"Sometimes I love you, sometimes you make me feel blue."
Amari was just another member of Passione. As the sole woman on Bruno Bucciarati's team, she is protected and adored by the lovable men around her. Being one of the more level-headed of the gr...
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Bucciarati was concerned by the way Abbacchio had so abruptly and rather rudely dismissed himself from the table. He had seen him upset before but this was in a different way and Bucciarati was keen on getting to the bottom of it. Abbacchio's behavior was becoming unacceptable and it was time to put a stop to it—even if Abbacchio didn't want him involved.
Abbacchio sat on the front steps, gazing up at the fluffy clouds floating through the wonderful blue sky. He shook his head as his head fell into his hands, unable to deal with his emotions in his current state.
"Should I even ask what's going on?" Bucciarati shut the door behind him as he stepped outside.
Abbacchio simply ignored him, taking a long drink from the wine bottle in his hand from his secret stash he kept around for times like these. He chugged frantically and alcohol dribbled down his chin. He wasn't in the mood to converse. He was drowning in his thoughts so much that even the booze wasn't helping anymore. Abbacchio refused to give up and drank some more, guzzling down the rest of the bottle and fiddling with it in his hands.
"I don't need you to judge me," he said finally after a long silence. His skull felt like it was prone to shatter.
"You should know that I have never been one to do that," Bucciarati replied, taking a step forward. Since they met, he had always proudly shown his belief in Abbacchio. They were the greatest of friends, so, naturally, Bucciarati wasn't going to let him go off alone to self-destruct. Abbacchio didn't respond and Bucciarati came closer, his gaze softening. "Abbacchio, I'm only concerned for your well-being. Amari is, too."
Abbacchio scoffed, leaning back on his elbows as the world spun. "She doesn't give a damn about me."
"What makes you think that?"
"That woman really pisses me off, you know that?" He ignored the question then laughed to himself. "And I let her do it, too." He shook his head, displeased with the way things were going between them lately. Though, if he was to be truthful, the blame was his to bear.
"Care to explain why?" Bucciarati asked calmly.
"Not that you would understand." Abbacchio shrugged.
"You two are obviously close. I don't think you mean what you say."
"I do." Abbacchio was now up and pacing. "Flirting like I'm not right there! She thinks she can just do whatever she wants? See if I care!" He hurled the bottle angrily and it shattered into pieces a few feet away, staining the ground with its dark red contents.
"Ah, I see. You're jealous."
"Jealous?" Abbacchio was aghast by his claim. "Of what?"
"Of the affection she was giving Mista," Bucciarati stated like it was so obvious which, frankly, it was.
