[Fugo nods, then doesn't needle Abbacchio with more questions. He does understand. There is an emptiness in Abbacchio, a dark mineshaft of unhappiness cut into the soft meat of his heart, and it recognizes a similar emptiness in Fugo. They have never spoken of it, never directly, but they both know.
Sometimes, misery loves company. They have spent a lot of nights together, sitting without speaking.]
[So Fugo is surprised when Abbacchio speaks. His tells aren't as obvious as they usually are; a slight downturn of the corners of his mouth, an almost imperceptible pinch of his eyebrows. And then he's just ... confused. It's not like Abbacchio to repeat himself, or to circle back to a part of a conversation that has already finished. Especially something that is, more or less, a social nicety. There is naked emotion in his voice, as bare as his pale and thin face. His throat works.
Abbacchio ... is glad that he is back in the house. That he is safe. If anything had happened-- something did happen; the double drew blood, but it's fine, he took care of it, the wound is wrapped and disinfected and only distantly aches, the pain is nothing really, he's survived much worse-- Abbacchio would have ... what? He doesn't know. Abbacchio can't get those words out, whatever they were; they got stuck, so he had to swallow them back down with the water. Abbacchio would have something, because Fugo is too... important?]
Me?
[He doesn't understand. He genuinely doesn't. He thinks he can see the shape of what Abbacchio means, but it doesn't ... fit. Not for him. It would make sense if he said this about Bucciarati, or-- ... ... or Trish, maybe. Trish is important; Trish hasn't woken up yet. But him? Fugo?]
[ Whether either of them cares to admit it aloud, they're often far more alike than they are different at times, and this is one such instance. Abbacchio knows Fugo will be doing mental gymnastics to justify Abbacchio's words; to figure out what they truly mean with logic, or if there's some sort of ulterior motive — one that he won't find simply because it doesn't exist, and there is no logic to be had because it doesn't apply here. ]
Yes, you.
[ Pinching at the bridge of his nose, it takes work not to snap a petty retort, to ask Fugo who the hell else he'd be talking to. Because he knows, he knows Fugo isn't being deliberately obtuse. They've been over this before. Inevitably, whenever anyone says anything even remotely positive about Fugo, he finds it hard to believe, and Abbacchio is the same, which is why on some intrinsic level he can't bring himself to be annoyed at Fugo for even questioning the statement.
He says he's fine, and that he handled it but the issue is that he shouldn't have had to. They shouldn't be in this mess, this god awful peninsula with its feuding gods and danger right around every corner — it's worse than Naples. That's not all though, dying offers him a different perspective. Death may not be permanent here, not for those brought in by the fog, but that doesn't change the outlook that comes with it. Everything you know, and care about can come to the end in the blink of an eye and for men like Abbacchio, who survived by keeping their cards to their chest, all that's left behind is uncertainty and questions.
So the fact remains, that to Abbacchio, Fugo is important — just as important as Bucciarati. It would be stranger if he were to say such things about Trish. While she is important, she's not significant to Abbacchio, not on a personal level, not yet, not in the way that Fugo is. It's hard to put that into words though, to explain how big of an impact Fugo's mere presence in Abbacchio's life has had.
Abbacchio could sit here and explain, or he could close the lid on that box, for now, lock it back up and deflect. ]
It doesn't matter if you see it or not, you are important. Not just to me, but to Bucciarati and to Trish. [ a pause, and then quieter ] To Giorno, too.
[Abbacchio's words float down, from elsewhere. They hang in front of him, painfully close but still just out of reach. Abbacchio is just a single step away from him: you are important. Not just to him-- as if somehow, what Abbacchio values is less and means less than what maters to the others-- but to Bucciarati, Trish. Giorno, too, even though Abbacchio is still the last holdout in their group when it comes to truly trusting him.
There was a time, once, when those words would have been-- ... he doesn't even know. A relief, maybe. At least that. The point is that he should be happy.]
[But right now, they don't seem real. He can't reach them. He doesn't know what to do with them. He just feels empty. And very, very tired.]
... I don't-- [Halting, awkward, uncomfortable. He doesn't see. He doesn't understand.] I don't know what you want me to say.
[Staying in the house was not an option. Someone had to protect the orphanage. With Bucciarati and Abbacchio's transformations still incomplete, strategically, Fugo was the best option.]
[ Abbacchio understands how easy it is to forget that people actually care, that people will continue to care. Maybe in part, he's thinking about Pompeii. How quickly he'd been willing to abandon Fugo for the sake of the mission. Both of them had been willing to do whatever was necessary, even if that meant putting themselves at risk. At the time he'd thought that was the right thing to do, there was nothing more important than their duty to carry out their mission. But now? Now he can't help but wonder what it must have been like for Fugo.
Fugo, who must have known without a doubt, what choice Abbacchio would have made. Who then would have been able to justify that choice because he would have done the same—or at least, Abbacchio believes he would have. It's part of the job. It was expected of them. But that mentality, that they aren't important—it makes it easy to throw away one's self-preservation. It comes to him easily, and when it comes down to it, he worries that Fugo is much the same, and therein lies the concern.
With what he knows now, had that mission in Pompeii gone differently, had Fugo not made it out, he thinks it would have been a devastating blow. Not to the mission—screw the mission—but to them as people. No matter how much they all try to compartmentalise. ]
I just want you to remember, even when it's hard and things get shitty.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Sometimes, misery loves company. They have spent a lot of nights together, sitting without speaking.]
[So Fugo is surprised when Abbacchio speaks. His tells aren't as obvious as they usually are; a slight downturn of the corners of his mouth, an almost imperceptible pinch of his eyebrows. And then he's just ... confused. It's not like Abbacchio to repeat himself, or to circle back to a part of a conversation that has already finished. Especially something that is, more or less, a social nicety. There is naked emotion in his voice, as bare as his pale and thin face. His throat works.
Abbacchio ... is glad that he is back in the house. That he is safe. If anything had happened-- something did happen; the double drew blood, but it's fine, he took care of it, the wound is wrapped and disinfected and only distantly aches, the pain is nothing really, he's survived much worse-- Abbacchio would have ... what? He doesn't know. Abbacchio can't get those words out, whatever they were; they got stuck, so he had to swallow them back down with the water. Abbacchio would have something, because Fugo is too... important?]
Me?
[He doesn't understand. He genuinely doesn't. He thinks he can see the shape of what Abbacchio means, but it doesn't ... fit. Not for him. It would make sense if he said this about Bucciarati, or-- ... ... or Trish, maybe. Trish is important; Trish hasn't woken up yet. But him? Fugo?]
... I'm fine, Abbacchio. I handled it.
no subject
Yes, you.
[ Pinching at the bridge of his nose, it takes work not to snap a petty retort, to ask Fugo who the hell else he'd be talking to. Because he knows, he knows Fugo isn't being deliberately obtuse. They've been over this before. Inevitably, whenever anyone says anything even remotely positive about Fugo, he finds it hard to believe, and Abbacchio is the same, which is why on some intrinsic level he can't bring himself to be annoyed at Fugo for even questioning the statement.
He says he's fine, and that he handled it but the issue is that he shouldn't have had to. They shouldn't be in this mess, this god awful peninsula with its feuding gods and danger right around every corner — it's worse than Naples. That's not all though, dying offers him a different perspective. Death may not be permanent here, not for those brought in by the fog, but that doesn't change the outlook that comes with it. Everything you know, and care about can come to the end in the blink of an eye and for men like Abbacchio, who survived by keeping their cards to their chest, all that's left behind is uncertainty and questions.
So the fact remains, that to Abbacchio, Fugo is important — just as important as Bucciarati. It would be stranger if he were to say such things about Trish. While she is important, she's not significant to Abbacchio, not on a personal level, not yet, not in the way that Fugo is. It's hard to put that into words though, to explain how big of an impact Fugo's mere presence in Abbacchio's life has had.
Abbacchio could sit here and explain, or he could close the lid on that box, for now, lock it back up and deflect. ]
It doesn't matter if you see it or not, you are important. Not just to me, but to Bucciarati and to Trish. [ a pause, and then quieter ] To Giorno, too.
no subject
There was a time, once, when those words would have been-- ... he doesn't even know. A relief, maybe. At least that. The point is that he should be happy.]
[But right now, they don't seem real. He can't reach them. He doesn't know what to do with them. He just feels empty. And very, very tired.]
... I don't-- [Halting, awkward, uncomfortable. He doesn't see. He doesn't understand.] I don't know what you want me to say.
[Staying in the house was not an option. Someone had to protect the orphanage. With Bucciarati and Abbacchio's transformations still incomplete, strategically, Fugo was the best option.]
no subject
Fugo, I don't want you to say anything.
[ Abbacchio understands how easy it is to forget that people actually care, that people will continue to care. Maybe in part, he's thinking about Pompeii. How quickly he'd been willing to abandon Fugo for the sake of the mission. Both of them had been willing to do whatever was necessary, even if that meant putting themselves at risk. At the time he'd thought that was the right thing to do, there was nothing more important than their duty to carry out their mission. But now? Now he can't help but wonder what it must have been like for Fugo.
Fugo, who must have known without a doubt, what choice Abbacchio would have made. Who then would have been able to justify that choice because he would have done the same—or at least, Abbacchio believes he would have. It's part of the job. It was expected of them. But that mentality, that they aren't important—it makes it easy to throw away one's self-preservation. It comes to him easily, and when it comes down to it, he worries that Fugo is much the same, and therein lies the concern.
With what he knows now, had that mission in Pompeii gone differently, had Fugo not made it out, he thinks it would have been a devastating blow. Not to the mission—screw the mission—but to them as people. No matter how much they all try to compartmentalise. ]
I just want you to remember, even when it's hard and things get shitty.