
"Fugo..if you're stressed, there are multiple things you can do other than smoking." He started, his voice having a slight edge to it. He took a pause for a second to think before continuing. "You can read a book. You can draw, journal. And you know you can talk to me, right? I care about you. I don't care what time it is, you can always come to me. I don't want you relying on cigarettes of all things."
There was another stretch of silence between them after Bucciarati finished speaking. Fugo knew he could go to Bucciarati, he'd told him he could before. He just found it hard to go to him whenever he was upset. He didn't really wanna bother him over silly thoughts.
"I know, I'm sorry. It's just hard sometimes, I guess."
Bucciarati sighed once again and slowly moved his hand to hover it over Fugo's shoulder, a familiar question in his eyes. Fugo glanced at his hand and nodded, and Bucciarati gently lowered his hand onto his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.
"Don't apologize. Just..try, okay? For me."
Fugo let out a small huff at the sound of Bucciarati's voice again. It was unfair that he could do that, he thought. Making himself sound so caring. But then again, he wasn't making himself, was he? Despite what Fugo thought, Bucciarati was just..kind for no reason. It came naturally. He felt a familiar bubbling feeling of jealousy beneath his skin before shoving it as far down as it could go before he lost himself to that train of thought once again.
"..I will."
"Good. Thank you, Fugo. That's all I ask."
Bucciarati gave his shoulder another small squeeze and then let his arm fall back down again. In all honesty, Fugo kinda missed the contact. Bucciarati's hand was warm, and it kinda comforted him. But he wouldn't dare to ask him to put his hand back. He didn't deserve it, did he?