A/N: Day 22: Tired
It happens quicker than Abbacchio can blink.
One second, he's taking a seat in the railcar – toward the back so no one will bother him as he's wont to do whenever stuck on public transportation – and Buccellati is sitting next to him, his posture prim and perfect as always.
And in the next second…
Buccellati's posture becomes significantly less than prim and perfect. He slumps to the side, his head landing pillowed on Abbacchio's shoulder, body sinking into Abbacchio's. Warm and kind of heavy but in an entirely pleasant way, and Abbacchio barely manages not to startle. Because what the hell.
After a few beats spent stuck in shock, he gathers himself and looks down at Buccellati in time to spot his eyelids fluttering closed. Within moments, as Abbacchio watches, Buccellati is fast asleep, his breathing deep and even and relaxed.
A quick glance around the car shows that it's practically barren and no one is eavesdropping, and then Abbacchio goes right back to watching Buccellati with something akin to wonder.
Sure, his shoulders have been drooping all day (no matter how hard he fought to square them), and he was stifling an awful lot of yawns at breakfast, but this is…
This has to be a world record or something. No one can fall asleep on a dime like this, without going through the delicate nodding off process first – though, maybe (probably) Buccellati already did that part during their walk here.
Unless he passed out. That's possible.
Abbacchio shifts his shoulder to check, and is rewarded with Buccellati cozying up further, so nope, not unconscious. Definitely just fell asleep with inhuman speed. In public. Very much sagging against Abbacchio. So lax that when Abbacchio shifts very, very carefully to lean on the cool glass of the window, Buccellati moves with him. Sinks ever-further against Abbacchio, melting into his side and – and nestling in.
God. Abbacchio's heart flips over itself at least twice, and his stomach is now host to a bunch of ricocheting marbles, or something equally as frantic.
This is going to be the longest ten minutes of his life.
Because of course there's no way he's waking Buccellati up – the thought barely crosses his mind for a second before he dismisses it. Short though this trip may be, Buccellati deserves to spend every last measly second of it resting.
They're not going anywhere dangerous, and anyway if anything happens to happen, Abbacchio is fully capable of protecting Buccellati.
So impromptu naptime it is.
The railcar starts heading downhill, and Abbacchio reflexively wraps an arm around Buccellati's back so he doesn't go slipping out of his seat.
…Which winds up not feeling secure enough, so Abbacchio sends his other arm around front, and, great, now he's got Buccellati wrapped in an entire sideways hug and he's blushing.
Once the ride smooths out as much as it's going to, he relaxes his hold into something he hopes is more casual (but still comfortable). Somehow, Buccellati has remained asleep through all the jostling and Abbacchio's clumsy handling. He must really be tired. Not surprising, because knowing him he was hiding just how bad he felt – but the thought still sends the marbles in Abbacchio's stomach ricocheting all over again.
At least the chronically stressed and serious lines of Buccellati's face are smoothed over in sleep for now.
Though, the way the railcar jerks to a jagged stop threatens to ruin that –
Abbacchio barely manages to avoid cussing out the driver when Buccellati starts to shift and his brow starts to scrunch, but that would only cause more of a disturbance. So he sits still and quiet. Leaves his arms where they are. Holding Buccellati…
After an agonizing handful of seconds during which things could go either way, Buccellati starts to resettle. He sighs deep through his nose, cheek pressing back to Abbacchio's shoulder on a nuzzle.
Oh, hell. Abbacchio's heart is going to explode.
It's spared by some university student with a heavy backpack boarding the railcar. They're wandering the length of the car, headed for the back, so Abbacchio schools his expression into the sharpest glare he's got until they change their mind and pick a seat toward the front.
The railcar sets off again, and fuck that student for distracting Abbacchio because there goes Buccellati's head lolling off of his shoulder before he can stop it –
And Buccellati jerks awake, his eyelids blinking heavy at their surroundings. At the railcar, at the other passengers, at Abbacchio's arm wrapped around his chest. His eyes follow the length of said arm until they reach Abbacchio's face. Which is a predicament and a half. There's no way he misses the vibrant blush settled there.
Abbacchio reclaims the arm he has around Buccellati's front, watching Buccellati watch it go. He has no idea how to explain himself.
"I'm sorry," Buccellati says, and it's not at all necessary but Abbacchio isn't about to say that out loud with real actual words. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"It's fine," Abbacchio assures. Less than half of what he'd like to say, but he's distracted by the small, stupid detail that is the word choice of 'didn't mean to fall asleep' potentially implying that the cuddling against Abbacchio part that came first was fully intentional.
There's a sigh from Buccellati, and noteworthy is the fact that he hasn't fully sat up on his own yet. He's still leaning on Abbacchio when he frowns and admits, "I haven't been getting much sleep."
Well there go those fucking marbles again. Spinning so fast they manifest as something close to nerves or worry. Because in Buccellati speak, that translates to: I have been running myself ragged as all hell.
Which, yeah, is nothing new when it comes to Buccellati. He always works too hard. It's a chronic issue of his – but he's never just gone ahead and dropped right off to sleep the second his body stopped moving. At least not as far as Abbacchio knows. Plus, the fact that he all but admitted to being too tired to function is a telltale sign that this is worse than usual.
So Abbacchio dares to ask, "Why not?"
Buccellati makes some kind of noncommittal noise that turns into a muffled yawn, covered by his hand. "Night missions."
"How many?"
"Abbacchio," is all Buccellati says. It's all he has to say. This part is officially none of Abbacchio's business.
What is Abbacchio's business, however, is the soft, sleepy shape of Buccellati at his side right now. "You need to rest," he insists, for all the good it'll do. It's not like Buccellati has ever taken this advice to heart before.
True to form, Buccellati dismisses the idea with a shake of his head. "You should've woken me sooner."
Yet here he is! Still leaning on Abbacchio! Saying absolutely nothing about the arm wrapped secure over his shoulders! (Which, thank fuck for that, because Abbacchio isn't ready to acknowledge their position or any deeper meanings that go along with it right now.)
"You should've slept longer," he argues.
"I'm fine," Buccellati continues to insist, even though exhaustion is plain on his face and every single line of his entire body.
"You won't be, if you keep…" Ugh. Abbacchio bites his tongue. Buccellati is looking at him, head tipped up to show off sad blue eyes, so Abbacchio tightens his arm around those strong, sagging shoulders. He can't keep eye contact, in the end. "If you keep this up, you'll get sick. Or you'll just fucking fall over on the job one day."
He can feel Buccellati's eyes on him, and it's making his cheeks go hot. It only worsens the longer he looks away, so he hauls his gaze back, and –
There's a tiny smile twitched to life on Buccellati's face. "You're worried about me…?"
Shit. Fuck. That's wreaking absolute havoc on Abbacchio's blush, and on those stupid marbles. This can't be allowed to continue. Of course he's worried, god. "Just – just take a nap. It won't kill you. We're stuck here for five more minutes anyway."
He fully expects Buccellati to argue. To keep right on proclaiming that he's not tired and that he's fine, or even poke more fun at Abbacchio as a distraction tactic, an attempt to turn the tables…
But. That's not what happens.
Buccellati presses against him, instead. Settles in nice and comfortable there as his body goes lax all over again and his cheek comes to rest on Abbacchio's shoulder and he breathes him in and says, "Alright."
Alright, of all things. Casual, like he does this daily and this isn't the first time ever that he's openly agreed to rest.
Concern spikes alongside affection, so excuse Abbacchio for being caught without words for a disproportionate amount of time. All of the arguments he had prepared are useless, now, stored for later use while he scrambles for something – anything else to say in their place, but Buccellati beats him to it.
"If you're this worried," he mumbles, closing his eyes and slipping an arm around Abbacchio's waist so that he can cuddle closer, "then I can't refuse."
A/N: Thanks for reading...!