As Abbacchio stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, he realized he's gained weight since joining Bucciarati's gang.
Well, that fact wasn't odd on its own. As the days turned to weeks when he was rotting in the gutters of Naples, his once impressive physique- chiseled yet well-maintained through a peerless commitment to his work- wasted away into nothing but skin and bones, chipped away further by cigarettes like termites in someone's home. By the time that Bruno had rescued him, hauled him up from the dredges like any biblical savior could, Leone couldn't have weighed more than 65 kilos. The next strong sea breeze could've carried his willowy figure away.
But, it hadn't. In its stead, Bruno washed him, clothed him, fed him, and most of all, gave the ex-cop a new purpose in life that, on most days, he could hear ring out in his head just loud enough to drown out his self loathing, and continue the upkeep necessary for his newfound work. It was the least he could do for his Madonna of sorts, covering up the embarrassment that such a self-confession held by getting enough nutrients in his body and working out to the point where his imposing stature was once again backed up by muscle.
And so, things seemed to be going well for Abbacchio. As well as things could go, for an irredeemable soul still walking this earth. On the days where a sliver of optimism shined down on him, he could've sworn that Bucciarati might even return his feelings.
However, as time went on, Abbacchio's observant eyes couldn't help but find his journey back to health to be... different than expected. He scowled into the mirror once again, turning to the side to look at his stomach and hips in profile. One of the first things he had committed to upon proclaiming he would become the best officer Naples had ever seen was getting in shape, a process that left a teenage Leone beaming with pride at the muscular taper where his broad torso met his trim hips.
Now, on the same grind, all he could see was an ever-so-softer indent at the waist, a hint of mass filling out his hips and buttocks in a way that looked downright... womanly.
Scowling further, he turned back to face the mirror head-on, and hesitantly reached up to his chest. Pectorals that were once as defined and perky as they could be were now.... Certainly still perky, but in a different way. Burgeoning breasts that had never been there before, and unlike with his hips or waistline, their muted soreness was impossible to ignore.
Must be a product of getting older, he thought dryly. He was no stranger to the fact that he was the oldest on the team; the younger boys would never let him forget it. He also wasn't surprised if this was his past poor decisions catching up to him in ways that might compromise his health.
The part that unsettled Abbacchio the most, though, was that he physically felt better than he ever had before. If the cigarettes or booze were to catch up with him, it wasn't happening now. Yet still, his physique hadn't returned to his carabinieri days, instead having become softer and fuller than it previously had ever been.
The euphoria of such a body left Leone reeling, unsure what to do with that information.
Some nagging part in the back of his mind was suspicious. The same nagging part linked it all to Bucciarati.
And with that, he spit into the sink gruffly, and stomped out of the bathroom. Squashing that thought before it could hatch.
"Drink your second crema di caffè, Abbacchio. You'll need it."
Bucciarati breezed past after patting the older stand user on the shoulder, a reassuring gesture that could get Abbacchio to do damn near anything for him. But as he took a sip of the rich beverage set before him, he realized no one else had been served an additional drink.
Now, if one thing was for certain about their captain, it was that he wasn't stingy about meals. Every single one of his men could order as much food as they wanted, whether it be from the casual seating of Libeccios, or straight-up raiding Bruno's entire fridge back at home.
Key difference, Abbacchio duly noted, was that while the rest of them had as much as they wanted, only Leone was urged to peck at an additional pastry or cream-laden beverage, all at Bruno's behest.
He looked down into the petite mug, nearly emptied down his throat in a few gulps, and then down further at the plunging 'V' of his coat. The shape of Leone's bust now impossible to ignore, corset lacing stretching under the newfound pressure.
The realization hit Abbacchio so fully and suddenly that he stood up with a clamor, trudging down the hallway with his coat billowing behind before the other teammates, strewn lazily about Bucciarati's living quarters, could even have a chance to react.
Without so much as a knock, Leone burst into Bucciarati's office, the leader's eyes widening as his subordinate huffed over to slam his fists down on the desk.
"What did you do to me," Abbacchio began, voice hoarse from the milky coffee he had just finished.
Bruno's initial shock settled into something approximate to annoyance. "I beg your pardon?"
"You put something in my drink that made me," He motions up and down, before slamming the hand right back onto the desktop, "Like this."
"And, if I did?"
The answer makes Abbacchio hear nothing but white noise for a moment. Bruno stared at him with the same patient expectance that he faces the team with when they give a mission debrief.
"You... Really d-did?" The taller stand user falters, silver hair slipping down to obscure a stricken face.
"Let's say I did put something in your drink. Although, it would be much more effective if I just used Sticky Fingers and delivered it directly into your bloodstream. Regardless, what then?" Bucciarati stood up from the desk, coming around the side of it with such casual finesse before standing right in front of Abbacchio, arms crossed over his chest in a way that emphasizes the lacy embroidery around it.
One sun-kissed hand extended to stroke Leone's own, and ultramarine eyes looked up into golden ones.
"Besides, both of us seem pleased with the results." The edges of Bruno's lips curl up then, an expression that tears Abbacchio's heart asunder, conflicted feelings of panic and bliss overtaking it.
"Why would you..." The words hang on painted lips, an unprecedented level of vulnerability allowing Bucciarati to reach up and run his fingers through long, platinum tresses.
"Would you like me to stop, and leave you to your own devices and misery again?" A genuine wash of guilt and regret tinted his leader's eyes, the kind of expression that reminds Leone once more that, even in moments of complete mastery over a situation, Bruno was still a human being, not a saint.
"I only would do something like that with your best interest in mind, Leone. You do trust me, don't you?" Bruno's voice is a whisper, leaning impossibly close to speak it directly into the taller's ear.
Abbacchio realizes, then, that maybe this is the best way for both of them to cope. It certainly feels better than being unfulfilled and starving. Perhaps something even closer to true self-fulfillment.
"... Of course I do." That nagging part in the back of his mind is screaming at the alarms being set off, but Leone Abbacchio is too far gone in giving his whole self to the svelte, bobbed figure before him to care.
An even smaller part of his soul says that this is catharsis for Bruno in its own way too, and the nagging shuts up.
Bruno blinks, and a calming smile erases any remnant of doubt on his face. "I'm so glad you agree. Now that we've gotten that cleared up, you have nothing to worry about, Abbacchio."
The clearance of concern utterly silences the older stand user's brain, leaving only dreamy visions of a future painted ermine and azure. Abbacchio can't help but shakily reach his-no, her?- arms around the smaller, gasping out a simple, "Thank you..."
Bucciarati returns the embrace with a giggle.
"No, thank you, Leone. I'll follow suit, soon enough."