Si Dolce È'l Tormento | A BruAbba Story

Abbacchio

"That's an order?"

Abbacchio groaned aloud as he walked into the kitchen. Jesus Christ, had he really said that in front of him? Was that better or worse than refusing to tap out just to stay there on the floor pinned beneath him with Bucciarati smiling that smug smile at him?

Stop thinking about it, idiot!

As if there were any way he could stop thinking about that.

"Whoa, you alright?"

Mista – no, Trish, he reminded himself – was standing with the door to the refrigerator open, eying him with concern.

"Fine." Abbacchio sank onto one of the chairs at the island, wishing he could dissolve into a pool on the floor. "Know how to make a Pirlo?"

"Isn't 4:00 in the afternoon a little early for that?"

"Not today," Abbacchio muttered, knowing she would never give in. He ran a hand through his hair – his short hair – and let it stay there with his head tilted so he could see the mirror hanging in the front entryway. It didn't even feel right to see Bucciarati's blue eyes staring back at him. It had to be blasphemous for someone like him to be living in a body this beautiful.

The refrigerator door closed with a thunk. Trish's smug voice came from outside his field of view. "Guess this arrangement worked out pretty well for you, huh?"

Abbacchio tore his eyes away from the reflection. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Trish shrugged. "At least you don't have to worry that he'll notice you staring."

"What? I wasn't staring, it's just weird –"

"Uh huh."

"What, you think...?" Abbacchio raised an eyebrow, trying very hard to look cool and incredulous. "That's ridiculous."

Trish gave him a long, cool look, eyebrows raised.

"Fuck, is it that obvious?" Abbacchio buried his face in his hands, shutting out the problematic reality. "I need that drink..."

Trish sighed. "Don't worry. Everyone around here seems pretty dense in that department."

Abbacchio glanced up, hearing a story embedded in the words, but she had already turned away, filling two glasses at the sink. "So, how long has this been a thing?"

He let out a long sigh, like he could postpone saying it aloud. "Years. Probably since I met him." Trish set one of the glasses in front of him. "I mean, it's not like I'm going to do something stupid. I don't expect him to feel the same way."

"What? Why?"

Abbacchio frowned at her. "Why would he?"

Trish's gaze fell to the glass in her hands and stayed there for a long moment. "You'd beat someone up if they talked like that about me, right?"

"Of course." Abbacchio straightened in his seat, eyebrows drawing together. "Who do I need to beat up?"

"No one, just don't say shit like that, ok?"

Abbacchio could only blink at her. Trish sighed, excusing herself for a task he only half heard, and left him sitting at the island with his glass of water, lost in thought.

Well that ended up a little shorter than I thought, but I love writing the father-daughter relationship w Abbacchio and Trish <3 which there will definitely be more of.

 - Wesley H.