brupro

[brupro]

Fugo Joins the Gang

Word count: 1,521

Summary: set sometime in 1999. Bruno recruits a 14 year old Fugo & Prosciutto is not impressed. CW for light violence -? (There's some grabbing and shoving)

“Prosh? We're back,” Bucciarati called as he unlocked the door to the shared apartment. He didn't always call to his boyfriend when he came home, the two usually went about their independent days alongside each other; but Bucciarati brought company today.

“We?” Prosciutto’s voice came from the kitchen, followed by the sound of his coffee mug clinking against the table. “Who do you have with you?”

Bucciarati hung his coat by the door, then nodded for the boy beside him to do the same. He politely shook his head, and Bucciarati simply led him through the doorway where Prosciutto was now waiting.

The blonde man sitting at the table sat up straight in his seat as they entered. His expression soured slightly — hardly noticeable, unless one was looking — as his eyes raked over the boy's face and frame. He was kind of short, and very scrawny, and blonde. Most importantly, though, the person Bucciarati had brought into their apartment was a child. There were no two ways about it.

The boy didn't introduce himself, so Bucciarati spoke up.

“This is Pannacotta Fugo. He's going to be working with me now, so I... I told him he could stay with us for a bit,” he said plainly, stepping aside so Fugo could step into the kitchen properly.

Fugo stuck out his hand to shake, but the blonde man wasn't even looking at him. He kept his cold eyes on Bucciarati as his face cycled through every flavor of disappointment Fugo had ever seen.

“It really is lovely to meet you,” Prosciutto said, and his tone was a little too sweet for the face he was trying so hard not to make. It was almost patronizing. “Pannacotta? That's a beautiful name. I have to talk to Bucciarati in the other room for a minute, we'll be right back.”

He didn't give Fugo any time to answer before he was dragging Bucciarati away by the elbow. Bucciarati shoved him away after two feet, but still went along. Their heels clicked in time out of the kitchen and faded down the hallway.

Fugo just sighed and sat on the counter. No matter where he was, his appearance always seemed so controversial. Maybe Bucciarati's friend here heard about the court case. Maybe he caught wind of this purple thing Fugo was stuck with now. That same thing manifested in the kitchen with him, like it was trying to keep him company. He didn't send it away.

Prosciutto caught Bruno’s arm again as they turned into the bedroom and kicked the door closed behind him. Bruno frowned and tried to pull free, but Prosciutto was still holding on tight. He narrowed his eyes at Bruno, glare deadly serious. Bruno quit struggling.

“Are you fucking joking? Bringing him around here like that?” Prosciutto said in a harsh whisper. Bruno’s eyebrows knitted together in a look of confusion, but he didn’t respond immediately. Prosciutto’s face fell for just a second as he realized that maybe Bucciarati didn’t see the issue here. He spoke more softly, but still held the other man in place. “Bru, he’s a kid. He shouldn’t be here.”

Bucciarati swallowed thickly, but he kept that same look of steel. He was used to gangsters getting in his face. This wasn’t that different. He finally managed to pull his arm free with a grunt.

“He’s a college student,” Bucciarati said plainly. “Pre-law. He’s educated, and very articulate, and he—”

“How old is he?”

A pause.

“I said, how old?”

“Fourteen.”

“Bruno...” Prosciutto sighed. Bruno’s expression never changed, never wavered. His blue eyes held that same ice.

Prosciutto hated it.

He hated that Bruno knew just how to get under his skin. He hated that he acted so well as a brick wall. He absolutely hated when Bruno refused to see he was wrong. Another moment of silence passed between them before he grabbed him by the sleeve again. “Send him home, Bru.”

“What home?” Bruno snapped. “He’s living in the streets and starving. Is that the kind of thing you want me to send him ‘home’ to? Am I supposed to just leave him in the same gutter I found him in?” His voice shook, but Prosciutto couldn’t tell if it was anger or he was about to burst into tears.

“You didn’t have to take him in. You aren’t a nun, Bucciarati, it isn’t your job,” he said sternly. “You can’t keep him like he’s some kind of pet—”

“He isn’t a pet.” Bruno scowled. “And this isn’t some sort of charity. Don’t be so ridiculous. He’s smart, he’s well spoken, he’s passed Polpo’s test...”

“He’s a kid.” Prosciutto was very firm in his stance.

“He's staying here, Prosh. I'm not throwing him back out like that. He needs food, he- he needs something. Our couch is a hell of a lot better than some disgusting alleyway.”

“You're trying to keep him safe or something?” Prosciutto scoffed. “How long until that kid has a gun pointed in his face? Or worse? You can't actually think this was ever a good idea.”

“I was his age when I first joined Passione. Younger, even. He isn’t incapable.”

“So shouldn’t you know better than anyone?” He caught Bruno in a harsh stare, and a heavy silence fell over them. It was as if all of the air in the world stopped moving. “Shouldn’t you know how badly this fucks a kid like that up?”

Bruno said nothing. Their blue eyes stayed locked in an icy gaze, like if one of them backed down even a little, the other's look would swallow him whole. He pulled his arm free once again and something in his expression broke. Anger oozed through the cracks in his cool until it had soaked his whole face.

“Get out,” he demanded after a few tense minutes. Prosciutto stayed staring. “Did that sound like a joke? Get the hell out of my apartment before you’re leaving in an ambulance.” He reached around the blonde to open the door for him, and was hastily pushing him through almost immediately. Prosciutto grunted as he was led out.

“Alright, I get it. You don’t have to put your hands on me.”

“Just shut up,” Bruno muttered. “This is fucking ridiculous, I’m not being spoken to like that in my own home.”

Fugo heard the heels clicking back toward him, then past him and he looked up to see the blonde man grabbing his coat. He looked into the kitchen and gave another one of those disgustingly sweet fake smiles. It made Fugo want to turn in on himself until he disappeared. Prosciutto didn't seem to pick up on this, or if he did, he didn't really care.

“Sorry about that. We’ll have to meet some other time.”

“Mmh,” Fugo grunted quietly. Bruno started counting down from five, and Prosciutto was gone. The apartment didn’t feel any lighter.

Bruno sighed as the door finally closed, and leaned against it for a good minute. It was only after he calmed down that he remembered Fugo still all alone in the kitchen.

He came back into the room as Fugo pulled that wretched thing back inside of him. Bruno didn't speak just yet, only came to sit beside Fugo on the counter. He sighed.

A beat passed, and Fugo worked up the nerve to ask, “Did he leave because of me?” Bruno's face softened immediately as he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder.

“No, no he didn't. He left because he's a—”

“I heard you arguing,” Fugo said flatly. “He's angry that you brought me home.”

This made Bruno pause. What Fugo said was right, but it wasn't his fault Prosciutto left. Bruno did kick him out, after all. He bit his lip.

“Well, yes, but he's angry with me, not with you. Prosciutto is very... rigid, though I have no doubts he'll come around to you. As long as he can stay around long enough to know you...” He muttered the last part to himself, mostly. Fugo nodded, swung his feet where he sat. They were quiet for another minute.

“Isn't... well, doesn't he live here too?” Fugo asked. Bruno chuckled, but he didn't sound very amused. He closed his eyes.

“Yeah, he does... I wouldn't worry about him, though. I'm sure he's got more than enough places to spend the night.” Fugo nodded again.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be!” Bruno said quickly. “It isn't your fault. It's his. Or mine. I don't know,” he admitted. “But it's nothing you did, I can promise that. I can tell you're going to be a very important addition to our team. I meant it when I said that.”

Fugo went quiet again, so Bruno slid off the counter to face him. He wasn't really sure what to do now; this meeting was less than ideal, but he still wanted Fugo to feel comfortable, especially after what he'd been through.

“I'll go get the extra blankets,” Bruno said as he turned to leave. “You, uh... you come out of the kitchen when you're ready, alright?” Fugo grunted in response, and Bruno was gone, too.