~Don't Be Afraid~ (2p!Italy x Reader)

VIII.

In a small apartment, a girl sat slumped in a chair with her chin rested on the table. Through strands of light brown hair, her blue eyes stared intensely at the cell phone that still displayed (Y/n)'s number. Beside that was the eighth mug of coffee.

Abby hadn't slept at all last night. Not after the short and obviously suspicious phone call she received from her friend and roommate, who has been supposedly missing for two days now. It would be an understatement to say she was peeved.

'But who the hell was that guy who hung up?!' Then, eyes widening, she shot up and slammed her hands down on the surface of the table.

"No freaking way!!" She shouted to the empty apartment. "I bet he's the voice of Mario!"

Silence.

Her face then scrunched into a scowl and she sat back down. "Wait, that doesn't make any sense. Never mind."

Abby's stomach growled, reminding her that she didn't eat much yesterday. Picking up her cell phone and wallet, she left the building and jogged down the street. She looked around for a place to eat, then settled for IHOP. Seeing every other seat was taken, she sat a large booth near the back where the noise didn't cause as much of a headache as sitting near the front. It wasn't long after she got a soda that a group of men stood in front of her.

Possibly the shortest of the group -and the most blinding- was a fellow with a mop of strawberry blond hair and bright blue eyes with big eyebrows. He wore a purple sweater vest with a pastel pink button-up underneath, and tan khakis. His appearance alone reminded Abby of cotton candy. Standing on either side of him were two other men. One was tan and wore a dark brown bomber jacket and ripped jeans. He had reddish-brown hair, sunglasses rested on top of his head, and red eyes that directed an irritated glare towards the second guy. This one had light purple eyes and messy, shoulder-length, dirty blond hair that was tied back.

The red-eyed one grumbled at him. "Hey, Matt, why are we at IHOP? There's plenty of other places to eat."

The purple-eyed one, Matt, answered him saying, "Because fuck you and your vegan shit, celery sucker."

The bright one shouted at them with a British accent, "Language, you two!" Then turned back to Abby and smiled kindly, speaking with a cheerful voice. "Excuse me, poppet. If it's not too much trouble, can our group sit with you, please? The other table are full. Unless you're expecting someone."

Abby blinked. "No, it's fine. I'm here alone." She scooted over and let the group slide into the half-circle corner both. She sat near the end, next to a Chinese man with short brown hair and red eyes, wearing a black-rimmed, red, Chinese-styled jacket with a high collar. Abby's nose reflexively scrunched up from the strong stench of smoke that seemed to cling to him like flesh. On his other side was a large, big-boned man wearing a heavy-looking trench coat. He just watched the busy restaurant with bored red eyes.

'Those are some freaky eyes!!' She thought.

But, soon, her thoughts found their way back to her friend's disappearance. The first to speak up was another man who walked up and took a seat next to her. "Why do you look depressed?"

"Oh my god, Francois. You don't just walk up and ask someone why they're depressed. What the fuck." Responded the one that Matt referred to as 'celery sucker'.

Francois, without looking at him, retorted, "First of all, I asked why she looked depressed, dumbass. Second of all, shut up and look at the menu, Al."

Abby snickered. "Nah, he's fine. I'm just thinking about my friend, (Y/n). I believe she may or may not have been kidnapped by some Italian guy named Vargas. That's what I heard over the phone, at least." She felt the stares almost immediately. "What?"