❛ Buccellati, can you get me a knife? ❜ It would have taken a second to decode what had been asked. And a mere glance at the man who just spoke would certainly be enough to understand why the man’s voice came out so slurred and gruff.
There sat Abbacchio: face supported by a fist against his cheek, sporting bags under violet, narrowed eyes and makeup shy of a bit less meticulously put than usually. On the table in front of him were an empty plate, cheese and a bottle of alcohol… hard to tell which kind, but by the telltale black spot at the top, it was safe to say Leone had been nursing on it for some time.
———HE HADN’T EXACTLY SLEPT WELL. of course, it was not that he hadn’t tried to. the work to be done seemed to only accumulate, preparation and time utilization only a meager solution to a larger problem. he hadn’t slept well at all.
entering the common area, buccellati intended only to sate his sleepless wanderlust. early morning still looked like night. bare feet on cold tile stopped just shy of the doorway, eyes coming upon the other. it had been some time since he’d seen the man in such a state. plucking a dull blade from the rack, he approached from across the table.
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