[ he makes a sort of noncommittal gesture with his head - not quite a shake, not quite a nod. Attachments end poorly whether you're in the mob or you're a regular person. How many times has he seen it...? Abbacchio isn't wrong, of course - their job is dangerous. Just knowing them is dangerous. Many times, he's thought it would be easier if he could close off his heart. He'd been trying for a while, too, before Giorno joined - to shut his eyes to what was happening to the people around him. It's no wonder he'd bent so easily when the opportunity presented itself.
Of course, that ended badly, too. Abbacchio isn't wrong. His voice is somber but gentle when he replies, his commanding tone still absent. ]
Every ending's a tragedy.
[ divorce, death, betrayal - there's nothing but heartbreak waiting at the end. Still... ]
The rest of the story is what matters. I'm glad that I met him. That's worth enduring this pain for.
[ Abbacchio had tried too. To build walls around himself and shut others out, push them away, to protect both himself and others. It was futile in the end. Cracks appeared in those walls as soon as Bucciarati had offered him a second chance, and they'd only gotten more sprawling with every act of compassion, had grown bigger in size with each new addition to their team. He'd never been very good at keeping himself emotionally detached, anyway. It was something he could do when necessitated. When he was on the job and there were clear-cut lines between business and personal. Those lines became blurred within their small team though, and over time it became harder to compartmentalize and maintain those walls. ]
Mm, you're right.
[ Sometimes, it feels like that's all he knows. Enduring pain. Letting it build, and build until it's an unbearable weight on his shoulders. Before eventually, it causes him to buckle, to keel under the burden that he can no longer bear, and it has him crawling on his hands and knees; seeking absolution for past sins. He knows this, and he knows it never ends well for him. But endure he must, and so endure he does. ]
I get the feeling he'd probably be pissed at us if he knew we were sitting around on our asses moping.
[ The corners of his lips quirk upwards, barely visible for long, but it was there. He's trying. He doesn't want this to devolve again, to let his emotions get the better of him, and he doesn't think Bucciarati wants that either. ]
[ the gentle humor from Abbacchio, as thin as it may be, is enough to ease more of the tension out of his shoulders, and he smiles, too - light but sincere, the way that most of Bucciarati's smiles are. It's a hint of normal. Nothing's been normal, nothing will be normal again - not the way they knew it - but this, the ability to share a smile, to talk again without feeling the unspoken weight of everything that happened that week bearing down on them, is close enough. It's the same as it had been with Fugo. They're on the same page again, and it's that much easier for him to breathe. ]
Pissed at you, maybe.
[ for all his hot-headedness, Narancia almost never yelled at Bucciarati. He idolized him too much. It concerned and flattered Bucciarati in equal measure; he went out of his way never to treat Narancia differently or take advantage of it, but he was well aware of it, evidently. Thinking of it now simply fills him with a sort of sad fondness. ]
But you're right that he wouldn't want that. I think he'd want payback and pizza, in that order.
[ and one of those things has already been done, so... ]
Well, someone's always pissed at me, anyway. Nothing new there.
[ It's true that Abbacchio would be the most probable target, as he often found himself being. As infuriating as it was, it all began to just blend in with the background noise. Besides, Narancia likely wouldn't have dared subject Bucciarati to any of his annoyance, it's almost endearing when he thinks about it like that — but to let himself linger on the thought too long just serves as to circle back around to things he shouldn't be keeping on his mind right now, reminders that he deserved better, that they all did. It leads him ever closer to moping, the very thing neither of them should be doing right now. ]
If he could figure out a way to somehow combine the two, he probably would have.
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Of course, that ended badly, too. Abbacchio isn't wrong. His voice is somber but gentle when he replies, his commanding tone still absent. ]
Every ending's a tragedy.
[ divorce, death, betrayal - there's nothing but heartbreak waiting at the end. Still... ]
The rest of the story is what matters. I'm glad that I met him. That's worth enduring this pain for.
no subject
Mm, you're right.
[ Sometimes, it feels like that's all he knows. Enduring pain. Letting it build, and build until it's an unbearable weight on his shoulders. Before eventually, it causes him to buckle, to keel under the burden that he can no longer bear, and it has him crawling on his hands and knees; seeking absolution for past sins. He knows this, and he knows it never ends well for him. But endure he must, and so endure he does. ]
I get the feeling he'd probably be pissed at us if he knew we were sitting around on our asses moping.
[ The corners of his lips quirk upwards, barely visible for long, but it was there. He's trying. He doesn't want this to devolve again, to let his emotions get the better of him, and he doesn't think Bucciarati wants that either. ]
no subject
Pissed at you, maybe.
[ for all his hot-headedness, Narancia almost never yelled at Bucciarati. He idolized him too much. It concerned and flattered Bucciarati in equal measure; he went out of his way never to treat Narancia differently or take advantage of it, but he was well aware of it, evidently. Thinking of it now simply fills him with a sort of sad fondness. ]
But you're right that he wouldn't want that. I think he'd want payback and pizza, in that order.
[ and one of those things has already been done, so... ]
no subject
[ It's true that Abbacchio would be the most probable target, as he often found himself being. As infuriating as it was, it all began to just blend in with the background noise. Besides, Narancia likely wouldn't have dared subject Bucciarati to any of his annoyance, it's almost endearing when he thinks about it like that — but to let himself linger on the thought too long just serves as to circle back around to things he shouldn't be keeping on his mind right now, reminders that he deserved better, that they all did. It leads him ever closer to moping, the very thing neither of them should be doing right now. ]
If he could figure out a way to somehow combine the two, he probably would have.