A/N: Day 4: Disguise

Forewarning for some melancholic Abbacchio thoughts (nothing severe), just in case.

Being in uniform again sucks ass. Abbacchio can't pretend that it doesn't, not even a little – can't get the scowl off of his face as he adjusts his outfit in the mirror. It won't settle right, but there's nothing for it, because he's a bit bulkier than he was back then.

He shouldn't even still have this damn thing. Should've burned it, or thrown it away, or something. Yet somehow it stayed with him.

If it wasn't for Buccellati's sake – for the…for the gang's sake – he would've refused to wear it at all. Never would've so much as looked at again, much less pulled it out of storage to iron.

After this, he'll burn it. Discard and destroy it like it deserves.

The sight of it clinging to his frame is almost enough to turn his stomach, now (a far cry from the way it squared his proud shoulders the very first time he put it on but he won't think about that – he won't), and is definitely enough to turn his insides into a black hole of dread. Not thinking about it is no use. Memories are closer than even Moody Blues can bring them, with this, for fuck's sake.

And as if that weren't enough, there's the fact that it doesn't even flatter him the way it used to. He used to look handsome. Smart and neat. Or at least he thought he did, back then.

Now it's all tight at the shoulders, and his hair hangs long, looking out of place. Unprofessional.

He huffs, tugging at the uniform some more.

His hair will go up, hidden in his hat, and he'll take his makeup off…that'll make it look a little better. And disguise him further, because his lipstick will be too damn recognizable if he leaves it on.

There's a subtle cough from behind him, and – Buccellati is there, leaning just inside the door. Abbacchio turns around to face him fully, though part of him would rather not. Blue eyes are glued to Abbacchio, giving him a once over and making him want to rearrange his clothes all over again despite the fact that it'll do no good.

"You look nice," Buccellati says, with an indecipherable note to his voice.

Kind of him to say so; Abbacchio knows it's a lie. He gives a sour grin and a scoff of, "Thanks."

Buccellati steps into the room properly, then, and his expression is schooled into something on the soft side of serious. His fingers reach out and catch on the end of Abbacchio's sleeve. "Sorry, that you have to wear this again."

"It's fine," Abbacchio grumbles. He isn't sure if the warm proximity of Buccellati's hand is helping or hindering him, here, but at least it fights off the memories some. "Happy to help."

Doesn't look like Buccellati buys it, which is fine, because Abbacchio wasn't really trying to sell it.

At least Buccellati doesn't comment on it. Though his hand is farther away, his expression steely. "After you pull the files, come right back. Don't get caught. I'll stay nearby in case you need a quick getaway."

By quick getaway, he means Sticky Fingers opening the walls and blowing the entire operation via loss of subtlety. So Abbacchio will try not to need that. He's useful for some things, after all, even if it's only blending back into police headquarters.

"Got it. I'll be quick."

Nodding, Buccellati wanders off toward the dresser, and Abbacchio is again left alone with his reflection in the full length mirror. It hasn't improved any.

Ugh. He's got to get used to the sight of himself in this uniform. If not, he's liable to ruin his flimsy cover by scowling at any reflective surface he happens to pass.

He tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Putting it up is necessary. Hiding it all in his hat without doing so would be a dangerous game, but now that he's messing with the thick length of it, he might have too much hair for even that…

"Here." Buccellati is back close again, just visible behind Abbacchio in the mirror. He's brandishing a hair tie, and lifting both hands in offer. "Let me."

So Abbacchio lets him. Tugs his hands free of his hair to let Buccellati mess with it instead.

Gentle fingers comb through, smoothing out tangles and gathering all of it into a ponytail, and…it feels nice. The hands in his hair, fingertips brushing his scalp. The warmth of Buccellati close behind him –

Then Buccellati ties off the ponytail, running his fingers over it one last time before letting it fall down Abbacchio's back. "There."

Abbacchio reaches back to inspect it for himself. Seems like a good enough height to hide. Loose and unobtrusive enough that he won't lose his hat and give himself away. Definitely better than cutting it all off (which is what Fugo suggested, and Abbacchio threatened to strangle him for).

"You really do look nice, you know."

…Well!

Standing stock still and silent probably isn't the best response to show Buccellati that Abbacchio is kind of sort of very much flustered as hell over that.

See, saying it once is just being polite, maybe even a joke. Saying it twice – while blushing, Abbacchio can see Buccellati's flushed cheeks and the crooked tilt of his mouth in the mirror – is being genuine and that's. That can't be right.

Abbacchio doesn't fucking see it. This stupid uniform's caused him nothing but grief, and it continues to do so, Buccellati's hands in his hair aside.

But the way Buccellati is looking at him makes him feel not-awful.

A/N: Thanks for reading,,