doreimi | IC Inbox | prismatica

You don't have to. Not tonight.

[She sinks down a little, resting her head against his own as she remembers, suddenly, those first few months in the alley, when the separation and the sadness was still so raw and fresh.]

You can't cry forever, yeah. That's true, that's just how it is. But tonight you can, and you don't have to do or be anything other than how you feel.

[She runs her nails lightly against his spine, soothing.]

I'm taking care of it tonight, okay? I'll take care of you. Arnold and I aren't going to go anywhere.

[At the sound of his name, Arnold comes trotting over from where he'd gone into the kitchen to supervise Moody Blues, and whuffles softly as he noses his big velvet nose against Abbacchio's leg.]

[Numbly, he nods to Reimi, because he doesn't have anything left in him but self-deprecation and grief. Abbacchio takes Reimi's hand and gently squeezes once before he lets go, not for lack of wanting her near but because he suddenly just feels sapped of strength, despite the moonlacing.]

Thanks. Both of you.

[She's so strong, he thinks. Of course he needs her. He feels guilty for it, of course, relying so hard on her right now. But then, he likes to think he'd do the same for her, however she needed him.

He reaches out, petting Arnold's soft, warm head.] Hey, boy. You taking care of Reimi?

[Pleased at the attention, Arnold boofs in what is probably the affirmative, sitting patiently to accept all of the pets he's being offered. His tail thumps against the carpet, or at least it tries to thump as best it can; he sort of sat on it when he plopped down, and now it's trapped beneath him and he hasn't quite figured that out yet.

But Arnold makes for a good distraction, Reimi thinks, and that's her cue to slip surreptitiously out of his lap and start setting about actually caring for him, now that some of the desperation toward addiction seems to have abated. Moody Blues brought over the tea, good boy that he is, so she starts by fixing a cup and leaving it carefully in the exact same place the wineglass had been, before retrieving that and the bottle to clear them away into the kitchen.]

Arnold's been having the time of his life lately. We go to the groves sometimes so he can run around, you know? He hasn't run so far in years! I think he's kind of excited about eating again, too. We didn't have to back home, obviously, but now he gets to have food again and he loves it. He's going to get fat if I'm not careful!

[This time when she returns, it's with a damp washcloth, which she brings over and offers quietly to him.]

Here. So you can wipe off your face...you'll feel better doing it, trust me.

Yeah, boy. You can't just eat everything or you're gonna be a fatty.

[The tone lacks his usual teasing. It's quiet, going through the motions, but it's at least familiar. His hands pet down Arnold's face, then scratches him on the chest. Good fluffy boy.

He looks up at the warm, damp washcloth, which he accepts and slowly wipes off his eyes and face.]

Thank you, Reimi.

[It's good that the wine's gone. It's a good thing, but it still feels like a kick in the teeth to see it go. It's tempting to just go after it, but he just watches her take it away before he's slowly going for the tea.

It'll have to do.]

[He's drinking the tea, and that's a start, at least. It's no substitute for the wine he wants, she knows, but at least it'll fill in the same mouth-reflex, the experience of drinking in the first place. It's something, even if it isn't much. He looks a little better with his face clean, too, even if the loss of the makeup leaves him looking even more washed-out and gaunt than before.

But she looks him over, and a thought occurs to her, and before she can talk herself out of it she steps around behind the couch, thinking of all the times he's ruffled her hair and bumped her head when she was upset, and drawing encouragement from that as she comes to stand behind him.]

You know what's funny? He knows the way to the hot dog stand by now. He'll try and lead me over there when we go out because he thinks he'll get one.

[As she talks, she reaches for his hair, carefully gathering it back off his face and smoothing it loosely away. Once it's all behind his shoulders, it's quick work to split it into three sections and start working it into a loose braid.]

I'm not really one to talk, though, about eating everything. There's a lot of food here that I've never tried! I keep going to new places and trying things out, and it all tastes so good, it's a lot of fun.

[It's weird. He can't remember anyone ever doing this for him, but then he didn't start growing out his hair until after he was kicked off of the force anyway. Tiredly, he wonders if Florentino would've liked it. He probably would have smiled, called him bold. God, no, he shouldn't think of him either, that's almost as bad as missing Bruno.

But Reimi is here, real, separating his hair, ready to make a plait. And it's nice, actually. Really soothing. He lets her.]

You ever have a tiramisu?

It's not that tough to make. But if you like coffee and cake, you'd enjoy it.

[And hell knows he's been cooking a shitload lately anyway.]

I wasn't old enough to have coffee — you know, back then. My parents said it'd stunt my growth, or something like that. I liked the smell of it, though; Dad and Mom always had a cup together in the mornings before work. And I like cake.

[End over end, she starts braiding his hair together, practiced movements of the wrist that leave it loose and soft while still being secure, rather than tightly-bound knotwork.]

You want to teach me how to make one? I think that'd be fun. And then maybe we could eat some together...

I'm kind of a shitty teacher. Unless, apparently, there are drawings of dicks involved.

[Hesitantly, he glances over his shoulder at her.]

But yeah. I can do that. I think you'd like it. It's mostly just really sweet, honestly.

I have an idea. Let's make two things — your tiramisu and my...something. Maybe melonpan, have you ever had that? Or lemon squares, I like those, too.

[She finishes off his braid, tying it neatly at the bottom to secure it, and then steps back around the couch to settle in next to him, crouched on the floor near the cushion where he's sitting.]

We'll both learn something. How about that?

I have no idea what the hell melonpan is. But yeah, I know lemon squares. Kinda like 'em.

[It was nice, letting her play with his hair, braiding it. He thinks he'd let her do it again.]

...Yeah. It's probably better if I stay occupied, huh?

I... thank you, Reimi. You know-- I'd come for you too. Right?

...It is, yeah. 'Cause it's going to hurt for a while. Maybe a long while.

[She reaches for his hand, but just rests hers over his instead of trying to hold it — steadying, comforting, but without trapping him or imposing that implicit obligation to thread his fingers through hers.]

But I promise I'm not going to leave you alone. So...it's okay to be sad, okay? You can let yourself be sad. I won't let it weigh you down so much that you get stuck. I'll pull you back out again. Okay?

[But she ducks her head at that last bit, hiding an almost bashful smile.]

'Course I do. I know I can always count on you.

[When her hand touches his, Abbacchio is turning his own around to hold on. Not too tight, but just feeling her near does help.]

...I don't want to fuck it up again. Letting myself go down that hole, you know. I mean, I probably still will, but I want... to do better.

[He looks at her, and despite how shitty he's feeling he offers a little smile.]

Good.

[It's times like these he wishes he could emphasize better just how much she means to him. How much he considers her such an important friend. But maybe the actions will be enough to communicate that.]

Just because I feel like shit doesn't mean I wanna stop being whatever you need, too.

I think wanting it is the first step toward making sure it doesn't happen again. And you already did so much tonight, you know? You called. You could've let yourself fall down the hole and you didn't. You held on just enough.

[She sneaks up, darting up just long enough to press a kiss to his cheek.]

I'll try to stay out of trouble until you're feeling a little better. But then I'll go right back to getting into all sorts of trouble, and expecting you to come be my knight in shining armor. Okay?

[The affectionate peck is nice, and he smiles a bit down at her. Honestly, he doesn't feel like he did much, but then it helped knowing that she was coming. That he wouldn't be alone in this.]

Knight in rusty armor, maybe. But yeah, if you need me to.

And I guess-- I'm not sure how the others are gonna handle it.

[Giorno always acts like he knows what he's doing but he's still just a fucking kid and he probably blames himself for Bruno and everyone else who died. Narancia looks at Bruno like a goddamn saint, and Mista--

Ah, shit, is Mista going to lose his mind because it's literally four of them now? Cripes.]

Ugh, I'm gonna have to be the adult.

Mmm, probably. But you don't have to take care of them at your own expense. They're tough guys! I guess just...don't worry about it too much, until it happens. Because you never know what might happen. Maybe it'll be better than you think.

[It probably won't, but it's not her job to be a Debbie Downer right now. Just the opposite, actually.]

Do any of them know, besides you?

Sure, but they're also a bunch of idiots.

[his bunch of idiots!]

Yeah. Narancia's the one that was messaging everyone. ...Shit. And I'm pretty sure Narancia was living with Bucciarati.

[He'll have to tackle that problem somehow. Narancia shouldn't be living alone. Hell, Giorno and Mista live with each other. Abbacchio was the only one who chose to be alone.]

Then that's where you should start. Just a little bit of being the adult.

[Baby steps into being an adult is probably an oxymoron somehow.]

Do you want to try to find him right now, or in the morning?

Nah. The morning. I think we all need time to process, and the others can relate to him better.

Besides, I don't want him to feel like he can't rely on me right now. And I'm kind of a fucking mess.

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