Creature Comforts
It started when Bucciarati off-handedly gave an old sweater to Abbacchio, and now it has been passed down among the team over the years, until it makes an unexpected return to its original owner.
Day 30: Borrowed Clothing
1. Abbacchio
Bruno Bucciarati had seen a lot of desperate men in his line of work, but few who looked as depressing as Leone Abbacchio, standing in the foyer of his apartment, soaked to the skin and dripping like a stray cat.
"You can shower if you'd like—there might still be hot water this time of night," Bruno told him, tucking the umbrella beside the door. "I'll find you something dry to wear."
The man shook himself and nodded, taking a hesitant step toward the bathroom door as Bucciarati pointed it out.
One he had provided him with a towel and showed him how the shower worked, Bruno hurried to his room and tried to find something for their guest to wear that might actually fit—Fugo definitely wouldn't have anything.
Bruno sighed, rummaging through his drawers, pulling out a pair of sweat pants that were slightly long on him and a plain t-shirt.
It was then he found the lump in the back of his drawer, fingers tangling in soft knitted cables. He hesitated slightly, but pulled the sweater out, holding it up. It was still definitely too big for Bruno, always had been.
Part of him wanted to put it back in the drawer and keep it for himself, but his father had also instilled in him the importance of helping those in need. So, Bruno would pass it on to someone more in need than him.
When he heard the water turn off in the bathroom, he knocked on the door. "I'm leaving some clothes out here for you. You can come to the kitchen when you're done and I'll get you something to eat."
He set the stack of clothing down and headed to the kitchen to start making some coffee. Even he was chilled after being out that night and he'd remembered the umbrella.
It was a few more minutes before Abbacchio showed up with wet hair and the too-short sweatpants. The sweater however—a dark blue wool with chunky cabling down the front and an open ribbed collar—fit him just about right. If not slightly long in the sleeves.
"Can I get you some coffee?" Bruno asked.
Abbacchio winced, still standing there as if unsure of what to do. "I—thanks, sure," he mumbled. "Thanks for the clothes too. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."
"It's not a problem," Bruno assured him as he went to fill a cup. "Cream or sugar?"
Abbacchio shook his head. Bruno set the cup on the table, urging him to sit down. Abbacchio took a hesitant step before he finally took a seat, tugging at the sweater. "This is really nice, I'll get it back to you once I can get back to my apartment tomorrow."
Bruno hesitated, but finally waved his hand. "Keep it. It was always too big on me anyway, and I'm sure you could use some warmer clothes? Besides, wool keeps you warm even when its wet So if you forget an umbrella again…"
Abbacchio looked up at him with some confusion for a long moment before he pulled the cup of coffee closer and took a sip. "Okay then. Thanks. I appreciate it."
Bruno smiled back and decided he was glad that the sweater would finally get some use.
2. Fugo
It had been a long stakeout in the cold. Stealth had prohibited them from turning the heater on in the car, and Abbacchio felt pretty terrible seeing just how much Fugo was shivering by the time they finished, the drive home with the heater on full blast hadn't even been enough to thaw either of them out.
Not to mention that their heater wasn't functioning fantastically in the apartment either, so it wasn't much warmer there.
"I'll make some tea, you should go get something warm on," Abbacchio told the kid worriedly. Fugo was so skinny that Abbacchio was afraid he might catch cold—though he would never say that to Fugo's face unless he wanted his nose broken.
He went to throw on a sweatshirt and thick socks before he started boiling some water.
Fugo showed up in a few minutes, still shivering, in a long-sleeved shirt with a thin cardigan over it and a pair of sweat pants.
Abbacchio eyed him briefly, but didn't want to embarrass the kid by asking him if he was warm enough. He simply took out two mugs and some tea bags and poured the water over them when it started to boil.
"Want to work on the report together?" Abbacchio asked him.
"Sure," Fugo replied, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He went to get paper and pen and Abbacchio sat down with his notebook where he had written down observations and snatches of conversation that night.
The tea worked to warm Abbacchio's core and he got to work compiling info with Fugo for their report.
He reached for a pen at the same time Fugo reached for his tea and Abbacchio's hand brushed his, feeling like ice.
"Jesus, kid," he hissed, pulling his hand away sharply. "You're actually freezing!"
Fugo glowered, hunching his shoulders as he pulled his hands back and clasped them around his mug, still shaking every once in a while. "It is freezing in here, you know."
"Don't you have anything warmer to wear?" Abbacchio asked genuinely.
"Nothing comfortable," Fugo huffed. "Just my overcoat."
Abbacchio frowned and stood up. "Hold on, I'll be back."
He went to rummage around in his closet, trying to find something warm for Fugo to wear. That was when he spotted the dark blue sweater. He'd almost forgotten about it—the one Bucciarati had given him the first night he'd dragged him back to this apartment. That would be warm enough.
Abbacchio brought it back out and handed it over to Fugo. "Here, try this."
Fugo took the sweater, looking somewhat embarrassed, but he tugged it on and pushed the sleeves up over his hands. Abbacchio watched as his shivering finally stopped all together and Fugo let out a soft sigh of relief. "Thanks. That is better."
"No problem," Abbacchio replied and nodded to the sweater. "You can keep that too, it was just something Bucciarati gave me. You'll need it if the heater doesn't get fixed soon."
Fugo offered a very small smile, huddling into the sweater as they continued with their work.
3. Narancia
"I'm…so sorry."
"Just shut up," Fugo snapped, feeling mud squelch in his shoes—they were probably ruined by now. But at least the mud had been relegated to his lower half. Narancia was practically covered in it. He didn't even realize you could find that much mud within the city limits but any calamity seemed possible with their new recruit around.
He fumbled his keys out of his pocket and opened the apartment up, cringing at the thought of all the mud they were about to track inside. The car was already a disaster.
"Just don't touch anything you don't have to," Fugo muttered.
Narancia tip-toed delicately into the apartment after ditching his shoes by the door.
"Probably the best thing is to dump the muddy clothes into the bathtub so we can rinse them out before putting them into the washing machine," Fugo said.
"Uh, yeah okay," Narancia replied. "But, um, problem—I don't have anything else to wear. I left my wash in the washing machine and I only have my pajamas pants.
Fugo sighed tiredly. "Just…throw your stuff into the tub and I'll loan you something to wear."
Narancia perked up and Fugo hurried to dump his clothes in the bathroom, washing briefly before grabbing a towel to wrap around himself to go find something clean to wear.
He dressed quickly, hearing Narancia swearing as he struggled with his mud-covered clothes then turned with a sigh to his dresser, digging around for something Narancia could wear.
A bundle of dark wool caught his eye and he pulled the sweater out, remembering how Abbacchio had given it to him when he had been freezing that one night. It had kept him warm through the winter, but he could do with passing it on now, especially since Narancia really didn't have that many clothes.
He grabbed a pair of his sweatpants as well and set the neatly folded pile outside the bathroom door.
"Clothes are outside," he said before going to make a call to Bucciarati to tell him the mission was finished.
He was just grabbing the laundry basket in prep to take the clothes down to the washers when Narancia reappeared, practically swimming in the sweater, sleeves slipping down over his hands. But he was grinning, waving the floppy sleeves around.
"Dude this is so cozy! Thanks for loaning it to me."
"Oh, you can keep it actually," Fugo replied. "Abbacchio gave it to me so…it's not really mine."
"Really? Thanks man!" Narancia hurried off as Fugo yelled at his back.
"Narancia get back here! You have to go finish your own laundry—I'm not going to do it for you!"
Narancia hurried back and grabbed the basket from Fugo. "Yeah, yeah, I'll meet you down there."
Fugo shook his head and went to gather the muddy stuff before he realized Narancia had run off with the laundry basket.
4. Mista
Narancia wasn't entirely sure what to think of the new guy yet. He'd been nice enough if not a little out of place with all of them, and Narancia didn't exactly understand why he hated the number 4 so much but he wasn't one to judge.
Still, Guido Mista had a habit of moping around when he wasn't given a task. Narancia could understand that. He'd been the same after getting out of prison. It was hard to adjust back to normal living when you'd had your days so regimented for a long time.
Narancia was currently relegated to the apartment due to a minor injury and that day it was just him and Mista there. The new recruit puttered around in the kitchen getting coffee for a while in the morning before he sat on the old couch in the living room, staring at the wall.
It was…kind of driving Narancia nuts. He didn't understand how someone could sit still like that doing nothing. At least Fugo was usually reading, he could understand that; even if reading didn't keep Narancia's attention for long, it was still doing something.
He didn't want to be annoying, but he poked his head into the living room.
"Hey, um, can I do anything for you?"
Mista looked up. "Nah. I'm good."
Narancia fidgeted. "Aren't you like…bored?"
Mista shrugged. "I don't know. It's just nice to be out of prison." He stood up. "I guess I'd like to take a shower though."
Narancia nodded and went to make lunch as he heard the shower running. Mista returned when he was halfway through eating in just his pajama bottoms and a towel slung over his shoulders.
"Hey, um…I still need to go shopping for some new clothes. Could I borrow some change so I can do a wash?"
"Oh sure," Narancia said quickly and pointed over to a jar on the counter. "Bucciarati keeps that for laundry and stuff."
"Thanks." Mista said and hurried out of the apartment.
Narancia thought about what he had said, and got up to head to his room. He grabbed a box of VHS tapes from under his bed and rummaged in his drawer until he found the oversized sweater he was looking for.
When Mista returned, Narancia tossed him the sweater.
"Here! You can have this for now," he said.
Mista held the sweater up, surprised. "Oh, hey, thanks man. I really appreciate it."
He slipped it on, tugging it down. "This is really nice. You sure you want me to have this?"
Narancia nodded. "It kinda gets passed around between us. You can use it for as long as you want. But only if you answer a question."
Mista cocked an eyebrow as Narancia presented the box he had been holding under his arm. "Do you like movies?"
Mista's face lit up. "I love movies! Hey, you got some great stuff in here!"
"Then let's watch something! Then you don't have to just sit around doing nothing all day," Narancia said. "Pick whatever you want, I'll grab some snacks."
They spent the rest of the afternoon watching movies and chatting and Narancia thought that he and the new guy were probably going to get along really well.
5. Giorno
Mista roamed the safehouse after everyone had gone to sleep, making sure everyone was okay. He checked in on Narancia last, but the kid was sleeping soundly, knocked out from pain pills and exhausted from his still-healing body. He'd been able to leave their makeshift infirmary yesterday though so he was doing a lot better.
Speaking of…
Mista headed down the stairs to the guest room they had made into their designated infirmary while their teammates were recovering. Bucciarati and Abbacchio were still usually unconscious and hooked up to IVs aside from a few times they had woken.
Giorno was sitting beside Bucciarati's bed as Mista figured he would be. The blond had been watching tirelessly since they had gotten to the house three days ago and had barely left the room.
He looked up briefly as Mista poked his head in.
"Hey, can I get you anything?"
Giorno shook his head, reaching up to rub his face. "No. I'm okay."
Mista nodded slowly, taking in Giorno's exhausted frame. "You really should sleep. They'll be okay for the night. They're stable, right?"
"Yeah, I just…" Giorno sighed, before he finally stood up. "Maybe you're right. I'll catch a couple hours on the couch."
Mista frowned as Giorno passed him, noticing that he was still wearing the same lavender suit he had been wearing the whole mission. It had the look of being washed, water thinned bloodstains visible around a couple tears, but Mista realized he'd never seen Giorno put on anything else.
"Hey, um…you want me to wash and fix that suit?" Mista asked. "I think there's a sewing kit somewhere. At least until you can get a new one?"
Giorno looked down at the suit. "I, um…I don't really have anything else to wear."
"Oh." Mista blinked and then realized Giorno hadn't brought so much as a backpack with him. "Hey, I'm sorry man, I should have asked earlier."
Giorno shrugged. "It's not really a big deal. I'll get something soon."
"No way, you need to be comfortable. Stay here, I'll be right back."
Mista hurried up to his room and dug through his duffle bag until he found—ah, there it was.
He took the bundled sweater and a pair of sweatpants down to Giorno, dropping them into his arms.
"Keep these. I've got more changes of clothes."
Giorno smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Mista. I really appreciate it."
Mista gave him a salute and a grin. "Anytime. How about I make you a cup of tea? I was just gonna get one myself."
"Sure."
Mista headed to the kitchen and by the time he got to the living room Giorno was curled on the couch, bundled into the big sweater, fast asleep.
Mista chuckled and set Giorno's mug down on the coffee table before throwing a blanket over him.
"Sleep well, GioGio."
6. Trish
Giorno was up late reading one night when he heard the back patio door open and shut. It was right below his bedroom and he had his window open. He figured someone might just be getting some fresh air, but then he heard the soft, unmistakable sounds of someone crying and frowned, getting up to go see what might be wrong.
He pulled on the heavy sweater Mista had given him and padded downstairs and toward the back of the house.
Through the glass door he could see Trish huddled on the steps leading into the garden, shoulders shaking. Giorno hesitated a second, not sure if he would be intruding or not, but he ultimately decided that Trish shouldn't have to be alone if she was upset and if it turned out she really wanted him to leave, he would go.
He stepped outside, the sound of the door opening causing Trish to turn around, hurriedly wiping her eyes.
"Oh, hey," she said quietly.
Giorno silently went to sit next to her. "Hey. Are you okay?" he asked.
Trish looked away, wrapping her arms around herself. "I…I guess."
"If you don't mind me saying so, you don't really look okay," Giorno responded. "Anything you want to talk about?"
Trish took a shuddering breath and scrubbed a hand against her wet eyes. "It's just…Now that everything's settled down it's kind of hitting me, you know? That I'm not going home—that I don't even have a home anymore."
"I know it's a lot," Giorno said quietly. "I didn't…really have anything to leave, but I can understand how you must feel, being forced to leave everything."
Trish sniffed. "And I miss my mom. I didn't even really have the time to mourn her, so…I guess it's all hitting now, three months later."
She curled around herself, shaking slightly, breath hitching.
Giorno didn't know if she was cold or not, but the weight of the sweater was comforting to him so he tugged it off and looped it over Trish's head.
She looked up in surprise, before a small smile turned up one corner of her lips as she sniffed. "Thanks." She tucked her arms into the sleeves, letting them fall past her hands as she dabbed her eyes on the sweater.
"I'm sorry about your mother," Giorno told her quietly. "But you're wrong, you know."
Trish sniffed again. "About what?" she asked sounding slightly offended.
"That you don't have a home," Giorno replied, nodding back to the house. "This is your home. It's all of our home, and you never need to go anywhere else unless you want to."
Trish looked at him for a long moment, eyes wavering, before she simply leaned forward and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.
"Giorno that's…that's such a sweet thing to say," she said shakily.
Giorno smiled, hugging her back, letting her cry for a few more minutes before she pulled away and wiped at her eyes again.
"Thank you, that…I feel better now," she said.
"I'm glad," Giorno replied. "I'm always here to talk if you need."
"I appreciate it," Trish said as she stood. "Thanks for letting me borrow the sweater too. It's…really comforting."
Giorno waved his hand as he also stood. "Keep it for now. Mista gave it to me when we first got here, but you should use it now."
Trish smiled with a grateful blush and waved to him as they got inside. "Good night, Giorno. And thanks again."
"Good night, Trish."
7. Bucciarati
Trish was having a hard time sleeping that night and decided to run down to the library to grab something to read.
She had thought everyone had already gone to bed, so she was surprised to find Bucciarati sitting in there in the middle of the floor in his pajamas, a box of photos open and spread in front of him.
He startled as she walked in and Trish stopped.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were up."
A look passed over his face and Bucciarati cleared his throat and said, "It's okay. Can't sleep?"
Trish shook her head, feeling a little like she was intruding as she cautiously stepped into the room. "Not really. You either?"
Bruno gave her a small, sad smile. "Just…looking through some old memories."
Curious, Trish came over and knelt beside him. "May I?"
Bruno waved a hand and Trish picked up a picture of a young boy holding a large fish up proudly. His black hair and blue eyes told Trish that it was obviously the man beside her.
"This was you?" she asked with a smile. "You were adorable!"
Bruno let out a light laugh. "Thank you. It was… a long time ago. I…haven't looked at these for a while but…"
There was a weight to his words and Trish watched him carefully, finally realizing that his eyes were slightly red, the lashes damp as if he had been crying.
"Bucciarati? Are you okay?" she asked quietly.
He cleared his throat again. "I'll be okay, Trish. I…it's been four years today since he died. I just thought…I would take a moment to remember him."
"Oh, Bucciarati, I didn't know," Trish said softly, reaching out to take his hand, squeezing.
"I usually keep it to myself," Bruno replied simply.
Trish was silent, wondering if he wanted to be alone, but, she thought about how she felt when she remembered her mom. How alone it felt. And it was too sad to think of going to bed when Bucciarati was sitting here alone with the pictures of his past.
"Would it…be okay if I stayed here to look at the pictures with you?" Trish asked hesitantly. "Unless you'd rather be alone."
"I wouldn't actually," Bucciarati replied, voice slightly raw.
Trish felt a little relieved, but stood. "Okay, I'll be right back, I promise."
She hurried away to make some hot chocolate, and as an afterthought, ran to get the sweater Giorno had loaned her a while back when had had found her crying. She always put it on when she was feeling bad now and thought that maybe it would comfort Bucciarati too.
She brought the items back to the library and Bucciarati looked up in surprise.
"I made hot chocolate—thought you could use some," she told him with a small smile, setting down the mugs before holding out the sweater. "And this. It's so warm and cozy it…"
She trailed off at the look on Bruno's face when he saw the sweater, eyes wide, mouth parted as if in awe.
"Bucciarati?"
He reached out to take it from her, holding it carefully in his hands, fingers curling into the chunky knitting.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
"Um…well, Giorno gave it to me, he said Mista gave it to him before that."
Bruno laughed lightly, eyes wet. "And I gave it to Abbacchio a long time ago." He turned to Trish with a small smile. "It was my father's. I had…actually forgotten about it but it seems to have made its way through the team somehow."
"And back to you," Trish replied. "Where it should be."
Bruno slowly tugged the sweater on over his t-shirt, running his fingers over the hem, eyes full of nostalgia. "Funny how things have a way of coming full circle when it means the most." He turned back to her, eyes wet. "Thank you, Trish."
Trish couldn't help herself and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly in the comfy sweater. "I'm glad it came back to you when you needed it most," she told him.
"It did. But anyone is welcome to borrow it at any time," Bruno said. "Perhaps it's best that it belongs to all of us." He smiled "I think that's what my father would have wanted."
Trish hugged him more firmly and genuinely felt at home.