There is an unadulterated tension passing through Bruno's body as he paces outside of Abbacchio's apartment. Brain scrambling, whirling with thirty little essays he has prepared for himself, ready to switch scripts at a moment's notice.
"I love you, I have loved you for a long time."
"If it makes you uncomfortable, you can transfer. Nero has plenty of jobs without you know, the bloodwork."
"Sometimes when I go to sleep, I think about you and all my guilt washes away."
The man of the hour is, usually, not home at this hour. He goes running around the ocean-side, and there is a possibility of him stopping for a drink. Bruno himself would prefer to spend time in some local establishment, to calm his nerves a tad. But his mind needs the clarity and sharpness, or he will not live through this mess - the mess being his burning feelings, Leone's golden eyes, the fervent pulsing of his heartbeat.
Dad's probably looking down from heaven and shaking his head at the lack of flowers. As if this wasn't a decision of the moment when he was sulking in his apartment, realization dawning on him that he can not exist like this anymore. Acting like he is not in love after spending two years of his youth fretting about this. Dodging any other men he fell for, because it was too dangerous in their occupation (as if everything wasn't too dangerous in their occupation).
Fine, so there was a drop of wine involved, enough that it made him bold and his tongue lighter; not enough to squash down on the anxiety and dull his senses. Besides, Abbacchio deserves better than a drunken outpour of feelings and emotions spat out all over him - he deserves more than Bruno could ever give him.
A loud bang, and a noise of a glass breaking from the inside of the apartment cuts his panic short. Bruno's senses enter into overdrive, his survival training paid for in blood taking over the rational mind. A robber?
Sticky Fingers unzips the door in two, and Bruno steps in without hesitation. Hopefully not a Stand User, but even that will not stop him from exacting painful justice on someone trespassing on Abbacchio's space, possibly planning harm. With another flourish of its arms, his Stand unzips the walls to survey and also get a drop on the intruder.
His eyes instead lock with a familiar violet gaze. Abbacchio stares at him from over the table, dumbfounded, on edge, Moody Blues partially manifested behind him. The iron taste of blood and overwhelming tinge of alcohol alarm Bruno, even more than the man's presence. Abbacchio's left hand presses against his neck, coated in black and crimson, holding on a nasty gash.
(The fight today - He knew. He knew he should not have let him go after that scuffle with hostile Stand users today so easily, should have inspected him. But in the moment there was a second of hesitation, and Abbacchio slipped away while he was counting the counterfeit bills with Mista. He just assumed he was alright, like a failure of a leader.)
"Bucciarati...?" is the only thing the other man stammers out upon seeing his boss, eyes widening. Already running on adrenaline of a potential fight, Bruno does not stop even for a moment, descending on Abbacchio's position to take a closer look, furious, worried. He takes out his handkerchief, and tries to at least wipe the blood off - Abbacchio's hand shoots up to meet his, Moody Blues fully manifesting on his side. There is a strange glint in his eyes, a watery sheet, but murderous intent and suspicion shine through.
Oh, right. He was technically trespassing out of blue, even if he thought it justified. That was secondary, tertiary even. His tongue makes up a lie as easily as it would manifest his Stand.
"I needed to talk to you about replaying a certain event - I heard a crash in your room and panicked a slight. Nerves still on the run from the hit today - that looks positively awful, why didn't you ask us to clean it up for you?"
That should do it - it makes Abbacchio at least call off Moody Blues, let go off his hand. The cut is largely superficial, but the care taken is sloppy. Bruno searches the table, strewn with content of a first aid kit, for proper alcohol, finds none and frowns at his underling. Broken glass shines on the floor around them (explaining the noise, and the alcohol stench twofold), and Abbacchio looks sheepish at the unspoken question. Small guilt which soons transforms into fury - which hides something else in turn, although it's shapes are not so obvious for Bruno to detect.
"Yeh, cause it was just a small thing. No need to whip yourself into a frenzy over me, Bucciarati." He stands - tries to, anyway, before collapsing back and Bruno clings to him, making sure he does not keel over. There is droopiness to his form, dizziness, that seems out of place even if his blood loss was significant. Abbacchio defensively tries to push him away and Bruno relents. He's not here to make a mess of things.
Or, more accurately, he is. But not like this, not in this way.
"It's my job to fret." Abbacchio sneers at that.
"No, your job is to tell us to tough it up and worry about Polpo breathing your back for three fucking seconds. Christ, you're going to kill me one day!"
How daring of him! Throwing this around like he was the one worrying about Bruno now ! He is the one refusing care when he is injured and -
Oh. He finally realizes what's wrong. His fingers seek out the forehead of his Soldato - Abbacchio permits it, not so keen to deny his superior when he has a dead serious and concentrated look, befitting the position of Capo .
The heat burns against Bruno's hand.
"You have a fever. The Stand..." he realizes. Now a lot of things start to make sense, and he feels a bit of shame for not recognizing it sooner. Narancia complained of a chilling cold… Hopefully he isn't affected as well. However Narancia lives with four other people
"Hot and Cold is now an entirely unfunny name for a Stand. Oh how I am splitting myself over laughing."
Bruno sighs, feeling like three degrees of fool all of sudden. With a careful movement, he herds Abbacchio back to his chair. It is almost comical considering the differences in their height and weight. Leone collapses like a sack of fish hitting the deck. If nothing else, then at least Sticky Fingers zips up the wound for the moment as Bruno gathers his tools.
"Oi. I'm good enough to check out whatever you need before the ibuprofen knocks me out." Ibuprofen and knocked out would not cut it out for Bruno, besides, there was a clear glint in Abbacchio's eyes now, an investigative hunger -
"It can wait. Your health is more important than the matter at hand." he asks, conceals - all for naught now Abbachio's curiosity is piqued, he knows.
"Well, with my outstanding luck, your little problem will resolve itself. No need for my offer" Abbacchio proclaims, content to let the issue slide for a moment, but only for a moment. It is a small blessing. He simply chuckles to himself, pride blossoming at figuring out a small mystery. It keeps him pacified, his sharp tongue at rest. Where does he get the energy to keep himself at his contrarian, grumpy self even with blood loss and the suddenly invoked illness... Bruno knows he will have to explain himself sooner or later. For now, he sighs and prepares the battle plan, lays out the material to have it at ready.
"Any other disinfectant in your house?"
"I have one for piercings in my bedroom." His bedroom. Really Bruno can not be blamed for acting like a lovestruck teenager, he had to be an iron-skinned and steel-hearted leader but it still does things to his heart. Even if he has visited Abbacchio's apartment plenty of times, to split earnings, make plans or simply hang out under pretense of "work", he has never stepped foot in his bedroom (albeit he fantasized). It makes his tongue dry, nags at him.
"I don't think Sticky Fingers will manage to find it itself," he manages. Abbacchio shrugs.
Moody Blues appears, heralded by the scratching tone that so accompanies it. Perfect in this situation, it is a bit longer ranged than Fingers. With a perfect predilection, it clicks and rewinds, bit slower than normal. Moody Blues is harder to control than a simple battle stand - it draws from a different well, different power, and it's always ready to dip into the past that hides behind the veil of the environment, thousands of seconds ready to be replayed at once. It requires a disciplined mind and tight focus. (From back when he just obtained it, when the arrow nicked his flesh, Bruno remembers gripping tight on Abbacchio's shoulder as it replayed his partner, his boss, the murderer, himself, over and over and over at that accursed place).
Bruno has always envied that Leone's stand was borne not out of killing and fighting like his own.
The alcohol is in his hands soon enough, presented mostly for piercings. Diligently, he wets the wipe that he suspects Abbacchio uses for makeup anyway, which would explain the tragic lack of them in the kit. With careful motion, much less stringent than his usual forceful openings of zippers, he removes it. If his hand seeks out the wrist of Abbacchio to comfort him...
"Did you get any new ones? Piercings?" he asks as he sets out to work, wiping the blood off, making sure there is not one spot open for microbes or parasites. Abbacchio takes it well, but occasionally, his wrist tenses against his fingers - he massages it, small pain, but pain nonetheless.
"Uh, yeah. Some more holes in the ears. Ris - Capo Nero is a miracle worker, barely even felt it. Been looking at some pieces, Narancia is too excited to go pick them up with me. Bastard wants to get some too - think I'm a bad influence on him, heh." It takes everything Bruno has in him not to smile, to pass over the fondness in other's voice and focus. When he is satisfied with his work, he sends Sticky Fingers to dispose of the material, as he prepares fresh gauze, and cuts himself a suitable piece of bandage. (If he thinks of Abbacchio with all of his piercings in place, well... he is not without his own sins is he?)
"We both are. I think he and Mista are looking after a nice tattoo studio."
"Oh wow, let me guess - a gun and a half-naked woman. Maybe a bullet if he is feeling adventurous." Leone quips, and that gets a small laugh. He's good at winning these out of Bruno. Something about perpetually complaining men has always drawn Bruno in. Was it because he always has to hide his own emotions, in this line of work? Perhaps. Most likely, he just enjoyed a good laugh when he could...and he would lie if he said Leone was not attractive when he was being smug.
"Any tattoo he chooses will have its meaning sooner or later. My first tattoo was also a bit silly but it outgrew from there." His first stab wound, scar turned into an anchor - first mark of job, first something. Later he added a veritable number of companions to it one after another, decorating his skin.
Sticky Fingers holds up Abbacchio's hair, causing a series of low murmurs too low for Bruno to distinguish, definitely veiled insults. He loathes people touching his hair and even Bruno has no immunity there (unlike Narancia who could do as he pleased, even style it). With a muttered apology he wraps the bandage round and round. Soon enough he ties the final knot, leaving Abbacchio's neck properly protected. With a satisfied sigh, he turns around to return all the remaining first aid kit material into the box while Abbacchio explores the bonding - his nail colour has just started to chip, Bruno observes from the corner of his eye.
"Now that's over and you are satisfied that I will not die from a tiny wound -" Abbacchio starts brash and ready, even with his head dipping down, as if heavy with his very thoughts. "Mind explaining what you're doing at my house? Gimme the truth this time."
"First you should get to bed and get some medicine, it's-" A vicious play of the wrist one above his own, grip strong despite the other's man weakness. Their arms are between them like swords met in combat. His foe's golden gaze too intense to match, but Bruno has always remained brave in the face of opponents who were above his station - even if this is one that always brought him to his knees.
His mouth is dry. So much of his careful speech gone to the wind - try as he might he can not will his brave gangster bravado to come forth, he can not, not for this and not now, where all he wants to do is push against the stupid insistence of the other man that he should not be cared for, that he should wallow in his misery.
"First, get to bed." he manages - Abbacchio quirks his eyebrow at the insistence.
"We're at stalemate then, cause I am not going till you fess up." Like a growl in all but sound. Calling to a mind a snarling wolf.
Bruno sighs and wipes his hair back. Nervousness has slicked his forehead in sweat.
"I am selfish." It comes tumbling out, tumbling out. And he can not - despite all his strength, all his will, all of his that which his position entails - say more. Like his lips have become sealed with wax. Abbacchio stares at him open-eyed, perhaps in shock, perhaps in pain perhaps in something entirely else that Bruno is too tired to analyse. Instead he just sits up and uses his upper body strength to hoist him up into his arms, ignoring the limbs flailing in defense. It is not a small feat, as, again Abbacchio is heavily muscled and taller than him, but it is not like Bruno is a little urchin. He counts on his muscles to manage to get to the bedroom and also hope that the fever kills physical opposition.
"You can't be serious! Bucciarati! I am not a small child!" Ah would it be able to stop the gnashing teeth and indignant yells.
"Then stop acting like one." Bruno snaps back. It earns him a morsel of quiet before he can venture into the bedroom, letting Sticky Fingers unzip the door so he does not have to let go and risk having the big bastard bring both of them down.
The bedroom. God, he did not want to enter it like this, but he is not letting Abbacchio pass out on his couch in this condition which he would do.
In rush to get rid of his load, he fails to take in the details of the room he enters - but for one, one small photo on the stand next to the relatively small bed - the team, his team, even Giorno smiling and he does not have time to hold on that, he can not but it pierces through his already damaged heart.
His mind's racing - put him in bed, get him some supplies and pills and then what? The Stand User was unconscious and its Stand's hold gone - safe to assume that it just activated some already rotting malady in Abbacchio and made it worse. By all counts he should be safe if he makes it through the pain of being in bed. Bruno... God he did not want to dash and run and then hope the man made it through alright. Even his deep feelings aside, how could he?
Abbacchio sinks into the mattress, letting out a deep sigh. His eyes are heavy-lidded and it seems he finally lets himself relax.
"I hope your back hurts." he says, still coloured bright red. That makes Bruno smirks.
"I am not used to carrying stubborn oxes, but I am no lily - where do you have the medicine?"
"In one of the cabinets here - hold up, I will get it myself." Understandable - Bruno does not wish to impose on his privacy that much. While Moody Blues sets itself to scouring what seems like Abbacchio's make-up stations, Sticky Fingers works on gathering water for the patient from next door's bathroom. Bruno has enough of recollection about it to automate the Stand's process.
It gives Bruno enough time to go through the details of the room. The picture, he already put into his heart the information about it being there, but beyond that it is a relatively normal room of a bachelor. Wall in deep shade of purple, new coat. Some pictures, gloomy autumn pieces or more abstract paintings. Old broken TV in the corner, phone tossed on a couch next to a leather jacket, small table with fashion and men's magazines. Coffee cup from morning still sits there - he recognises it immediately, the Groomit cup Mista Narancia and Fugo bought him as a joke.
The most noteworthy are two shelves with a variety of books, music CDs of various genres, and VHS tapes, official and recorded sitting there together with stickers half-hazardedly stuck on them. Some of the movies Bruno recognises - Abbacchio recommended them for the crew watch-along. In the dark lit cinema, not even Narancia strewing popcorn everywhere, or even the plot, could get Bruno's attention off Abbacchio, eyes shining, as he explained the details of the movies or their productions.
An enemy Stand could not make him look away.
When both water and medicine arrive, Bruno fiddles with his hands. He shall not leave, shall not leave Abbacchio in this condition even as his excuse is fiddling out - as the other gulps down the pill he stutters out:
"I will make you a tea - or coffee, any hot drink will do - do you have any?"
The gaze he gets is... curious. Frustration mars at Abbacchio's eyebrows, cripples his nose and yet he does not seem angry. Fond perhaps. Very, very tired. In the end, Bruno probably causes him more headache than his affliction - he does feel guilty about it. About the intrusion. About the stupid fucking around with feelings. About letting Abbacchio get hurt in the very first place.
"How could you ever think you are selfish?" Abbacchio says, and all air leaves Bruno's lungs, as if it was punched out, no, wrenched violently from him. He does not even have time to breathe in as Abbacchio turns to look at him, and were those tears from the fever or something else?
"You are the least fucking selfish person in this entire selfish fucking town. If anyone - if anyone in this goddamn fucking world cared, cared enough about you when you a kid were would be now the most beloved person in all of Naples - fuck it you already are. You are technically a criminal but everyone can see - whatever. Fuck it. My point is you are not fucking - just the thought of you saying that! Here you are, holding me like you want to help me, coming to my aid, looking after me, a worthless hopeless wretch like a fucking... giving your precious time to me like that, and you have the nerve to call yourself selfish!" Nails dig into Bruno's wrist, desperation, something unsaid - all and every word in response squashed by the outpour, which kicks all Bruno's nerves, senses into overdraw. Abbacchio continues, holding his gaze still.
"I am not are not hallucinating - I am lucid still. Bucciarati... What did you mean? Why did you think it selfish to come here? If you think you are merely using me as a tool then I will gladly be just that for you, my capo... my-!"
This finally shatters Bruno's dam of feelings, shakes him out of the reverie.
It makes him angry enough. Something about the thought turns his stomach. Brings forward the tough capo inside him, who makes him act on instinct in these dark streets.
"Enough! Do not dare to compare yourself to a mere tool! Call yourself worthless in front of me!" he yells, makes the golden of Abbacchio's eyes turn wide, makes him look vulnerable like he pierced him with a blow. Knowing that stubborness will set in soon and make him argue back, he strikes while he can. If Abbacchio can reveal his thoughts why can not he?
"I am selfish because I want you Leone! At my side, helping and advising me, cracking jokes and lightening up the mood, having my back in the fight - even like this, tired and cranky and extremely hard to converse with! Not a tool, not even a lowly wretch! Christ, is there even a word for it? You make this shit life of a criminal bearable!"
It's tiring but freeing, to put words to what he wanted. Nowhere in his theories, what-ifs that plagued him, could he imagine this, arguing with the man he loved about which one of them is technically worse, being looked at like that, something in-between Abbacchio's typical look of analysis and a deer in a headlight. It always dips straight into the weird for them; makes even a fucking confession a journey.
You could hear the breaths of the fly in the room, Abbacchio's hand still on him, himself looming over the bed like a specter. The most tense and anxious seconds of his goddamn life, which included highway robberies and fights for his life in an alley.
Finally, Bruno shakes out of it - he was the one who pushed it forward by even coming, so he gets to be an adult and deal with it, even if his heart can not take it.
"If that was too much... fuck, I should not have pried with you in this condition. I mean what I said - you are precious to me in this shit life, you, and the teens. Although with you it is different. What a shit time to come forward with this - I do not mean to stress you like this. If you want me to leave, I will do so but -" A sudden, surprising tug and he tipples forward, stops himself awkwardly so that he does not fall on the body beneath.
"Don't think of me as a fragile little thing just because of a shitty stand fuckery. You - you. Bucciarati - if you are not truly a hallucination?" As tough as Abbacchio sounds, there is a hesitation in his trembling voice. Asking if he was not real - well Bruno does not particularly care for himself to be real in this instant. He unzips the hand clutching him, as delicately as possible as he can, even if his zippers were never meant to be that. But it is him. Sticky Fingers is him in a way no Stand ability could replicate, proof of his identity. A faint breath of wonder can be heard as Abbacchio stares at the hand unraveling. Bruno takes care to hold it - he can feel the heat of its skin seeping into his, and he feels murderous intent for the foolish Stand User. But that can wait, and regardless Giorno had kicked him around enough - right now he focuses only on the man in front of him, who is looking at him like he is the eight wonder of the wonder, or even the very first and only.
"So you are not. I - What do I even say to that? What I said before, it had nothing. Nothing to do with our criminal life, nothing with you being my superior, I -" He is silent for a bit. His thoughts are running - Bruno redistributes his weight on the bed, which creaks under their combined weight.
Their hands interlink. Neither of them notice or care enough to notice. Physicality does not matter and yet it encompasses them.
"Fucking hell. I want to - how can you just say I make your life better? That is impossible, I could never - How? How is this fucking real, Buccierati? Nothing in my life has ever worked out and yet -"
"If you do not want to say anything that is alright - no need to force the words out. Just tell me what to do here, stay or leave - ?"
"You are not leaving after that." Abbacchio barks out then softens his expression. Continues, "You are the man who saved my life, who got me this shitty stand, a man by whose side I feel the most safest and peaceful I have felt my entire life, a man who breaks into people's houses and then cares for them like a fucking nurse - It was impossible not to fall in love. I am just a one shitty man and you are ... Bucciarati. My Bucciarati."
Love.
Did the Stand affect him too? Did it make him feverish, lightheaded? Now it is his turn to stare wide-eyed as Abbacchio's whole face turns even more crimson than before, more crimson than even a fever should make possible. He whips his head around to pointedly not look at Bruno who can, once again look at nothing but him.
"If it makes you uncomfortable - if my feelings of weakness turn your stomach or make you sick - then I can go, pretty sure Ri - Nero would love to have me, I am pretty decent at killing som-" Abbacchio stammers. In an act of rudeness Bruno quickly shuts him up by holding a hand up his mouth. It is inconsiderate and he regrets doing it instantly, but he will not let Abbacchio slip into his useless self-loathing spirals.
"I feel the same. God I feel the same, Leone. Can I call you that? Is that entirely too fast?"
He should untangle himself from the bed but even now he wants to hold Abbacchio, Leone. He should ask first, ask what is the boundary between them, soft and hard lines to be treated. His leg fits neatly across the other's man hips.
"It was - I think it's fine. Bruno. Bruno - Shit, maybe this stupid injury - maybe it was all for something. Can you? Fuck, if we both agree does that mean we can like, have something? Or do we just look at each other while yearning because our job is what it is?"
It takes Bruno just a second to think - cause the obstacle of "what if he does not want to try" did seem much more insourmable than "what about our life" while he was before it. But then again, he missed out on so much because of this miserable life that seemed his fate - he would break out in small ways in bigger ways, especially now, with as powerful of allies, with as wonderful of a team.
And if anyone tries to stand in his way he will show them, show them how brutal and strong he can be. They can be.
" I am not going to hold back just because of my position - Nero owns a gay bar and is dating almost all of his men - I am not letting that stop me. And we can define this after you rest up a bit - or more - but I want it to be something. You could never be anything less to me.
Leone is quiet, looking at him. In a moment of brashness, Bruno reaches out to grab onto his cheek, his face. It makes his head spin, the privilege of being able to do so. He thinks about kissing him but no, that was definitely too soon.
It also reminds me of just how heated up Leone is and how poor of a job he was doing keeping him well.
"So do you want the tea now or-?"
"Actually I - goddamn I am probably extremely gross and sweaty but , if you could. If you leave I think this will all feel like a fucking dream." Leone admits - his head is once again shifted to the window which means that he is embarrassed about the whole thing. Bruno finally lets himself smile and he leans in, fitting his head into the crevice of Leone's shoulder. His breath is rapid, if due to sudden contact or the condition Bruno can not tell. A hand reaches across him, pivoting him there.
It feels like he has always belonged so close to him.
He refuses to move, just like he was asked to in that quiet tone. He has Sticky Fingers prepare the tea ("Thank God, I do not take it with sugar" Leone quips as he takes the cup with its content half spilled out) and he has it zip them outta their clothing so they can lie more comfortably against each other.
Bruno brushes the long neck as the other man falls asleep. He feels more at peace than he has in a long time - with the thought he offers a quick prayer before his eyes flutter close and he himself loses himself in a dreamless