Chapter Text
A pov:
Saturday was filled with all the same noises as the rest of the week, except it was crowded with more energy, due to it being the weekend. The distant sound of nearby seas sloshinged against their shores, accompanied by the tune of joy being passed throughout tourists and families.
Speaking of families, the whole make-shift family, mashed up of neglected and abused teens who were given a second chance, argue amongst themselves. Abbacchio tunes them out to the best of his abilities - as he can be seen with his faded red headphones playing music into his ears - but can’t completely ignore them in case someone tries to stab the other with a fork again — even though the original ‘stabber’ isn’t currently in the room. Normally, with a house full of 15 - 19 year olds, they should be able to watch over themselves just fine. But this is a house full of troubled teens, who were pulled into gang work at far too young of an age. Even though Bruno wasn’t the oldest - being only 20 while his goth counterpart is 21 - he was the peace keeper amongst themselves, and controlled their behaviors.
Some game was being played amongst the members who, in Abbacchio’s opinion, were the most child-like. Besides it being a normal topic for the teenage girl dressed in random math symbols (which no one knows why but doesn’t bother asking) it is interestingly odd to hear the boys ramble on about guessing if anyone likes someone. Although Abbacchio would hate to admit it, it piqued his interest a bit. Granted, it was for his own, selfish, intent.
As the younger members were still fairly close to being non-observant children, or as Abbacchio so frequently refers to them as brats, they chatted amongst themselves about others they knew. Adult or not, they speculated. Rude or just curious, whatever they were did not seem to cross anyone’s mind as they drifted from talking about themselves to the eldest members that resided in their shared apartment. And just as Abbacchio had - not so admittedly - hoped, the teens had brought up Bruno Bucciaratti; their capo, and close friend. One could argue he was almost like a father or mother to most.
Now, with the time that Abbacchio had spent away from his drunken life and had been in the gang, he had grown incredibly close to his boss. In the first few months, even though he had still kept to himself out of habit – and something he would never dare tell anyone, fear – he found himself being open to the blued eyed man who had so kindly lent him his hand in his darkest moment. It started small, where he was at first intrigued by his ways; his composure always kept keen even in his doubts, and a voice that’d be strong even if it wanted nothing more than to break. Sure, he admired him at first, in a way where he saw the man he wanted to be, but could never achieve the likeness of. Admiration would be the first thing anyone who was drawn to Bruno would say they felt, but after spending more time with him, Abbacchio soon felt his heart break open, and reintegrate into humanity. He had started to swoon. At first, he tried to either deny it or push it back down; That’s what got him into this whole scenario anyways, after what happened to his past love. His past partner in his old officer days. But at some point, he did what he did best, and gave up. He quietly admitted to himself that he, tall and brooding Leone Abbacchio, former police, and current gang member with a reputation for being not too kind and having a grudge against kids (especially if they were annoying little blonde fifteen year olds) had begun to see himself fall for the very man that was in charge of him.
Affection wasn’t something he was known for, nor did he want the outside world to see the soft and tender side of him - obviously the side with any emotions and feelings - so he kept to himself. Any possible thought of him being with his stunningly model shaped partner (strictly work related albeit) was nice to indulge in, but never pursued as a possibility due to these circumstances. Especially whilst living with the rest of the street rats that this Good Samaritan had picked up, he didn’t dare to reveal himself like that. Besides, he can’t tell if Bruno would think of him the same; wasn’t it looked down upon to get into a relationship with your boss? That and the fact that it wasn’t totally widely accepted to be in a homosexual relationship yet - no matter how feminine Bruno’s figure may be.
“Well, I’m saying that he doesn’t have time for any relationship with all this work!” a shrill voice cuts across his thoughts.
“But you can still like someone without being in a relationship, you absolute idiot!” a slightly higher pitched voice retorts back - it obviously came from Trish.
“Okay fine,” there’s a slightly horrifying silence that cuts the sentence that fell from Narancia’s mouth in half, accompanied by a competitive grin, “ then tell me who it is he likes!”
“I never said he did like anyone—“ jeez, do all teens argue over things this dumb— “I said that just because he doesn’t have time for a relationship doesn’t mean that he can’t—“
“It’s obviously Abbacchio, guys.” Suddenly, a quiet but quick voice answers over Trish, one that is thought to not be noticeable by the man those words mentioned.
“Haha, sure, Mista. Bruno is all—“ Narancia starts fluttering his eyes and acting like he’s swooning— “head over heels for the buff man who he miraculously saved and had joined us!”
“… Wait,” while Narancia pokes fun at the comment, obviously not taking it seriously, Trish considers it, and Abbacchio finds himself growing frustrated with the direction the conversation is going, but can’t find himself able to get up and stop it, “I think you’re onto something…”
“Are you actually considering this, hah!” Mista snorted a bit between his breath and chuckles, “I was just joking because he’s closest in age to maturity!”
“Come to think of it, though, I wouldn’t put it past them if they were in a hidden relationship…” Trish pulls a thinking position, the two fools of boys sitting next to her interlocking eyes in a mischievous intent as told by their matching grins.
“Okay, before we go back to Bucciratti, let’s figure out what that bum listening to music over there thinks of him!” This comment makes Abbacchio’s nose twitch a bit, but he still remains there as he wants to get input, that and the fact that he knows he can’t bring himself to reprimanding Narancia as hard as the others for some reason. He’s so pathetic it almost makes Abbacchio feel bad for him, almost.
“As scary as he seems to outsiders, how many times have you guys heard girls quarreling over whether he’s the perfect man or not for just that reason, only for them to be glared at or given an eye roll?” Trish dips her head in, being extra careful as not to let anyone else hear, but obviously fails as the man she is gossiping about’s eyes slim. “He obviously has no intent for any women, and when looking at him,” she makes a look of disgust, “if he did seem to like them he would totally be the type to not shut up about their bodies.” Great. She was basically calling him a creep somehow.
“True, but then wouldn’t he be talking about Bucciratti that way too if he actually likes him?” The line mumbled by both a very intrigued and skeptical Mista almost makes Abbacchio chuckle. Rarely, this would happen, but Mista makes some pretty dumb comments sometimes.
“Who says he doesn’t think them?” Trish has a reply automatically formed, “I mean, he’s really good at not telling anyone anything, so that’d surely be hard for him to slip up on.”
Unfortunately, the pink swirled haired girl was right. Nothing that left Abbacchio’s mouth wasn’t something he didn’t care if the world knew, granted most of them were backhanded comments at the teens that surrounded him, but he was good at keeping internal thoughts just that; internal. She even managed to hit the hammer right on the nail, with Abbacchio constantly needing to pause his internal monologue and reel himself in before his thoughts went anywhere he shouldn’t think about on the job. Many a-times he had caught himself peering into the most gorgeously deep, crystal blue eyes he’d ever seen from across the table, wondering if his appear the same to his boss’s. And same applies for when they’re mid-combat, and Bruno has to pull out his stand, but for no reason poses in the cuntiest way ever, revealing his, incredibly, low-cut shirt framing the tattoo (maybe lingerie? No one really knows) that swirls ever so elegantly over his chest. Abbachio catches himself falling into those thoughts again, feeling his face heating but thankfully not visibly reddening due to the obnoxious amount of powder he layers his face with.
Shit. What are those brats talking about now?!
He had realized too late that he missed that entire conversation — the one he, presumably, shouldn’t have heard — and therefore missed any plausible information, or topics to yell at them about. After all, he hated when anything about him was talked about, truth or not. Fact, or speculation. But what he did hear was them joking about how Bruno had managed to get a near suicidal man wrapped ‘round his finger like a dog and never dare to leave his side. He wished it stayed as speculation and jokes, but it clearly didn’t as told by the devious giggle the two boys and girl seemed to share. He just knew they were going to try to break him later. He would not have it. He would not allow it. He wouldn’t even let Bruno hear about it on the slight chance that he may believe it and want him out of the gang. Good Lord, was he an idiot, but Bruno made him that idiot, and he used his idiocracy to try to protect whom he loved, even if it got in the way of things…