A/N: Warning for alcoholism/alcoholic behavior(?) in this one.
Day 7: friendship
"I'm not easy to be friends with," Abbacchio grumbles, slumped on his couch and feeling sorry.
"I know," is all Buccellati says. He's in the kitchen right now, throwing away the swarm of empty wine bottles he had just gathered up, as well as the half empty one he'd pried out of Abbacchio's hand only a moment ago.
Abbacchio, for his part, feels like shit. Some of it is maybe due to the alcohol in his system, sure – but it goes deeper than that. A full bodied ache aided by thoughts that won't leave him alone. The usual.
…Speaking of things that won't leave him alone, here comes Buccellati out of the kitchen, methodically turning the rest of Abbacchio's apartment upside down in search of a hidden alcohol stash.
And Abbacchio isn't about to stop him. Maybe Buccellati will give up once he finds the decoy stash under the bed, or maybe he'll search further and find the one at the back of the bathroom cupboard, too. Doesn't make much difference.
Right now, Abbacchio's too busy wondering why the hell Buccellati is even bothering.
If he knows that Abbacchio isn't an easy person to befriend, why does he keep trying anyway?
Why doesn't he take the easy way out and just…leave him to his misery? That's what normal bosses do, right? But Buccellati seems to be dedicated to making sure Abbacchio doesn't drink himself into a stupor, or waste away in general.
Okay, so maybe that last point is due to the fact that Abbacchio is probably more useful to the gang if he's not constantly drunk.
But that still doesn't mean that he isn't…y'know…replaceable? Plus he'd been drinking and wallowing when Buccellati recruited him, so if he sensed this kind of trouble coming, why did he even invite Abbacchio along in the first place?
Ugh.
Buccellati is nice and that's good but Abbacchio wants to know why.
Thinking about it so much is making his head pound, so Abbacchio slides down until it's cushioned along the back of the couch. It doesn't really help. His mind won't shut up.
And – and! It's not like he can outright ask Buccellati about any of this either. That'd either get him no answer - or worse, one that's too honest and catches him off guard in some way. Right now he's too tired to handle either scenario. And he feels sick.
He can hear Buccellati in his bedroom, now, along with the clink of bottles as he supposedly pulls them out from under the bed. These, too, are methodically emptied and trashed before Buccellati goes back to searching.
Abbacchio stays put all the while, listening and watching when he can, his fogged mind busy running itself in confused circles.
Eventually Buccellati does find the few bottles tucked away in the bathroom, disposing of them accordingly. And he must be satisfied that that's the last of it (it is), because now he's in front of Abbacchio, standing there with square shoulders and stern eyes.
"No more alcohol," he demands.
Abbacchio grunts. It didn't work the last time Buccellati had ordered it, and it probably won't work this time. Not even the guilt of knowing that he's disappointing Buccellati is enough to stop him, and even makes things worse.
He just wants to be numb for a little while, to forget, is that too much to ask?
"Abbacchio." Buccellati is closer now, his hands pressed to the couch on either side of Abbacchio's head as he forces eye contact. "No more."
Stomach cold, Abbacchio swallows, tries to form actual words. "I'll try." And he will. He wants to.
That seems to satisfy Buccellati, and he stands back up. "You should clean up, too. We have a job tonight, and I need you."
Abbacchio thinks there might be an unspoken 'if you're up for it' tacked onto that, but he can't be sure. Something about Buccellati's tone isn't as harsh as it should be. But it works – especially those words, that simple 'I need you' is all it takes for Abbacchio to sit up straighter.
"Meet me at the restaurant in two hours," Buccellati says, in that same almost-soft voice. He pauses for a moment, looking Abbacchio over – and then he walks away, heading for the door.
As Abbacchio watches him go he's still wondering, "Why…?"
And whoops he hadn't meant to say that out loud, hopefully Buccellati won't catch it –
No such luck. Buccellati's already stopped, and is turning to look at him, head tipped in that way he does to show he's listening.
So now Abbacchio has to fess up.
"Why do you bother?" he asks, words spilling out. "I think I'm pretty fucking hopeless. You can't be that desperate for help."
"You're not as bad as you think," Buccellati says, almost before Abbacchio's finished speaking. There isn't a hint of placating tone; he says it like it's a fact, like it's a definition read from a dictionary.
Abbacchio doesn't know how to respond.
"Besides," Buccellati resumes his walk to the door, his back to Abbacchio, "I care about you. You're part of my team."
Then he's gone, and Abbacchio is left alone with too much to stew over.
For once, that idea doesn't fill him with dread.
A/N: I promise tomorrow will be fluffy again, uh. This one was difficult for me for personal reasons but I was stumped for ideas until my sister said "Just do pre-relationship," and then I wound up with this, ahaha
Thanks for reading!
