Chapter Text
Sun beams fall through the broken windows, reflecting off shards of glass scattered on the floor. Leone sighs, a heavy feeling weighing his heart down. In front of him, his partner lies on the floor. Limbs akimbo, the man is spread eagle with a spreading stain in the front of his chest. There are weeds curling into the corners of the abandoned building. Leone gestures flippantly with the hand that isn’t keeping the cigarette in his mouth and the image rewinds until his partner is shouting. Leone, get away he’s got a gun! His partner jerks horrifically, looking down at his chest. Leone’s heart races. His partner’s mouth opens slightly, blood beginning to bloom on his uniform. Leone-
Leone jerks out of bed, throwing sweat-soaked sheets off his bed in his pursuit to slam the alarm clock off. The sound of an eight tracks being rewound echoes in his brain as Leone goes about his morning routine. Shower, teeth, hair, uniform, breakfast. He mixes it up today, putting on some foundation. Usually Leone goes barefaced to work, but the circles under his eyes are beginning to look unsightly and purposeful. Nightmares aside, the best part of Leone’s day is about to come.
He walks to work, it’s easier to keep the cruiser parked at the station instead of leaving it outside on the street next to his apartment. Besides, it’s a nice quiet walk along the coastline. It used to be a shorter walk through the city, but Leone changed his route months ago when he first saw the fisherman. The man is average sized but with a leanness that makes him appear taller and more authoritative.
“Good morning, Officer!” The fisherman calls from his usual spot, and Leone grunts in reply as he usually does. One morning he’ll say hello back, but not today. It’ll be a day when Leone’s skin isn’t still crawling from a recurring nightmare. The fisherman doesn’t seem to mind, and turns back towards his work. Something about seeing the man mending his nets in the morning is calming, and Leone’s fingers itch to learn about the stranger.
Work is easy, Leone’s partner is alive and well and chattering about his husband. They just got married, it was a small ceremony. Leone wasn’t invited and he didn’t expect to be. Gelato seems embarrassed that they didn’t invite Leone and doesn’t mention the wedding much, but he does mention his spouse frequently.
“So, she didn’t take your name?” Leone asks, interrupting the story about Gelato’s story-- the third time he’s heard this story. Anything to not hear about how “cute” it was for the partner to fail at preparing breakfast. Leone would never fail to cook a meal for his partner, and the story grates on his nerves. He would also never marry someone with such subpar skills. The fisherman probably cooks fine, Leone thinks absentmindedly as Gelato explains that his spouse is an author in that sort of profession, your name is your brand.
After lunch, there’s a small scuttle outside a sweets store involved a bunch of high schoolers, and it’s up to Leone and Gelato to pick them up and bring them to the station. Leone hates these kinds of assignments, they should just let the kids be. But, the chief likes to bring ruffians into the station to scare them.
When Leone see the boys involved, his heart skips a beat for some reason. The boy with the white-blonde hair doesn’t look familiar, but something about the scowl he gives the Gelato as the officer arranges the duo in the backseat reminds Leone of something. He can almost smell an electrical fire underlain with a toxic, putrid scent of decay. But, he can’t really smell it and the boy’s face is unfamiliar so he shakes off the feeling.
Both boys have bruises and busted lips, but the blonde one has a tear in his sweater, right on the chest where his heart is. Processing them was easy, just a little frivolous paperwork and calling of guardians. The paperwork won't even go into a permanent folder, it’ll be shredded at the end of the month. There’s a bit of a scuffle on the phone lines, and in the end the blonde kid’s parents can’t come but they’re sending a family friend to pick him up.
It’s annoying to imagine parents so preoccupied they can’t pick up their child from a police station. Leone feels a pang of something close to pity when he sees the boy sitting alone, the other kid’s parents having picked him up close to half an hour ago.
“Do you want a new shirt, kid?” Leone asks as he watches the boy tug at the hole in his sweater.
“No, Don’t call me kid.” Pannacotta, that’s the first name in the paperwork, spits back angrily with a sort of anger that makes Leone slightly impressed. The kid looks sad as he surveys the rip, and the sweater looks handmade. Leone sighs. He goes back to his desk and roots around through his drawers until he finds the small box.
“Take off your shirt, kid. I’ll sew the rip.” Pannacotta’s eyes widen buthe pulls the sweater over his head in one swift motion all the same. Skinny ribs poke through pale stretched skin. Pannacotta looks like a kid going through a growth spurt without enough food, with angry stretch marks pulling up his abdomen.
“I told you, don’t call me kid.” Pannacotta angrily says again, although the venom seems to have seeped out of his voice, replaced by childhood vehemence. Leone thinks of himself as a kid, he had only dreamed of becoming a police officer. He’d never had this sort of angry phase, but he’s seen it before once when was young in his peers and now in the kids he picks from fights as a police officer.
“Then what do I call you? Annoying sweater kid?” Leone asks, a little more sarcastically than he should. He’s still at work after all. But something about this angry kid still feels not-familiar and Leone knows Pannacotta can take it.
“Um, well everyone calls me Pannacotta. But my friends just use Fugo. My last name.” Fugo says a little quietly, attention diverted to whoever is walking through the front door and chatting with the receptionist. Leone is almost done, the tear isn’t as bad as it looks and he’s deft with a repair needle.
“Hello, Fugo. Hello Officer.” The newcomer greets, and with a flinch Leone drives the needle right through his index finger. It’s his fisherman, standing in front of them both and smiling sternly at Fugo.
“Fu-“ Leone starts off, pulling his injured finger to his mouth to suck on, cutting off his cursing before he can start spewing profanities in front of the fisherman.
“Are you okay?” The fisherman asks quickly, crouching down the grab Leone’s hand. Leone bats him away.
“I’m fine. Finished with the kid’s shirt at any rate.” Leone smiles when he sees a vein in Fugo’s forehead throb at being referred to as “kid” again.
“Well, Fugo, have something to say to the officer?” The fisherman asked with a curl of his lip and a hint of sarcasm that Leone is half convinced he may be making up.
“Thanks.” Fugo grunted, taking the sweater and slipping it on easily. It looks almost un-ripped, Leone’s handiwork blending in nicely. “Can we go now, Bruno?”
Bruno, that’s the fisherman’s name. It feels like chocolate melting on Leone’s tongue, like home and warmth and fireplaces with thick soft blankets draped over lazily cuddling figures. Bruno.
“Yes, thank you. Officer…?” Bruno turns his attention back to Leone.
“Abbacchio. Officer Abbacchio.” Leone supplies, for some reason he can’t bear to say his first name to Bruno.
“Abbacchio.” Bruno doesn’t purr but it feels like one, pulling goosebumps from Leone’s neck, “It’s nice to put a name to a face. I’m Bruno. See you tomorrow, I suppose.”
Leone doesn’t watch them leave. He doesn’t watch the way Fugo falls into step closely with Bruno, brushing his hand against the older man’s. Leone doesn’t seem the way Bruno’s pants tug on his ass as he walks, and he doesn’t see the way Bruno fondly scuffles Fugo’s hair as they leave the station.
The night doesn’t have any nightmares, but Leone puts on concealer anyways. He rolls a tube of lipstick in his palms, before deciding against it. No flashy makeup at work, and as a man any lipstick is flashy—especially his favorite shade of black. Why did Leone even think of wearing it today?
Like clockwork, Bruno is out mending his nets. He smiles and gestures for Leone to come over.
“Want a smoke, Officer?” Bruno asks, stopping his work to produce a pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket.
“Sure.” This is not how Leone imagined the morning going. Leone lights his cigarette, and coughs a little on his first inhale despite smoking fairly regularly. Of course he would look like an amateur and a fool in front of his fisherman.
“So, you’re friends with Fugo’s parents?” Leone asks, desperately hoping his awkwardness isn’t noticed by the other man.
“Not really. I’m part of a mentorship program with the high school.” Bruno explains, lighting his own cigarette, “Fugo used to live with his grandmother, but she passed away. His parents don’t seem to want very much from him. He likes to be at my house instead of theirs.”
Leone grunts and takes a slow, long drag of his cigarette. The sun is sparkling off Bruno’s eyes and the smell of the ocean feels comforting this morning.
“That’s nice of you. I hate kids too much to do a mentor program.” Leone says, grimacing at the end. Why did he say that? Here Bruno is, talking about how he likes to help troubled youth and Leone blurts out that he hates youth. Maybe the ocean can swallow him up now. However, Bruno surprises him.
“Well, I have a terrible habit of collecting strays. If I see someone alone, I just have to help.” Bruno says shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. I’m a stray, Leone wants to say, you should collar me, let me sleep at the foot of your bed at night.
“That’s not a terrible habit.” Leone says instead, hoping the heat is only in his mind and hasn’t brought a blush to his face. “It’s admirable.”
Bruno laughs lightly, a kind of easy rolling chuckle that makes Leone smile in spite of all the times he’s put his foot in his mouth during this conversation. His face is definitely red now.
“Thank you, Officer Abbacchio. It would be a little better for my finances if I stopped, but I don’t think I can.” Bruno replies earnestly.
“Leone. Call me Leone.” Leone says, mouth feeling a little dry.
“Well, Leone, come for dinner sometime. While Fugo is usually around, I would love some adult company.” It isn’t suggestive or a flirt, but Leone knows his ears are burning bright red anyways.
“I’m free today.” Leone says, a little quicker than he wanted too. Bruno smiles a nice, wide, earnest smile.
“Excellent.” Bruno replies. Leone finishes his cigarette and crushes it under his feet, before slipping the cigarette into his pocket to throw away later.
“See you later?” Leone asks. Bruno has a small white scar on his collarbone, Leone can see it when the man twists to look at his nets once again.
“If you can’t come, let minnow.” Bruno answers, face screwing up into a wide smile again as his shoulders shake. Leone hears the pun, and laughs aloud in spite of himself. Bruno’s head jerks up when Leone laughs aloud. His laughing turns into just a small, kind smile. Leone feels another blush coming on, so he turns and walks away before he can make a fool of himself again in front of his fisherman.
It’s a beautiful clear morning and Leone isn’t sure what to expect from the dinner, especially whether or not Fugo will be present. But it feels right, like his life was a sliding puzzle and meeting Bruno slid all the pieces from their slightly wrong position into the right ones. Something still feels off, but Leone has never felt so content before this moment. He wishes he could go back and relive that conversation with Bruno. In the distance, some seabirds shriek and the sound of a tape being rewound faintly ticks.