A/N: Day 3: Presents

Pre-relationship, fluff,

It starts with Abbacchio standing on Buccellati's doorstep one late Monday afternoon, without being summoned and after being given the day off.

Strange as it is to see him here, Buccellati forgets manners in favor of asking, "What is it?"

Because if Abbacchio came all the way here it must be with either an emergency or a complaint – he's not the type for casual visits. (Though. Buccellati wouldn't mind if he was.)

But Abbacchio doesn't seem panicked, or angry, or even vaguely miffed. He seems casual. Well, except for the pink tint to his cheeks, but that can be chalked up to the bite of winter air.

He doesn't answer Buccellati's question. Instead, he fishes around in the pocket of his coat and retrieves a small, neat box. The box is offered wordlessly, with Abbacchio averting his eyes when Buccellati tries to read them.

After too many seconds of standing and staring while he tries to puzzle out this bizarre behavior, Buccellati figures he should probably take the box.

So he does. His fingers brushing warm against Abbacchio's cold ones.

Opening the box reveals two matching golden hair clips, shiny and brand new, with a tasteful design to them. No matter how long Buccellati scrutinizes them, though, he has no idea what they mean. Or why Abbacchio handed them over so cryptically. Or why his heart won't calm down as he runs his thumb over the smooth surface of one of the clips.

"One of yours broke, yesterday. On that mission." Abbacchio's voice is halting, and he clears his throat before continuing. "I couldn't find a match, so…"

…So he went and bought an entirely new pair. Real gold, Buccellati's pretty sure, as he plucks one out of its box and rolls it between his fingers.

His heart is even more frantic, now. Looking Abbacchio in the eye doesn't do much to fix that. "You didn't have to –"

"I know."

The eye contact is getting to be a bit much. Buccellati never really noticed that Abbacchio's eyes are like a sunset until he got this direct of a comparison, with the sun sinking behind Abbacchio as it is, and the sky going all purple-gold.

Abbacchio blinks, and goes back to staring at somewhere over Buccellati's shoulder instead. It's disappointing, for some reason. His cheeks are still pink from the cold. "But it'd take you forever to buy yourself a replacement, so someone had to," he grumbles.

Despite himself, Buccellati smiles.

x

Now, a week later, here Buccellati stands.

With those clips in his hair as he stares down the collection of lipstick in front of him.

He knows exactly what he's doing here. Even if he wants to call this an impulse purchase made while he's already out running errands, it's not, really. Because running errands doesn't ever take him to this high-end makeup shop that Abbacchio frequents.

The tailor's is close enough, though, that it might be believable that he just…coincidentally ambled in here, instead of going straight home after picking up his freshly altered suit.

That isn't at all what happened, though. The suit is a convenient excuse to come this way, and he knows it, but that doesn't mean Abbacchio has to.

If he's allowed to give thoughtful-presents-thinly-veiled-as-practical, then so is Buccellati.

Even if it took him some time to work up the courage and plan.

It's fine.

Abbacchio's favorite black lipstick is running out. He complained the other day about how other, less expensive brands just don't have the same staying power, but coming all the way out here just for one tube of lipstick is a pain.

So Buccellati will simply pick it up while he's in the neighborhood. Drop it into Abbacchio's hand the next time they meet – tomorrow morning – and call it coincidence, insisting that he doesn't need to be paid back.

Nothing to it.

He's already got the color in his hand, ready to purchase, but. Something's caught his eye, down the line of shades. Reds and pinks and nudes and Abbacchio's signature black…plus one that's a damn close match for the purple of Abbacchio's eyes.

It. Doesn't exactly match. (Not that Buccellati spends overly long staring into Abbacchio's eyes and marveling at their beauty and depth when he can get away with it…or…anything.) But the color is close enough that if Abbacchio wore it, it would highlight his eyes nicely; make them pop even more than they do when contrasting against severe black.

But Buccellati's never seen Abbacchio wear any color other than black, on his lips – or anywhere else on his person, for that matter. All of his clothes are black, too, after all. Or at least dark.

He doesn't like any other shade.

If Buccellati bought him this bright, vibrant purple, he'd likely never wear it, whether it looked nice or not.

…Plus, this might cross the line between a casual 'I was in the neighborhood and picked this up for you' and a personal 'I bought this because I think it would suit you'.

Buying both would be even more incriminating than just buying the one, but if Buccellati only buys the purple, then Abbacchio will go buy his own black to replace it, anyway, so in a way that seems less thoughtful and more forceful. Or worse, Abbacchio will feel obligated to wear the purple, and Buccellati doesn't want that either.

Buccellati takes a step down the aisle, toward the checkout counter, and pauses.

Turns back around. Plucks one of the purple lipsticks free of the shelf.

Then he buys both purple and black, before he can second guess himself again. It's not like he has to give it to Abbacchio, after all, if he changes his mind later…

…

Except that fate is determined to give him no choice at all, because when Buccellati steps out of the shop he nearly collides with a very familiar chest, and stops dead in his tracks.

"Buccellati?" Abbacchio takes a step back, scowl in place. "What are you doing here?"

There's no way to dodge that at all. No way to play this off as a coincidence now. There's nothing for it but to…

"I was…out this way, picking up my suit," here, Buccellati lifts his left arm, brandishing the clothes bag draped there. And coincidentally also brandishing the recognizable bag from the makeup store behind them, held in that same hand. "And I figured I'd…" The fingers of his right hand fumble with his left, and he finagles the smaller bag free. "Here."

Abbacchio's scowl melts into something more wide-eyed. Slowly, and after so much hesitation that Buccellati thinks he's just not going to, he takes the bag. Even slower than that, he plucks both small packages out for consideration. Stares down at them with growing patches of red on his cheeks.

The cold weather. Buccellati's sure. Though it doesn't explain why his own face feels warm, but that's irrelevant right now.

"You needed lipstick, right?"

After a moment, Abbacchio nods. His eyes are still glued to the lipsticks in his hand, his thumb running over their simple packaging.

And Buccellati tries to keep it to himself – he really does – but in the end he can't help it. Feels the need to explain himself, or maybe to fill the silence. "The purple one I bought because…I thought it would look nice on you. You don't have to –"

"Thank you." Abbacchio's entire face is now bright red, his black-painted lips pressed into a firm line as he closes his fist around the lipsticks. He ducks his head and tucks them back into their bag. "You," he clears his throat, "didn't have to."

Relief spreads through Buccellati, though for some reason it does nothing to quell the frantic something that flutters around his stomach and chest. "I was in the neighborhood."

Abbacchio's fist clenches around the bag handle. He nods, or is maybe just dodging eye contact again.

"If you don't need anything else here," Buccellati says, tone as measured as he can keep it, "do you want to go back together?"

"That…that would be nice."

A/N: I miss Abbacchio's black lipstick from the manga but also I love the way they color his eyes in the anime and so here I sit.

Thanks for reading!