[ Once Fugo leaves, the brief check-ins over the network did nothing to assuage any of the building tensions that Abbacchio may or may not (definitely) have had. It isn't that long before he sees Fugo again, but it feels like it – when the presence of someone has become familiar, it's hard not to notice when they're not there.
He hadn't intended to catch Fugo like this, nor does it really surprise him that Fugo knows it's him without turning – extra senses aside, the two have spent enough time around each other that the idea he would simply recognise the sound of Abbacchio's footsteps doesn't strike him as out of the ordinary. What does strike him as odd, is that Fugo questions his still being awake. Why is it that everyone seems so surprised to see him around at odd hours? As if he's ever had a decent sleep schedule. That's a better excuse than the truth in this case, at least, that he's barely slept all week. That it's near impossible to do so when he's so hyper aware of the fact that Giorno's body isn't too far away. It's disconcerting.
As Abbacchio enters the kitchen properly, his eyes linger on the tools that have been left out for a moment longer than necessary, before he very pointedly decides not to mention them, Fugo's business is his own, and frankly Abbacchio doesn't think it's a conversation he can stomach right now. Instead, he turns his gaze towards Fugo instead. ]
Mhm. Sorry if I'm disturbing you.
[ It's barely an answer. He knows that, though he can't really be blamed for it. Silently, he gets his own glass and fills it with water. When he sets it down on the counter, he's at least retrieved a coaster for it, if only for Fugo's sake. He sits, far enough away from Fugo that he's not encroaching on his space, and rests both his elbows on the surface; dropping his face into his hands and rubbing at his eyes. There's a beat of silence before he eventually rests his face against a single hand, turning to face Fugo. His words are quiet, inelegant, but sincere. Barefaced as he is, it's easy to see the relief clear on his face, even through his exhaustion. ]
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He hadn't intended to catch Fugo like this, nor does it really surprise him that Fugo knows it's him without turning – extra senses aside, the two have spent enough time around each other that the idea he would simply recognise the sound of Abbacchio's footsteps doesn't strike him as out of the ordinary. What does strike him as odd, is that Fugo questions his still being awake. Why is it that everyone seems so surprised to see him around at odd hours? As if he's ever had a decent sleep schedule. That's a better excuse than the truth in this case, at least, that he's barely slept all week. That it's near impossible to do so when he's so hyper aware of the fact that Giorno's body isn't too far away. It's disconcerting.
As Abbacchio enters the kitchen properly, his eyes linger on the tools that have been left out for a moment longer than necessary, before he very pointedly decides not to mention them, Fugo's business is his own, and frankly Abbacchio doesn't think it's a conversation he can stomach right now. Instead, he turns his gaze towards Fugo instead. ]
Mhm. Sorry if I'm disturbing you.
[ It's barely an answer. He knows that, though he can't really be blamed for it. Silently, he gets his own glass and fills it with water. When he sets it down on the counter, he's at least retrieved a coaster for it, if only for Fugo's sake. He sits, far enough away from Fugo that he's not encroaching on his space, and rests both his elbows on the surface; dropping his face into his hands and rubbing at his eyes. There's a beat of silence before he eventually rests his face against a single hand, turning to face Fugo. His words are quiet, inelegant, but sincere. Barefaced as he is, it's easy to see the relief clear on his face, even through his exhaustion. ]
It's good to see you.
[ Safe, alive, and in one piece. ]