[Fugo observes, from a disconnected point located between his chilly body and the simmering, poisonous muck that is his heart, that Abbacchio has done just about everything he can to make himself non-threatening. He slouches to appear smaller than he is-- so they can discuss this eye-to-eye, as if they're equals. He doesn't waste time with pleasantries, but he doesn't go out of his way to be cruel either.]
You didn't need to bother with the door.
[Fugo unfolds briefly; one hand reaches up to his hairline and, in a single sharp, precise gesture, combs his bangs out of his eyes to see Abbacchio better. His gaze is both intent and somehow distant. When he is finished, he folds his arms across his chest again. The wall between them hasn't budged.]
Purple Haze isn't here. It isn't a necessary precaution anymore.
[Nevermind that Fugo still leaves doors open behind him. He is uncomfortable living in this underground house, as beautiful as it is bizarre. He's been here for months, but has done so little to personalize this room that it might as well belong to someone else. The habit is for his own comfort, even though the discomfort he feels in closed up rooms is, at this point, stupid, irrational, and pointless.
This likely seems a non-sequitur. What he means is this: Abbacchio is under no obligation to comfort him. About this, or anything else.]
I've been avoiding you because I don't know where things stand between us. And it would be inappropriate of me to ask, given the circumstances of how I left and what happened after. As it would be impractical and dangerous to change my living arrangements, this seemed like the fairest course of action.
[He says all of this in a detached, almost clinical tone. Each word was chosen carefully. He lets no hint of his own feelings through. It wouldn't be fair. Abbacchio had enough garbage to deal with; Fugo's baggage about what happened in April should not be his problem.]
[ It's true that he didn't need to bother with the door out of a sense of precaution but that's not why he did it, leaving it open was intended as a non-verbal indication that Fugo is not trapped in here with Abbacchio, should he himself want to leave or if he wishes Abbacchio to leave.
Abbacchio lets him talk, he doesn't interrupt and keeps his expression as neutral as he's capable of. Shows no irritation at the idea that Fugo seeking him out would be inappropriate; regardless of whatever situation they would find themselves in, Abbacchio himself would never deem it inappropriate. Not this. They've been through too much and Fugo is far too important to him.
When Fugo has finished speaking, Abbacchio watches him quietly for a moment. ]
Let's get one thing out of the way, though. Absolutely no one would have expected you to change up your current living arrangements, least of all me, and especially not on my account. You were here first.
[ He means it in two ways really. Fugo was with Bucciarati first too, was technically Abbacchio's superior even if he didn't always behave like that was the case. Even back then he would do what he could to help Fugo when the other was willing. Fugo may not realise it, but just by virtue of having to interact with him so often Abbacchio was able to learn more about how he reacted to things, how to change those behaviours to better suit Fugo's needs at the time. ]
You're right. I don't need to do anything, but I want to, and not knowing where things stand between us is exactly why I'm here. If that means we need to discuss what happened in Venice – and I know neither of us wants to – then that's what happens.
But if you really don't want to talk about it, I'm not going to force you. Whatever needs to be done here, we do it at your pace. [ a pause, when he continues his voice is quieter, a touch softer. ] That said… I need you to know that I don't hold anything against you for the decision you made. It wasn't a test, Fugo, there was no right or wrong answer.
[ Fugo had made his decision and he'd stuck by it. Abbacchio had agreed with his assessment; in that regard he was right, but it was much more complicated than that. He knows that now. Sighing heavily, he glances away from Fugo. ]
… It just was what it was, and unfortunately it was mostly bad all around.
[Fugo doesn't interrupt Abbacchio as he speaks, or look away from his face for an instant. But it would be difficult to miss the way he tightens further; how his mouth twitches and his eyes narrow. Does Abbacchio sincerely believe that? Fugo doesn't think so. That morning in Venice, on the steps of the San Giorgio Maggiore, they were all given the opportunity to decide for themselves what sort of lives they wanted to live.]
That's objectively untrue.
[He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice. Of course it's easy for Abbacchio to talk about it that way. After all, even if his reasons were selfish, even if he regrets it, he still made the right decision. He didn't betray Bucciarati's ideals, or abandon Trish to her fate. He took the step. He got on the boat. He moved forward.]
There was nothing "right" about an argument that involves allowing an innocent bystander get murdered to preserve the status quo. More than that, I put the entire team in a terrible position by refusing to follow Bucciarati. You can't say that my absence did not have an affect on the rest of the mission.
[That morning might not have been a test, but there was still a right and a wrong decision to be made. Even if it saved his life, Fugo's decision was the wrong one.]
You can feel however you want to about it. But I don't want to hear any false platitudes about what happened, or the choice I made. It was wrong.
[ He tries to keep the frustration out of his own voice, he really does, but Fugo is just as stubborn as Abbacchio himself. ]
Say you did get on that boat. You don't know for sure what difference it could have made, and I won't sit here and pretend that your absence didn't have an effect just to make you feel better. So, you get on the boat, what then? Maybe we make it out fine. Maybe you don't.
There's also nothing "wrong" with wanting to survive.
[ Abbacchio won't lie and say he wasn't relieved to hear that Fugo remained relatively unscathed. In Pompeii, he'd wanted to do something to help him; but dedication to the mission and to their orders had taken priority over Fugo's safety, when perhaps it shouldn't have. (Or, in spite of himself, maybe Giorno had been right.) ]
Look, I've spent too long thinking about what happened since I got here. All the different ways it could have played out, and I'm sure you've probably done the same, but… I'm tired of it. I'm not here to argue or fight, and I'm not here to change your mind either, you should know me better than that. I just- I thought you deserved to know where I stand.
[ He sounds surprisingly honest, all things considered. Abbacchio is well known for getting his head stuck in the past, letting it become all consuming until it's eating away at him, so this won't be a surprise for Fugo to hear. What's rare is that he's willing to admit to it, to Fugo no less, and to then further admit to the fact he knows it isn't doing him any good. ]
[Abbacchio doesn't want to argue about it. Well-- that's fine, isn't it? Fugo doesn't want to argue about it either. Everything he has to say ... is just useless, navel-gazing self-pity. Nothing he has to say about it now, so long after the fact, will ever change the fact that he wasn't there.
So he closes his eyes. He takes a breath. And he keeps his mouth shut. The poison inside of him simmers and churns, but it doesn't escape.]
Okay.
[Whatever you want, his defeated tone seems to imply. In many ways, Venice still feels too raw and too close to discuss. When he adds the months up, six months at home and nearly six here in Ryslig, it has been a year. But his grief is still as thorny and heavy as ever. It hasn't changed at all.]
I wasn't avoiding you out of a sense of anger. I just... [He thinks of the San Siro. It was really bright that day. So bright he couldn't see Mista's face, especially from so far away. Idly, distantly, finally, Fugo moves; he begins to pick at a loose thread on his cuff.] This place is terrible.
[ He nods, satisfied that it didn't devolve, because that really wasn't his intention. Abbacchio knows things are difficult for Fugo to accept, and knows that it's harder still for him to change his mind when he's already accepted something to be true. He understands this, because he too, finds himself in similar lines of thinking all too often.
So even if he recognises that Fugo's tone is one of defeat, recognises that the subject of Venice is still not one Fugo doesn't wish to talk about, he can accept that this is where they are right now.
Abbacchio had never thought Fugo was avoiding him due to anger, not really; as familiar as he is with Fugo's anger, this… was different. When Fugo shifts and begins to fidget, it brings with it a sense of relief, and Abbacchio allows himself to snort when Fugo gives his opinion on this place. ]
Yeah, no kidding. It's a fucking miserable hell hole.
[ Fugo's presence here, along with Bucciarati; is honestly a welcome relief. The two of them are familiar enough to Abbacchio that it makes some of this even remotely tolerable. And with Trish and Giorno here, it feels like a second chance at keeping them all safe – Reira may have said that going home is an impossibility; but there's still a small part of Abbacchio that hasn't quite been snuffed out yet, one that is holding on to the hope they may be able to return home to their normal lives one day. He has to, for their sakes. ]
Trust me when I say you could never add on to how awful this all is, not by a long shot.
[Fugo glances up. Or, well. At least one set of his eyes do, the original pair from before he got saddled with all of this arachnid nonsense, while the other pair on his face remains focused on picking at his clothes. These eyes narrow in what should be a familiar expression to Abbacchio. This is the way Fugo looks at people when he's testing the air for a lie.
He sort of understands what Abbacchio means. If nothing else the three of them-- Bucciarati, Fugo, and Abbacchio-- have experience as a team. The know each other, inasmuch as they allow anyone to know them. But never? That's bullshit. He can't see any signs of deception on Abbacchio's face, and Fugo knows his tells, but he doesn't believe it.]
... yeah, it sucks. [The mutations to his body, being forced to regularly kill and eat people, the constant existential dread. So on and so forth.] At least Purple Haze is dead.
[That's about the only net positive he can see. And even that's debatable, given that how strong his Stand was. Even when not in active use, Purple Haze was a powerful "don't fuck with me" deterrent for anyone who knew about it.]
But whatever. You've been settling in.
[It's not a question. But it is an opening. For Abbacchio to talk. Or complain, or whatever. Fugo's not good at this.]
[ The expression that Fugo fixes him with almost has Abbacchio rolling his eyes; instead, he just eyes him as if to say 'Really, this? Do you want me to take back what I said?'
The fact remains that Fugo is stubborn; he's annoying and contrary, and downright cantankerous at the best of times. He's prone to testing the limits of Abbacchio's already thin patience, even without realising he's doing it. And yet, even in the face of all that, it's nothing he could ever really hold against Fugo; it just is how he is. So, no, they may not be particularly close, and Abbacchio may not be likely to admit it to his face anytime soon; but he is fond of the kid.
Purple Haze is not a subject he wants to touch. Fugo's thoughts and the relationship with his Stand were complicated – and that's probably being extremely generous. Abbacchio himself feels an odd emptiness when he thinks of his own Stand, and it's similarly a subject he doesn't really want to touch just yet. ]
Yeah… Settling in. [ he scoffs. ] You know I'm not the greatest at that.
[ Adapting to change and the like, he's pretty slow to it generally speaking. Not taking into consideration that since he arrived here he's already yelled at Bucciarati, of all people, and made things worse with Giorno. ]
[The truth of the matter is that Fugo does not understand affection. Not when it's directed towards him; not after what he believes was an impossibly stupid mistake, one that he will never be able to make up for.]
But you aren't drinking. [However bad things are right now, however bad things went back home, Abbacchio hasn't turned to alcohol. As far as Fugo has seen, he has maintained his sobriety. And it's not as if alcohol (or, for that matter, drugs) is to get in Bavan, especially with the morons behind Red Alert shilling their poison on the network.] That counts for something, especially in circumstances like these.
[ Were it anyone other than Fugo, he'd have walked straight out, frankly. But the circumstances of their first meeting and their shared history mean that Fugo is already privy to this, whether Abbacchio likes it or not, and the result is that he gets a pass – barely. It says a lot that it's a topic he'll allow Fugo to broach in the first place; that Abbacchio trusts him not to needle at that already too-thin line more than he should.
Still, he drops his gaze from Fugo's, glances around at the bare room. He's perfectly capable of drinking within reason and moderation a majority of the time – it's when things get bad, when the noise in his brain gets too loud or the problems seem too big, that he slips. And over the course of the two years or so that Abbacchio has known Fugo, even if it was nowhere near as bad or as frequent as those first few months, to Abbacchio, that slip is still viewed as an inevitability. ]
Yeah, well. [ There's a small puff of air; a short, humourless laugh. Empty and hollow. Abbacchio is not going to sit here and pretend he's something he's not, not to Fugo. Nor is he going to give him any false expectations, only to set him up for future disappointment. ] Don't hold your breath.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw: mild dissociation
You didn't need to bother with the door.
[Fugo unfolds briefly; one hand reaches up to his hairline and, in a single sharp, precise gesture, combs his bangs out of his eyes to see Abbacchio better. His gaze is both intent and somehow distant. When he is finished, he folds his arms across his chest again. The wall between them hasn't budged.]
Purple Haze isn't here. It isn't a necessary precaution anymore.
[Nevermind that Fugo still leaves doors open behind him. He is uncomfortable living in this underground house, as beautiful as it is bizarre. He's been here for months, but has done so little to personalize this room that it might as well belong to someone else. The habit is for his own comfort, even though the discomfort he feels in closed up rooms is, at this point, stupid, irrational, and pointless.
This likely seems a non-sequitur. What he means is this: Abbacchio is under no obligation to comfort him. About this, or anything else.]
I've been avoiding you because I don't know where things stand between us. And it would be inappropriate of me to ask, given the circumstances of how I left and what happened after. As it would be impractical and dangerous to change my living arrangements, this seemed like the fairest course of action.
[He says all of this in a detached, almost clinical tone. Each word was chosen carefully. He lets no hint of his own feelings through. It wouldn't be fair. Abbacchio had enough garbage to deal with; Fugo's baggage about what happened in April should not be his problem.]
You don't need to do anything.
no subject
[ It's true that he didn't need to bother with the door out of a sense of precaution but that's not why he did it, leaving it open was intended as a non-verbal indication that Fugo is not trapped in here with Abbacchio, should he himself want to leave or if he wishes Abbacchio to leave.
Abbacchio lets him talk, he doesn't interrupt and keeps his expression as neutral as he's capable of. Shows no irritation at the idea that Fugo seeking him out would be inappropriate; regardless of whatever situation they would find themselves in, Abbacchio himself would never deem it inappropriate. Not this. They've been through too much and Fugo is far too important to him.
When Fugo has finished speaking, Abbacchio watches him quietly for a moment. ]
Let's get one thing out of the way, though. Absolutely no one would have expected you to change up your current living arrangements, least of all me, and especially not on my account. You were here first.
[ He means it in two ways really. Fugo was with Bucciarati first too, was technically Abbacchio's superior even if he didn't always behave like that was the case. Even back then he would do what he could to help Fugo when the other was willing. Fugo may not realise it, but just by virtue of having to interact with him so often Abbacchio was able to learn more about how he reacted to things, how to change those behaviours to better suit Fugo's needs at the time. ]
You're right. I don't need to do anything, but I want to, and not knowing where things stand between us is exactly why I'm here. If that means we need to discuss what happened in Venice – and I know neither of us wants to – then that's what happens.
But if you really don't want to talk about it, I'm not going to force you. Whatever needs to be done here, we do it at your pace. [ a pause, when he continues his voice is quieter, a touch softer. ] That said… I need you to know that I don't hold anything against you for the decision you made. It wasn't a test, Fugo, there was no right or wrong answer.
[ Fugo had made his decision and he'd stuck by it. Abbacchio had agreed with his assessment; in that regard he was right, but it was much more complicated than that. He knows that now. Sighing heavily, he glances away from Fugo. ]
… It just was what it was, and unfortunately it was mostly bad all around.
no subject
[Fugo doesn't interrupt Abbacchio as he speaks, or look away from his face for an instant. But it would be difficult to miss the way he tightens further; how his mouth twitches and his eyes narrow. Does Abbacchio sincerely believe that? Fugo doesn't think so. That morning in Venice, on the steps of the San Giorgio Maggiore, they were all given the opportunity to decide for themselves what sort of lives they wanted to live.]
That's objectively untrue.
[He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice. Of course it's easy for Abbacchio to talk about it that way. After all, even if his reasons were selfish, even if he regrets it, he still made the right decision. He didn't betray Bucciarati's ideals, or abandon Trish to her fate. He took the step. He got on the boat. He moved forward.]
There was nothing "right" about an argument that involves allowing an innocent bystander get murdered to preserve the status quo. More than that, I put the entire team in a terrible position by refusing to follow Bucciarati. You can't say that my absence did not have an affect on the rest of the mission.
[That morning might not have been a test, but there was still a right and a wrong decision to be made. Even if it saved his life, Fugo's decision was the wrong one.]
You can feel however you want to about it. But I don't want to hear any false platitudes about what happened, or the choice I made. It was wrong.
no subject
[ He tries to keep the frustration out of his own voice, he really does, but Fugo is just as stubborn as Abbacchio himself. ]
Say you did get on that boat. You don't know for sure what difference it could have made, and I won't sit here and pretend that your absence didn't have an effect just to make you feel better. So, you get on the boat, what then? Maybe we make it out fine. Maybe you don't.
There's also nothing "wrong" with wanting to survive.
[ Abbacchio won't lie and say he wasn't relieved to hear that Fugo remained relatively unscathed. In Pompeii, he'd wanted to do something to help him; but dedication to the mission and to their orders had taken priority over Fugo's safety, when perhaps it shouldn't have. (Or, in spite of himself, maybe Giorno had been right.) ]
Look, I've spent too long thinking about what happened since I got here. All the different ways it could have played out, and I'm sure you've probably done the same, but… I'm tired of it. I'm not here to argue or fight, and I'm not here to change your mind either, you should know me better than that. I just- I thought you deserved to know where I stand.
[ He sounds surprisingly honest, all things considered. Abbacchio is well known for getting his head stuck in the past, letting it become all consuming until it's eating away at him, so this won't be a surprise for Fugo to hear. What's rare is that he's willing to admit to it, to Fugo no less, and to then further admit to the fact he knows it isn't doing him any good. ]
no subject
So he closes his eyes. He takes a breath. And he keeps his mouth shut. The poison inside of him simmers and churns, but it doesn't escape.]
Okay.
[Whatever you want, his defeated tone seems to imply. In many ways, Venice still feels too raw and too close to discuss. When he adds the months up, six months at home and nearly six here in Ryslig, it has been a year. But his grief is still as thorny and heavy as ever. It hasn't changed at all.]
I wasn't avoiding you out of a sense of anger. I just... [He thinks of the San Siro. It was really bright that day. So bright he couldn't see Mista's face, especially from so far away. Idly, distantly, finally, Fugo moves; he begins to pick at a loose thread on his cuff.] This place is terrible.
I didn't want to add to that.
no subject
[ He nods, satisfied that it didn't devolve, because that really wasn't his intention. Abbacchio knows things are difficult for Fugo to accept, and knows that it's harder still for him to change his mind when he's already accepted something to be true. He understands this, because he too, finds himself in similar lines of thinking all too often.
So even if he recognises that Fugo's tone is one of defeat, recognises that the subject of Venice is still not one Fugo doesn't wish to talk about, he can accept that this is where they are right now.
Abbacchio had never thought Fugo was avoiding him due to anger, not really; as familiar as he is with Fugo's anger, this… was different. When Fugo shifts and begins to fidget, it brings with it a sense of relief, and Abbacchio allows himself to snort when Fugo gives his opinion on this place. ]
Yeah, no kidding. It's a fucking miserable hell hole.
[ Fugo's presence here, along with Bucciarati; is honestly a welcome relief. The two of them are familiar enough to Abbacchio that it makes some of this even remotely tolerable. And with Trish and Giorno here, it feels like a second chance at keeping them all safe – Reira may have said that going home is an impossibility; but there's still a small part of Abbacchio that hasn't quite been snuffed out yet, one that is holding on to the hope they may be able to return home to their normal lives one day. He has to, for their sakes. ]
Trust me when I say you could never add on to how awful this all is, not by a long shot.
no subject
He sort of understands what Abbacchio means. If nothing else the three of them-- Bucciarati, Fugo, and Abbacchio-- have experience as a team. The know each other, inasmuch as they allow anyone to know them. But never? That's bullshit. He can't see any signs of deception on Abbacchio's face, and Fugo knows his tells, but he doesn't believe it.]
... yeah, it sucks. [The mutations to his body, being forced to regularly kill and eat people, the constant existential dread. So on and so forth.] At least Purple Haze is dead.
[That's about the only net positive he can see. And even that's debatable, given that how strong his Stand was. Even when not in active use, Purple Haze was a powerful "don't fuck with me" deterrent for anyone who knew about it.]
But whatever. You've been settling in.
[It's not a question. But it is an opening. For Abbacchio to talk. Or complain, or whatever. Fugo's not good at this.]
no subject
The fact remains that Fugo is stubborn; he's annoying and contrary, and downright cantankerous at the best of times. He's prone to testing the limits of Abbacchio's already thin patience, even without realising he's doing it. And yet, even in the face of all that, it's nothing he could ever really hold against Fugo; it just is how he is. So, no, they may not be particularly close, and Abbacchio may not be likely to admit it to his face anytime soon; but he is fond of the kid.
Purple Haze is not a subject he wants to touch. Fugo's thoughts and the relationship with his Stand were complicated – and that's probably being extremely generous. Abbacchio himself feels an odd emptiness when he thinks of his own Stand, and it's similarly a subject he doesn't really want to touch just yet. ]
Yeah… Settling in. [ he scoffs. ] You know I'm not the greatest at that.
[ Adapting to change and the like, he's pretty slow to it generally speaking. Not taking into consideration that since he arrived here he's already yelled at Bucciarati, of all people, and made things worse with Giorno. ]
tw: mention of past alcohol abuse
But you aren't drinking. [However bad things are right now, however bad things went back home, Abbacchio hasn't turned to alcohol. As far as Fugo has seen, he has maintained his sobriety. And it's not as if alcohol (or, for that matter, drugs) is to get in Bavan, especially with the morons behind Red Alert shilling their poison on the network.] That counts for something, especially in circumstances like these.
cw; alcohol abuse
Still, he drops his gaze from Fugo's, glances around at the bare room. He's perfectly capable of drinking within reason and moderation a majority of the time – it's when things get bad, when the noise in his brain gets too loud or the problems seem too big, that he slips. And over the course of the two years or so that Abbacchio has known Fugo, even if it was nowhere near as bad or as frequent as those first few months, to Abbacchio, that slip is still viewed as an inevitability. ]
Yeah, well. [ There's a small puff of air; a short, humourless laugh. Empty and hollow. Abbacchio is not going to sit here and pretend he's something he's not, not to Fugo. Nor is he going to give him any false expectations, only to set him up for future disappointment. ] Don't hold your breath.