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Late August of 2001 had brought a simmering heat wave that rendered the city slow and lethargic.
Despite the unpleasantness of the hot muggy air, Abbacchio didn’t mind the heat wave so much. The city had never been so quiet, and their work for Passione had nearly come to a stand still.
Abbacchio did not consider himself lazy, but he was never one to turn down a break from work.
He sat outside on the shaded patio reading a trashy romance novel and drinking lemonade, the fast-melting ice tinkling against the glass every time he took a sip. Rather than wearing leather, his usual choice of outfit for missions, he wore soft cotton and linen instead.
He felt a deep sense of contentment, until another presence intruded upon his peace.
Bucciarati sat down next to him, and Abbacchio was forced back into cruel reality. Normally, Abbacchio would welcome Bucciarati’s presence, but Abbacchio already had a pretty good idea of what he wanted.
He had heard worried whispers and murmurs from the kids, despite trying to tune them out with his headphones or avoid them altogether.
Giovanna had presented at the age of 16. He was experiencing his first ever heat. And, apparently, it was not going well.
Abbacchio almost sort of felt sorry for the kid. Heats were never easy, and the first one was almost always one of the worst. Not to mention, only Giovanna could manage presenting during a record breaking heat wave. The kid had some of the most awful luck that Abbacchio had ever witnessed.
Nonetheless, it was none of his business. He had been staying far away from the others, making it clear that he would not be involved in this mess.
Just because Abbacchio was an omega, the only one in their little rag-tag pack until now, did not mean that he had any sort of obligation to help Giovanna in any way, other than being his very reluctant underling.
And it seemed the rest of the gang had a very clear understanding of this. Abbacchio’s second gender was a bit of an open secret. He had never outright told anyone in the gang, though it was obvious that everyone knew. Abbacchio religiously wore scent blockers, as it wasn’t exactly wise to advertise to enemies that you’re a twenty-something virile omega. However, he was constantly around the gang. He lived with them, ate with them, and went on life-threatening missions with them. His scent would no doubt slip out every once and a while. It was also hard to miss the way he’d disappear for a few days, every 3 months or so.
Despite the common knowledge, no one in the gang ever brought it up.
Bucciarati sighed then began to speak, “Abbacchio-”
“No,” he interrupted, not even looking up from his book.
“You won’t even let me say anything?” Bucciarati exclaimed, allowing himself to actually look a bit annoyed, rather than concealing his feelings like normal. He must have quite a bit on his mind, Abbacchio thought to himself.
“It’s none of my business,” Abbacchio answered shortly.
“He seems like he’s really suffering,” Bucciarati explained, his voice laced with concern.
“Heats aren’t supposed to be fun. He’ll be miserable for a few days, then he’ll go back to normal,” Abbacchio explained impatiently.
“Something is wrong with him,” Bucciarati spoke in a low, urgent voice. Before Abbacchio could interject, he continued. “He’s shut himself in his room and won’t let any of us in. Whenever anyone tries to come in, he threatens us with his stand. He doesn’t seem entirely conscious, and he hasn’t drank water in nearly a day.”
“Sounds like he wants to be alone then,” Abbacchio said.
“Leone,” Bucciarati spoke in a pleading tone that sent shivers down his spine. “I’ve seen the two of you talk to each other over the past couple of months. You’ve been cordial- nice even. I’m not sure why you’re still putting up this front.”
Abbacchio thought over Bucciarati’s words for a moment. It’s true that they do get along for the most part now, but that doesn’t mean Bucciarati can just say that; even if he does use his first name beforehand.
Over the past several months, Abbacchio has grown used to the kid. He doesn’t really even hate him anymore. Every once in a while, when Abbacchio is silently reading in the garden, the kid will join him, and they’ll sit together in peaceful silence, reading independently. He would never admit it, but Abbacchio may even be a little fond of the kid at times.
However, that doesn’t mean he’s willing to babysit.
“So you think he’ll let me, his best friend in the whole world, into his room to check on him?” Abbacchio said while rolling his eyes, and putting his book down on the side table. He turned to finally face Bucciarati for the first time since he sat down.
The man was dressed in light linen clothes. His bangs were pinned back, away from his face. Even he was suffering from the heat wave; a bit of sweat was lingering on his brow. He looked strained, likely a mix of the unending heat and his obvious worry for Giovanna.
His scent was slightly stronger than normal, and Abbacchio used all his willpower to ignore the scent of a windswept shore, somehow both musky and delicately sweet. Even as the sun threatened to cook them, Bucciarati’s warm summery scent remained deeply alluring.
Bucciarati looked him in the eye, his face deadly serious.
“His stand, it seems to manifest whenever Giorno smells our scents,” Bucciarati paused, seeming to try to delicately choose his next words. “He appears to subconsciously distrust the scent of any alpha or beta. It doesn’t seem like he can even move or take care of himself in any way, but his stand immediately lashes out as soon as we get anywhere near him.”
Abbacchio considered this for a moment.
“You think that he won’t feel threatened by me because I’m an omega,” Abbacchio reluctantly stated. Bucciarati sighed.
“I think it’s worth a shot,” he answered. He paused for a moment, thinking once more. When he finally spoke again, his voice had quieted to nearly whisper. “You know I wouldn’t ask something like this of you unless it were really serious.”
It was true. He wouldn’t ask something like this. Bucciarati didn’t treat him like an omega in any way. He really only ever acknowledged his second gender once before, just a couple months earlier.
It had been his first heat since being dragged back to life by Giovanna. Abbacchio felt his guts churning, and his whole body was itchy. He had been leaving in the middle of the night, like usual, nearly out the door when Bucciarati had grabbed his arm and stopped him.
“You’re leaving,” He stated.
“Yeah,” Abbacchio answered.
Bucciarati was silent for several moments, seemingly staring straight into Abbacchio’s soul. Abbacchio refused to allow himself to feel any hope. Bucciarati was likely one of the most perfect alphas who had ever lived. Abbacchio was an overly lanky, gloomy omega with an attitude problem. They would never happen, not in a million years.
“I should really get going,” Abbacchio murmured, trying to step away from Bucciarati’s grip. However, the man didn’t let go.
“I don’t like the idea of you being by yourself,” Bucciarati finally explained. Abbacchio felt himself break a sweat. Bucciarati was clearly referring to just a few months earlier, when Abbacchio had been swiftly murdered the minute he had been left alone on the most important mission of their lives. Certainly not his finest moment.
“I’ll be fine,” he answered, breaking eye contact and tugging at his arm still in Bucciarati’s grip.
And he would be fine. He always stumbled back home after two or three days, reeking either of liquor, alpha, or both. He tried not to notice the way it made a vein pop out on Bucciarati’s forehead every time, or the way his jaw would tense. He was likely ashamed of Abbacchio’s behavior. Maybe embarrassed. Maybe it was even disgust. Either way, Abbacchio always took a shower as soon as possible and scrubbed every inch of himself with extra strength scent blockers.
“Go to the hotel down the street,” Bucciarati demanded. Abbacchio held back a shiver at his firm tone and touch. The heat was really starting to get to him. “They have heat rooms and room service for guests in heat. They also have good security. You’ll be safe there.”
“Hotels are expensive,” Abbacchio weakly protested.
“Passione will cover the cost,” Bucciarati replied.
Abbacchio paused for a moment, trying to process the conversation with his severely clouded judgment, but his thoughts were cut short when Bucciarati squeezed his arm.
“Leone, please,” he murmured.
And that was that. Abbacchio spent his heat by himself in a luxury suite with the finest amenities. He was lonely and miserable the whole time, but he had never felt as safe during heat than he did then.
It was this memory that made Abbacchio feel just a little bit more pity for Giovanna. If he wouldn’t let even Bucciarati near him, the kid must have some serious baggage.
Baggage and heats don’t go great together. Abbacchio would know.
He took a long sip from his lemonade and let out a deep sigh.
“Fine. What do you want me to do?” he asked Bucciarati. The man looked relieved and quietly thanked him before leading him inside the house. He tried not to feel the deep sense of contentment he felt every time Bucciarati thanked him.
Abbacchio could have smelled the three teenage boys sitting in the kitchen from a mile away. Mista, Fugo, and Narancia sat at the table, each of them with a bowl of fruit and a glass of ice water.
They reeked of sweat and teenage hormones, Mista’s alpha scent only slightly more offensive than the other two betas. Abbacchio wasn’t sure where Trish or Polnareff wandered off to, but he couldn’t blame them for steering clear of the boys. Hell, he couldn’t even blame Giovanna for threatening the boys with his stand. If he was in heat, he wouldn’t want them near him either.
The boys stopped whatever inane conversation they were having and stared as Abbacchio followed Bucciarati to the kitchen counter. Bucciarati pulled open a small cooler, showing Abbacchio it’s contents.
“There’s water, sports drinks, protein bars, and ice packs. My biggest concern for right now is making sure he at least drinks something, since it’s been about a day or so already. There’s also a thermometer and some medicine in case his fever is too high,” Bucciarati paused and grabbed a small pager they used for missions off the counter. He grasped Abbacchio’s hand and placed the pager in his palm. He then closed his hand around the pager, holding his hand in both of his while he spoke to him.
“I’d like you to update me. Page me in case you need anything,” Bucciarati firmly demanded. Clearly, he’d put quite a bit of thought into this already.
“Get some water in the kid and shoot you a page, got it,” Abbacchio responded, trying not to seem so affected by Bucciarati’s tough, warm, and gentle hands wrapped around his.
“Bucciarati, are you sure this is a good idea?” Fugo interjected from the table.
“What if Giorno kills Abbacchio?” Narancia asked anxiously.
Ever since Abbacchio had been brought back to life by Giovanna, Narancia had been downright clingy. Apparently, the kid had also been killed by the old boss, and thank god Abbacchio had already been too dead to see that. However, it seemed that Narancia was far more worried about his other pack members, especially Abbacchio, than himself. He had finally begun to ease up a little over the past month or so, but it appeared that this behavior wouldn’t go away so easily.
“Giorno wouldn’t kill Abbacchio. I feel like he’d probably just turn him into a snake or something,” Mista replied, unhelpfully, while roughly patting Narancia on the shoulder. Naracia let out a whimpering sound of distress, and Mista made a thoughtful hum.
“Or maybe he’d make him into a spider. Hmm, a frog?” Mista went on, much to Narancia’s distress.
Abbacchio rolled his eyes and pulled his hand from Bucciarati’s, pocketing the pager.
He then reached his hand behind his hair and slowly peeled the scent suppressing patch off of the scent gland on his neck, trying not to wince at the lingering stickiness and the sensitivity of his skin. He threw the used scent patch in the garbage.
His scent already began to emanate from his gland, likely thanks to the sweltering temperatures. It was a soft and dreamy lavender scent. It was a scent that would much better suit a beautiful woman with a sweet smile and demure disposition, rather than a 6’2 man who almost exclusively wore a scowl.
Bucciarati and the three teens looked on in shock, none of them having had the chance to really get more than an occasional whiff of Abbacchio’s scent. He turned to Bucciarati, eyebrow raised.
“The scent is the whole point of this plan, isn’t it?” Abbacchio asked. Bucciarati nodded, though he seemed to be at a loss for words.
“You smell really really nice, Abbacchio! I can tell, even though I’m a beta!” Narancia exclaimed, his voice cracking and his cheeks rosy from blushing.
Abbacchio rolled his eyes and grabbed the cooler. He turned to make his way upstairs towards Giovanna’s room.
“Shut up,” he spoke over his shoulder as he walked away, though not with any real conviction in his voice.
One of the perks of being the new boss was that Giovanna had one of the nicest rooms in the house they all ended up settling into and operating out of. It was a large bedroom with plenty of closet space, an ensuite bathroom, and a gorgeous view of the Bay of Naples glistening on the horizon.
Unfortunately for Giovanna, the room was on the top floor, and all of the stifling heat from the house rose to the very top. As Abbacchio hiked up the old creaky stairs, he could feel the air become marginally stickier with each breath.
Once he finally got to Giovanna’s door, he briefly debated whether or not he should knock. He grabbed the door handle and quickly thrust the door open without knocking, figuring that if he were going to be killed or turned into a bug or whatever, he’d rather just get it over with.
Upon opening the door, Abbacchio found himself slammed with a wall of Giovanna’s new scent. Before his presentation, Giovanna didn’t smell like much of anything really, just sweat and soap and boy. Now, he smelled similar to their garden behind the house. The scent was crisp roses with woody notes and hints of petrichor. It wasn't bad, much to Abbacchio’s disdain.
Then, Abbacchio found himself slammed by Golden Experience Requiem, its arms pinning him to the now closed door behind him. He tried not to show any fear as its beady eyes seemingly stared into his soul.
“What the hell do you want?” Giovanna snarked from across the room. His voice was raspy, and he sounded exhausted.
“What the hell do you think?” Abbacchio snarked back. He wasn’t going to let Giovanna of all people talk to him like that.
“Tell Bucciarati I can take care of myself.”
“I already did,” Abbacchio replied while trying to push Golden Experience Requiem off of him. Suddenly, the stand faded, and Abbacchio stumbled, finding his footing after being pinned to the door.
Abbacchio looked up to see Giovanna laying uncomfortably among a massive pile of blankets and stuffed animals on his enormous king sized bed. Giovanna himself wore a set of silk pajamas, only slightly rumpled. His hair was down, a shock of messy blonde curls framing his pale sweaty face. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he just looked generally strained.
It was the most disheveled he had ever seen the kid, and quite possibly, the most put-together anyone going through their first heat had ever looked. He still managed to have enough energy to level Abbacchio with a nasty glare.
“What are you doing here then?” he demanded.
Giovanna hadn’t given him this much attitude since they’d first met. The kid must really be in a foul mood. Abbacchio approached slowly and cautiously while Giovanna’s eyes followed his every step. He slowly sat at the end of the bed, as far from the kid as he could manage.
“Look, Bucciarati’s really worried about you. I told him I’d make sure you drink some water. Just take this cooler, and I’ll fuck off,” he said as he set the cooler on the bed next to him.
Giovanna was quiet, looking back and forth between Abbacchio and the cooler with that weird look on his face that Abbacchio had come to learn means that he is deep in thought. Abbacchio is able to withstand the silence and creepy staring for only a moment, before opening his mouth again.
“Listen, just take it so Bucciarati can stop freaking out, okay? He looks like he’s barely slept,” Abbacchio leveled with him. Giovanna huffed and shifted uncomfortably.
“You should have seen him when you were in heat,” he muttered under his breath.
“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Abbacchio questioned, not sure he really wanted to know.
“Nothing, forget it,” he muttered again.
Before Abbacchio could question him further, he was interrupted by a series of high-pitched beeps. He rolled his eyes and pulled the beeper from his pockets.
“Update?”
“Is that Bucciarati?” Giovanna asked.
“Yeah,” Abbacchio answered.
“ hes fine, just extra bitchy, ” Abbacchio sent. Only a few more seconds passed before he received another response.
“ Water? ”
“ working on it ”
Abbacchio put the beeper back in his pocket, and opened the cooler to rifle through its contents. It held water, sports drinks, ice packs, everything Bucciarati said. The only addition that Bucciarati hadn’t mentioned were a couple packages of chocolate pudding. Hm.
He pulled out a blue drink that looked especially refreshing and twisted the top open with a satisfying crack.
“I’m not really thirs- Hey!” Giovanna exclaimed at the sight of Abbacchio taking a couple of big swigs from the bottle. “Those are mine!”
Abbacchio took another big swig, making sure to make a smacking noise with his mouth afterwards and letting out a big sigh, as if especially refreshed.
“Do I look like I care?” he said. Giovanna looked absolutely furious. It seemed that heat had forced him to let his walls down.
Giovanna crawled towards him, reaching for the drink. Abbacchio quickly screwed the lid shut and held it up out of the boy's reach, shaking it at him tauntingly.
“I thought you wanted me to drink it,” Giovanna exasperatedly spoke while grabbing for the bottle. The boy shakily grabbed his shoulder, hoisting himself up to try and steal the drink out of Abbacchio’s hand. However, Abbacchio’s arms were far longer than his.
“Hm, I changed my mind. I don’t care. I just want Bucciarati off my back,” he said while letting out a cruel laugh.
“You wish Bucciarati was on your back,” he hissed at him.
“Huh?!”
Abbacchio was caught off guard, which is why when Giovanna’s strength gave out, causing him to collapse on top of Abbacchio, he tumbled back into the bed. He dropped the bottle, and it rolled to the other side of the room.
Giovanna was still. He was feverish, heat seeping through his pores. He was taking deep, shaky breaths. Abbacchio could feel his sweat dripping onto him. Gross.
“Hey, you okay?” Abbacchio asked while gently nudging the kid. He received a pained groan in response. Probably not okay then.
Abbacchio gently moved the boy up off of him, then back to where he was reclined amidst his blankets and stuffed animals when he walked in the room. Giovanna looked pale and pained, and his breathing was labored. A nasty wave of heat then.
Abbacchio shifted, intending to get up and retrieve the drink on the other side of the room, but Giovanna grabbed his shirt.
“Stay,” he weakly demanded. “Your scent… It’s… I just…”
“Spit it out, kid.”
“It’s nice. It’s… soothing. I feel like I can actually sleep.”
Giovanna looked slightly rattled at his own confession. Abbacchio couldn’t help but notice just how young he looked like this: feverish and curled up in bed. Abbacchio sighed.
“I’ll stay,” he said. He mentally prepared himself for a day or two of babysitting as he grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler. He lifted Giovanna’s head, making him take several sips until he shook his head and refused to drink anymore. About half a bottle would have to do for now.
Abbacchio pulled out the beeper and typed a message for Bucciarati.
“ he drank water, looks pathetic, im staying here ”
“ Thank you, Leone. ”
Abbacchio chose not to think about what the first name usage meant. Instead, he pushed Giovanna over slightly, much to the kid’s displeasure, and laid down next to him, deciding to doze off for a while. It was too hot to think right now anyways.
~
Abbacchio proceeded to spend the next 36 hours bored out of his mind.
Giovanna spent most of the time sleeping. Apparently, Bucciarati was correct in that Giovanna did not sleep at all for the first day of his heat. Now the teenager seemed to be catching up, waking occasionally to drink some water or eat a few bites before slumping over into his pile of blankets. He also woke up if Abbacchio strayed too far away, which would be more annoying if the kid didn’t look slightly alarmed every time.
Abbacchio longed for his book that he left downstairs as he looked through Giovanna’s collection of encyclopedias and other nonfiction books. He even spotted a few old textbooks that he could tell were gifted from Fugo. How boring. Abbacchio halfheartedly read an old book about the Amazon rainforest whenever he became truly desperate.
Occasionally, he and Bucciarati would message back and forth on the pager, but their messages were restricted in length, and they tended to mostly be about Giovanna. At one point, Narancia had gotten ahold of Bucciarati’s pager, and his horrendous spelling provided Abbacchio with some entertainment for a handful of minutes.
Unfortunately, the best source of entertainment was Giovanna, himself, when he was awake. The kid was in a terrible mood, bantering with Abbacchio every time he complained about how utterly boring his taste in books was. Giovanna was uncharacteristically irritable and catty. He even complained about the skyrocketing temperatures.
It was the most normal the kid had ever seemed to Abbacchio.
He found himself somewhat entertained by Giovanna’s changed attitude. He had never talked to anyone about heats before, and seeing someone else suffer something he’d been going through for years was cathartic; that person being Giovanna was a funny bonus.
Giovanna never had any sexual urges, and thank God for that. Abbacchio had no idea how he would have handled that. He briefly wondered the reason why. Perhaps it was the heat wave pushing his body into survival mode? Or maybe Giovanna was still a bit too young for that sort of thing. Either way, it’s not like heats were overly sensical anyways. Heat was different for every omega, and they usually changed over time as well. Abbacchio didn’t think about it too hard, deciding to count his blessings that he didn’t have to witness the horror of a horny Giovanna.
As for the weather, the heat wave didn’t let up one bit. He found himself sweating through his clothes so badly that he decided to eventually shed them altogether, leaving him solely in a pair of black boxers. Giovanna looked unimpressed by this development, but said nothing of it.
The temperature seemed to only worsen as Giovanna’s heat continued. It all came to a head when Abbacchio found himself being shaken awake from a fraught sleep by Giovanna. He jerked awake, finding his mouth and throat dry, and his hair and body damp from sweat.
“Abbacchio,” Giovanna urged.
“What?” Abbacchio rasped.
“We’re out of water.”
Abbacchio sighed. Bucciarati had packed more than enough for one person, but not enough for two. It really only was a matter of time.
He looked at the clock and saw it was 4 am. He briefly considered telling Giovanna to shut up and go back to sleep, but he was also thirsty. Hungry too. Not to mention, it was likely cooler downstairs. Maybe he could stand in front of the open fridge for a few minutes and bask in the cold air.
“I’ll go get some,” he muttered as he got up.
“I’ll go with you,” Giovanna stated. Abbacchio stopped moving and gave the boy a look. Giovanna looked back at him. “I think my heat’s ending soon, and I want to get out of this room.”
Abbacchio sighed, too tired and exhausted to put up a fight at the moment.
“Fine.”
“Help me down the stairs,” Giovanna demanded of him after wrapping a robe over his pajamaed self and stumbling out of his bed.
“Fine,” Abbacchio repeated, trying not to grind his teeth together.
“Aren’t you going to put anything on?” Giovanna asked him as Abbacchio moved to help support the kid.
Abbacchio was wearing nothing but his black boxers. At some point, he’d thrown his hair into a messy bun behind his head, several pieces falling out after sleeping on it. He was a half-naked mess, but it was too hot to care.
“It’s 4 am. Nobody’s going to be down there,” he answered.
“If you say so,” Giovanna said.
Abbacchio wrapped an arm around Giovanna’s waist and supported his weight as they gingerly made their way down the stairs. The kid still felt feverish and his legs were shaky, but he seemed determined. Perhaps he was trying to will his heat into going away.
Once they made it to the bottom of the steps, Abbacchio steered them towards the kitchen, settling Giovanna in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. He then ventured off to see what he could scavenge from the fridge.
He yanked open the fridge door, sighing in relief at the cold air brushing up against his skin. The relief, however, didn’t last long.
“Abbacchio, why do you leave for your heats?”
“Mind your own business,” Abbacchio grunted as he pulled the pitcher of water, blessedly full, from the fridge and placed it on the table. He grabbed two glasses and filled them, hoping in vain that Giovanna would drop the conversation.
“You stayed at a hotel for your last heat,” he continued.
“How do you know that?” Abbacchio threw him a brief glare as he went back to the fridge to look for something to eat.
“I see all of Passione’s expense reports,” he said. “I asked Fugo about it, and he said you always leave for a few days, though he did say it was weird for you to go to an expensive hotel.”
“Fugo should shut his mouth,” Abbacchio said as he took Narancia’s waffles from the freezer and popped a couple in the toaster.
“He told me not to say anything to you. It seems like no one ever says anything, so I was curious if there was a reason,” Giovanna said.
“You should listen to Fugo. He’s smarter than you,” Abbacchio answered, contradicting his previous statement. He pulled a large bowl of cut watermelon out of the fridge and began to distribute watermelon pieces into two smaller bowls.
“Why go to a hotel?” Giovanna pressed as Abbacchio passed him a bowl of watermelon.
“It’s still none of your business. If you have a problem with the money, take it up with Bucciarati,” he answered while turning to grab a waffle from the toaster. He leaned against the counter and tossed the other waffle in Giovanna’s direction. Golden Experience Requiem’s arm briefly materialized as it caught the waffle and gently placed it on the table next to his bowl of watermelon before fading away from sight.
“Bucciarati set up the hotel room for you?” Giovanna asked. Abbacchio refused to indulge him any longer. He leaned against the counter and stared balefully at Giovanna as he took large aggressive bites from his waffle, chewing rather than answering his question.
Giovanna had a suspicious glint in his eye.
“Why didn’t Bucciarati join you?”
Abbacchio choked on his mouthful of waffle. He spent several moments coughing, eventually downing his whole glass of water to clear his throat of waffle bits. Giovanna was nonchalant as he gingerly ate from his bowl of watermelon and watched him choke.
“It’s not like that between me and Bucciarati,” he eventually rasped.
“Why?” Giovanna asked.
“What do you mean, why? It’s just not like that,” Abbacchio answered while trying to clear his throat with even more sips of water.
Giovanna rested his hand on his chin and thought this over as if he was contemplating a tricky puzzle. Abbacchio could almost see the gears turning in his head.
“Then what about Bucciarati’s ruts?” he asked, somehow scandalizing Abbacchio even more than he’d already had.
“How the fuck am I supposed to know about that? What the hell is wrong with you?” Abbacchio answered, his voice at a higher pitch than he would have preferred. He could feel blood rushing to his face, and he was mortified that he didn’t have any makeup on to hide his blush. Giovanna had the nerve to look entertained by his response.
“I have a bet with Trish, and I want to win, but you’re making it very hard,” Giovanna stated, matter-of-factly.
Abbacchio looked at Giovanna’s smug face in absolute shock, and felt his mouth drop open. He longed to give the kid a piece of his mind, but he was at a complete loss for words.
“I hope you lose your stupid bet!” he finally ended up hissing at him. Giovanna tilted his head in thought; a shit-eating grin spread across his face.
“Trust me, I think you’ll want me to win it,” he answered in a smug tone.
Abbacchio slammed his glass down on the counter top and stormed over to Giovanna’s seat at the table. Giovanna looked shocked for a moment, but never fearful. Clearly, Abbacchio was of no real threat to him.
Abbacchio hooked one arm around the kid's neck and proceeded to give him a noogie while muttering under his breath about minding his own business and him being just some bratty kid.
If the noogie was, perhaps, not as rough as it could have been, and if the noogie itself ended up getting Abbacchio’s scent all over the kid, acting as an indirect and playful sort of scenting, that was none of Abbacchio’s business.
Giovanna laughed- a real laugh!- and squirmed, putting up only a mediocre fight.
“You’re ruining my hair,” he exclaimed. Abbacchio changed course and focused on mussing up the curls even further.
“Your hair was already fucked up,” he muttered angrily. Giovanna laughed again, much to his disdain.
They were interrupted by the sound of something clattering to the floor in the doorway, causing the two of them to still.
Highly alert, they turned to see Bucciaraiti, Mista, and Narancia standing in the doorway, covered in ash and soot, presumably having just returned from a tumultuous mission. A pager laid on the ground a few inches from Bucciarati’s foot, the likely culprit for the noise from seconds earlier.
For a moment or two, no one moved. Abbacchio stood still with an arm around Giovanna and a hand in his hair, while Giovanna sat, gripping the arm wrapped around him. The three in the doorway stood unflinchingly still, only their wide open eyes moving to take in the scene.
Abbacchio couldn’t be sure if anyone was breathing.
“Wahh! Why are you naked?” Narancia yelped while covering his eyes, breaking the silent tension.
Abbacchio sighed and stepped back from Giovanna, unwinding his arms from the kid. Giovanna’s expression had returned to its usual neutral state, but he kept one hand gripped tightly on Abbacchio’s forearm, not letting him get too far away.
“I’m not naked,” Abbacchio said. Narancia parted his fingers over his eyes, briefly peering at Abbacchio, only to yelp once more and close them again.
“Yes, you are!” he whined, distressed.
“I’m wearing underwear, you idiot,” he snapped back, but Narancia had turned to run away towards his room on the other side of the house, all while still keeping his eyes covered with his hands.
“I’m not looking!” he yelped over his shoulder as he bumped into a side table in the hallway. Abbacchio listened to the sounds of the boy bumping into more objects and the patter of his footsteps as he ran across the house until he finally reached his room with a slam of the door.
“Whoa, you guys smell crazy!” Mista said in a light-hearted tone, a smile on his face. Bucciarati elbowed him in the ribs. It must have been hard, judging by the noise that came from Mista.
“Stop it!” he hissed at him. Mista woefully rubbed the spot where Bucciarati elbowed him.
“I didn’t- I think it’s nice! It’s crazy- like crazy good!” he stuttered defensively. Bucciarati grabbed his shoulders and steered him away from the kitchen.
“Leave!” he commanded through gritted teeth.
Mista looked slightly panicked as Bucciarati forcefully shoved him from the room.
“I didn’t mean anything bad! You guys smell hot! You should feel proud!” he yelped, stupid, but sincere. Bucciarati growled at him to shut up as he pushed him towards his room.
Abbacchio rolled his eyes at the whole ordeal. He wished he hadn’t noticed how Giovanna’s grip on his arm relaxed more as each person left the room. Maybe he should have asked him about that whole aversion to alpha and beta scents thing. Then again, Abbacchio wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know.
Bucciarati swiftly walked back into the room.
“I’m very glad to see you both are doing well,” he stated, oddly polite and formal. “How are you feeling, Giorno?” Bucciarati asked, his full attention on the kid.
He seemed to avoid looking at Abbacchio. He found himself wishing that it didn't sting so much.
“I’m fine,” Giovanna lied. “You were out on a mission. What happened?”
“We had a deal go wrong, but everything has been resolved for the time being. It’s nothing for you to worry about at the moment,” Bucciarati said.
Giovanna considered this for only a moment before attempting to stand.
“I want to know exactly what happened. It must be serious if you’re coming back at this time, looking like that. We can debrief in-” he stated evenly while standing, until stumbling and nearly falling. Abbacchio surged forward and caught him, supporting his unsteady weight. Bucciarati had also taken several steps forward, though he seemed conflicted about getting too close to the two omegas.
“Relax, kid,” Abbacchio muttered.
“I’ve been neglecting my duties,” Giovanna stated, seeming to try to act like his normal, overachieving self, despite barely being able to stand. Abbacchio shifted his weight and wrapped an arm around his waist, helping the kid to be more upright. He did seem better, but the high temperature emanating from his body was a clear indication that the kid was still in heat. Judging from Abbacchio’s own experience, the kid had at least several more hours to go, but probably no more than a day.
Abbacchio sighed.
“It’s 4 am, you can neglect them for a little longer. Besides, you can work yourself to death when you can stand up on your own,” he grumbled at Giovanna.
Much to Abbacchio’s surprise, Giovanna slumped and muttered out a quiet ‘fine’. The kid must really be tired, then.
Bucciarati watched this interaction with a guarded expression, though his eyes seemed to soften at Giovanna sleepily leaning on Abbacchio for support.
“You gonna make me drag your ass back upstairs?” Abbacchio asked, incredulously.
“Yes,” Giovanna muttered.
Abbacchio groaned. “You’re heavier than you look.”
Bucciarati stepped forward.
“May I help?” he asked.
Giovanna seemed to consider for a moment. Abbacchio could almost see his brain trying to battle his instincts. Abbacchio knew exactly how that felt.
“Sure,” Giovanna eventually answered.
Bucciarati nodded and stepped up to Giovanna’s other side. He took Giovanna’s arm and put it over his shoulder, while keeping one hand on Giovanna’s back. This close, Abbacchio could smell him very well. He smoked like smoke and sweat and Bucciarati. Abbacchio made a conscious effort to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
The three of them slowly trekked up the stairs.
Once they finally made it to Giovanna’s room, Bucciarati spoke up as Abbacchio opened the door.
“Abbacchio, I’d like to speak to you for a moment,” he said.
Abbacchio and Giovanna froze.
“Of course,” Abbacchio answered once his brain started working again. Giovanna glanced between the two of them.
The three of them relapsed into silence for another beat or two.
“Giorno, could you give us a moment?” Bucciarati asked.
Giovanna’s eyes widened briefly, before he gave Bucciarati a quick nod. He gave Abbacchio one strong pat on the shoulder, then hobbled into his room and firmly shut the door. Abbacchio couldn’t help but notice how the kid moved with a suspicious amount of vigor, especially considering how he had to be supported up the stairs.
Bucciarati caught Abbacchio’s attention by quietly clearing his throat.
“I just wanted to thank you,” Bucciarati said quietly. He took a step towards Abbacchio; his eyes never wavering from his face. Abbacchio felt naked, literally and metaphorically.
“For what?” Abbacchio asked, slightly dumbstruck.
“For taking care of Giorno, and for always being reliable,” Bucciarati answered.
“I really didn’t do that much,” Abbacchio said.
“I doubt that,” Bucciarati said, a softness seeping into his words. “He respects you, I can tell. Him and the others- they all admire you.”
Normally, Abbacchio found comfort in the way that Bucciarati was direct, especially when he gave him orders as his superior in the gang. While this particular conversation was another form of Bucciarati’s unambiguous way of speaking, it was different. Bucciarati was upfront, but he was also kind and caring; something that Abbacchio had little to no idea how to deal with. Abbacchio didn’t know how to respond to the kind words and soft tone. Both of these things were foreign to him.
He crossed his arms and shifted on his feet, trying to avoid looking into Bucciarati’s eyes.
“It’s really not like that. They just like to piss me off,” he muttered in return.
Abbacchio quickly glanced at Bucciarati and, to his horror, the man was smiling tenderly at him. Flustered, Abbacchio backed up and clumsily grabbed the door handle behind him.
“I should really get back to babysitting Giovanna, make sure he’s not dead or whatever,” he bullshitted. His heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest.
Bucciarati reached forward and grabbed his arm. Abbacchio froze at his touch, and dearly hoped that he couldn’t feel his rushing pulse.
“Just.. Thank you, Leone. That’s all I wanted to say.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Abbacchio said while feeling a whole body blush consume him.
“Goodnight, Leone,” Bucciarati said softly as he let go of Abbachio’s arm.
Abbacchio muttered a goodnight in return as he entered the room and gently shut the door behind him. He ignored Giovanna standing by the doorway, no doubt eavesdropping. He walked, as if in a trance, until he reached the bed and flopped face down, burying his face in the blankets.
Giovanna eventually joined him, gingerly crawling around him until finally settling down on the other side of the bed. He did so silently, but Abbacchio should have known better than to expect that to last.
“Does Bucciarati always call you by your first name when you’re alone?”
Abbacchio let out a pained groan and covered his head with a pillow.
“Shut the fuck up,” his muffled voice weakly answered him.
He ignored Giovanna’s snickering and prayed that sleep would take him soon.