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It was a Saturday night, everyone was asleep except for Fugo and Abbacchio. The pair usually took a smoke break or so before bed.
“Hey Abbacchio, do you think we’ll ever really stop the drug ring?” Fugo blurts out, scratching the back of the his head in a wave of anxiousness.
Abbacchio sighs in reply, “Depends on if golden boy can win with the luck he pushes.”
It’s a back and fourth conversation between the two, mostly the usual banter and the slightly nerve rushing discussions about what to really do with this sudden plan Giorno set in place. Fugo isn’t too sure one persons ideal goal can really work, and Abbacchio denies that Giorno can even make this sort of bizarre thing work for Passione. The banter eventually falls into silence and each others huffs and puffs of cigarettes, they reach a silent agreement to both go inside and head to bed for tonight.
They freshen up to get decent sleep before they next day, which they have to prepare for to carry out Giornos plan. The two men put their hair up in ponytails sloppily, it was a very tough night for the both of them. Slipping onto the mattress was an ease, and comfort was settling in smoothly, for Abbacchio at least.
The Snores weren’t the source of Fugos trouble sleeping, it was all of the built-up flashbacks to trauma and suffering he had endured as a kid, the welt up worry of what could go wrong tomorrow, if this was really the right choice, if he’s going to live, it’s all replaying repeatedly on-loop in his head.
His hands hurt too much from the skin he scratched before bed, the skin he peeled off on his fingers unknowingly out of stress, and he can’t make any noise, so he cuddles to his crush, to no help at all.
Arms wrap around Abbacchios chest, surely so Fugo can sleep well and sound, he does it a lot when he has these nightmares. Fugo slithers slowly on top of him, hoping this’ll finally work out make him sleep faster. It didn’t help him in this situation, it made it worse to the point where his hands hovered over Abbacchios neck just to feel some control.
Warm, shivering, sweaty hands, GRIPPED at Abbacchios neck. Fugos face was sweaty, visibly worried, and upset. Abbacchio lunged and unknowingly punched the boy in his sight.
Fugo crawls to his side of their shared bed, hunched up and scratching at his bare back with his already blood sprayed fingernails, just stressed out, sorry and remorseful.
“Holy...Holy Shit Fugo, I’m so sorry! What the fuck, what’s up with you, I’m genuinely concerned.” Abbacchio delivers with an unusually genuine worried tone. Fugo replies with what he’s been dealing with, luckily Abbacchio knows that feeling all too well. He has genuine interest and care for Fugo, so ha lends him his ear, sleazing his advice to Fugo, back onto the bed and cradling him in his arms.
“Listen, There’s no real reason to dwell on your past, you did what was right for you. There’s changes in life that you can’t handle, but they’re there, it’s no use to dwell on things you can’t change that’s traumatized you. It’s ok to think about it. Fugo. The people who hurt you and invaded you, they’re gone. Hopefully rotting in hell somewhere. I can tell you’re happy here in Passione with us. We won’t hurt you. Everyone’s here for you, I love you so much Fugo.”
Fugo sniffed, holding Abbacchio close and crying tears of relief, he needed this. A reassurance that people really cared about him, and that everything was going to be ok, it wasn’t his fault. Abbacchio cooed him to sleep, eventually getting himself to sleep.
They both had the best relief waking up in quite a while.