[Bruno turns a little to dip his fingers into the ocean water. It feels cold. Not cold enough to hurt, but still a sharp contrast to the air above water. He wiggles his fingers slowly in the water.]
I think you're biased from how much time you spend around Kakyoin.
[In contrast, Polnareff tugs a knee up to his chest. The other leg stays in the water, trailing there idly. He rests his chin on his knee, watching Bruno carefully.]
Nah. Jotaro grins, and Giorno sighs, and Fugo-- actually, no, he laughs too. But you really appreciate them.
[They're veering into uncertain territory now, and his breath is coming a little shorter. This is stupid to do on a boat, maybe, but he's not about to veer off the subject.]
[Bruno's fingers still in the water because a jolt runs through him, but it's not a pleasant thing in the least.]
Polnareff, don't— [He cuts himself off because he'd never meant to be so abrupt, but impulse took over. Bruno knows that he's smarter than that. Able to be far more gentle and kind than that even when having to do something like this. But he can't take it back, so he doesn't bother trying. He only firmly follows up with,] Wherever you're intending for this conversation to go. Whatever you mean to say. Don't.
What had he said to Jotaro? Here we are, he'd typed, and I have been rejected before. He'd been so careless about it, certain in the knowledge he wouldn't be rejected, smug in the assurances of Giorno and Jotaro's teasing, absolutely sure that this would end in--
God, but he's an idiot. Because here they are, right, and he's Polnareff once again. God, no wonder Bruno had suddenly gone quiet. He'd been staring at him like a fool; of course he'd taken a few mental steps back.
His ears have gone red. He presses his lips tightly together, biting back the hurt few words that want to escape. He's already humiliated himself enough over the past few minutes; he's not about to do it further.]
All right.
[Fine. This is fine. Heartache fades; he's gotten over feelings like this before. God, but he'd gone and told everyone, he'd been so fucking excited and now they're all going to look at him expectantly, they're all going to have the same damn reaction--]
But that doesn't mean you're getting out of building a second boat with me.
[It's not a joke, really. It's a vaguely said thing as he stares out at the horizon, and what it truly means is: are we still friends?]
[Bruno swallows thickly and he is looking at Polnareff at least a little — he won't be a coward and avoid looking at him altogether — but otherwise he remains still. Still and quiet because this feels like shit. He knows, he knows, that he's making the right choice right now. He hates sitting beside someone obviously in pain and doing nothing to alleviate it when there's something that he could do. Especially when it is the result of something that he's done that's caught someone undeserving. But his hands are tied because he knows that temporary relief will do more harm in the long run.]
[Besides, if he were to do that, it would be for his sake — deep down it would be — and not for Polnareff, and that would be the wrong reason. He has to sit with this and deal with the consequences, and he can only hope that Polnareff will bounce back quickly.]
[He pulls his hand back out of the water and draws a few slow breaths as he looks out over the water. He focuses on the briny smell of the ocean air, the way the sunlight dapples on the surface of the water, dancing along the waves, and the heat that's slowly but surely drying his hand. His fingers curl loosely along the side of the boat.]
You had enough names for what? [He glances over at Polnareff so quickly that he's barely more than a vague, blurry shape of arranged colors.] Six boats?
[Is that a good sign or bad, that speed? He doesn't trust himself anymore, but he's not about to lie.]
Yeah. Just about.
[But I could come up with more, he thinks, if that's what it takes. He doesn't get Bruno as a lover and that's all right, but he's going to be really pissed if he loses him a friend because of this.]
I mean, none of them are ever going to be as good at the Codfather, but I think the Titanic Two deserves her time in the sun.
[Bruno's being careful now. Polnareff is talking fairly smooth, and it leads him to believe that they'll recover from this. And he's happy about that because as much as he thinks what Polnareff was about to say was a bad idea, as much as he knows they need to scale things back at the very least until they can figure things out, that doesn't mean he hasn't enjoyed his time with Polnareff or that he values his friendship any less. Certainly not so little that he'd be comfortable with willingly letting it go entirely.]
[He lets his fingers skate the surface of the water briefly again.]
[Despite the ache in the center of his chest, he laughs. Not loudly, just a breath of a thing, but it's a laugh, and with it comes hope. If Bruno can joke-- carefully, yeah, but it's a joke nonetheless-- then maybe they can work this out. It'll take time for him to get over his hurt and his desire, but they can learn how to make this friendship work again. That's all he really wants.]
That was a good one.
[He admits it with half a smile and leans back, lying flat on his back.]
We can paint that one gold. All gold, blue trim. After that, we'll see what colors Giorno wants. Kakyoin'd be all about cherries, and Jotaro just likes the ocean no matter what.
[Bruno continues flexing his fingers, letting them dip beneath the surface of the water in an idle motion. His lips quirk into a brief flicker of a smile that he can feel enough to let it happen, though he still largely feels numb all over.]
Jotaro would probably be happy with fish on his. Or a reef of some kind.
[Maybe this is how it will go: quiet jokes, their words not quite as teasing or comfortable as they were before, until they find a new rhythm. It's not so bad, though Polnareff's smile has faded again.]
I could do fish. I could paint Aquamentus for him, I like that fish. And his otter. And our last boat, I'll do all the house pets. Ridley and Aquamentus and Jolie and all of them.
[A pause.]
Fugo needs one. I mean, he doesn't need one, but we might as well have the complete set. You too.
I'm not sure Fugo would have the patience for a pet.
[Which isn't something that Bruno says with any sort of judgment, simply honesty. Fugo worries about enough as it is. Having something to look after, most likely also to train, probably wouldn't do him any good. At least not right now. Maybe if he's had more time to settle and had a chance to warm up to the idea. But Bruno doesn't contemplate any of that out loud, looking down at his fingers as they dip into the water again.]
[The water really is nice. Cold, but not icy; when it gets hotter, maybe he'll slip in. Then again, maybe not; it's not the best thing in the world, throwing off your shirt after you've been rejected, even if it's just to swim.]
Just get ready around my birthday to start sneaking into a piano store and zippering one away. I could steal it manually, but I'm going to enlist you. Maybe Giorno too, it might be a three-man operation.
[He's starting to get some of the familiar cadence back, but there's a flat beat there he can't help.]
[Bruno hums in light amusement, but it's nowhere really near a laugh. He takes his fingers back completely out of the water again, drying them on his pant leg.]
You'd have to probably explicitly tell Giorno to stay home if it's a gift for Fugo.
You'd think that, but he wants to wait until Fugo tells him that he likes to play piano.
[A beat, and he doesn't sit up as he adds:]
I'm not going to suddenly try and kiss you if you laugh at a joke, you know. I mean, I get it, you aren't into me, but that doesn't mean you have to pretend you don't find me funny.
[It's a little sharper than he means it to be, but it's not truly angry.]
[It's sharp enough to sting and Bruno abruptly lifts his gaze from the water to Polnareff. He starts to open his mouth to say... What? Bruno closes his mouth, jaw a little tight because he has no idea what to say. What he can say. Bruno runs his fingertips over the fabric of his pant leg on his thigh, feeling the difference between the slightly damp and completely dry sections. It seems better to just keep his mouth shut until he can figure that out, but it lends itself to an awkward and jagged silence that not even Bruno can tolerate.]
You're not being particularly funny right now. [It's the first time Bruno's sounded a little cold towards Polnareff. He purses his lips looking back at the water because that was unnecessary. Bruno didn't need to say that. (He stops moving his hand, bringing his slightly colder fingertips into a tight grip within his opposite hand, trying to warm them again. He'd forgotten how much he hates feeling cold.) Or at least Bruno didn't need to say it like that. So, he tries to smooth it over by clarifying, in a quieter voice.] I know you probably don't mean anything by it and I don't have the right to tell you what to do, but don't joke about that. Not right now.
[That would be a fair thing to ask, if Bruno had been the one rejected. But he's not, he's the one who regards Polnareff only as a friend, so Polnareff thinks he can damn well joke around with what he likes. It's him left in the dust, nursing a bruised ego and a sore heart; it's him who ought to get to deal with it in whatever way he wants.]
Why?
[It's a real question. Real enough that he sits up on his elbows, regarding Bruno as he stares down at nothing. His tone isn't as soft or sweet as it might have been-- there's an edge there, a mixture of anger and hurt that he's trying like hell to suppress-- but it's a real question.
It's the please that did it. He might have snapped otherwise, because how could Bruno ask him of anything after saying no? But please, and he's not about to ignore the guy when he says that.]
[Polnareff's anger and hurt are palpable. He knows that he's restraining it, keeping them both down just beneath a thin layer of the surface, but Bruno can still feel it. He can feel it in Polnareff's gaze on him, in the way he's propped himself up now. And he knows he deserves it. Or rather, he doesn't deserve Polnareff holding any of it back because if being angry with Bruno makes it ache a little less, Bruno would gladly accept all the ire in the world even if that difference in pain is nearly negligible. Bruno tightens his grip on his fingertips.]
[He doesn't have a leg to stand on here. He can't ask for or tell Polnareff to do anything. Bruno knows that he's lying through omission because to do anything else... Bruno's fingers slip free to rest against the pulse point on his wrist. He shouldn't be lying. But he doesn't know how to tell the truth without giving Polnareff false hope and Bruno doesn't think he could ever forgive himself if he managed to do something like that. He lowers his head to remove Polnareff completely from his periphery through a combination of angle and hair falling in his face.]
[. . .]
[It wasn't supposed to be like this. This day. Out here. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Bruno squeezes his eyes shut tight, looking at the dancing after-image in the darkness beneath his eyelids. Part of him, only a small part, wants to simply curl around the dull ache he feels in the pit of his chest and leave it at that. But he won't here and now. Bruno worries his lower lip for a brief second before he opens his eyes again. He lifts his head.]
I'm sorry, I can't— [Bruno shakes his head a little. He's being unfair. He shouldn't have said anything. He reacted too quickly and should have just shouldered the sting of Polnareff's words without saying anything because that's the fair and responsible thing to do. He pulls his fingers away from his pulse.] I'm sorry.
[He doesn't truly owe him anything. They're friends, but they're not fire-forged like he and Kakyoin or Jotaro. Bruno doesn't have to give him a reason, and maybe pushing it will just lead to more hurt. It might be something as stupid as I just don't find you attractive; that's just how it falls out sometimes.
But that doesn't explain why Bruno wouldn't want him to joke about it. There's only one real reason, and it's that Bruno is hurt by it-- and why would he be hurt by it? What possible reason could he have to be hurt? He was the one who pushed Polnareff away-- god, he was the one who started using his last name instead of his first, so what on earth does he have to be hurt about?]
Bruno--
[Polnareff sits up fully now. He can't catch his eye, not when he's hunched over like that, but he's staring intently at him.]
[Bruno feels Polnareff shifting around and sitting up more than he sees it. He feels trapped. He should look at him. He owes Polnareff that much. But he also just wants to look the other way as much as humanly possible. It's the latter that Bruno resents himself for because he knows he's better than that. He knows he's better and he knows Polnareff deserves better. He shouldn't be so afraid of the consequences of the former either, but really, it's the existence of the latter that Bruno wishes he didn't feel.]
[He feels trapped between what he should do and what he wants to do. Or maybe what he needs to do. Everything seems so muddy and blurred together at this point.]
[Slowly, Bruno manages to lift his gaze back up to Polnareff, but he says nothing immediately. He allows a silence to fall, covered only by the sounds of the water against the side of the boat and the ocean breeze. And he wishes then, just for a little while, that he could tell the kinder lie that Polnareff has ultimately misread the entire situation. Hell, he'd be satisfied with any lie at this point. But he looks at Polnareff and he can feel the truth threaten to spill out in ways that he doesn't want it to, and he wishes they weren't so far apart and nowhere near each other at the same time.]
Pol— [No. He can't do that again. He shouldn't have in the first place. He corrects himself,] Jean.
Jean, I've liked the time we've spent together. I— [He has to correct himself again.] I like spending time with you. But I can only be your friend. I can't be anything more than that.
[He really hadn't needed to hear it a second time. Once was enough. Rejection is difficult at the best of times, but he really didn't need to hear it again from Bruno of all people. It hurts more, somehow, with Bruno. Maybe because he's the only guy he's ever tried it with. Maybe because Bruno reminds him of other people.
He's Jean again, he notices. He's Jean, and that was in the present tense, and it most assuredly wasn't an answer.]
I'm not asking you to be.
[God, no. God help him if he were to make an even bigger fool of himself than he already has. Polnareff's breathing has gone a little harsh, his eyes narrowed. Bruno looks ragged, wrecked, a cold counterpoint to Polnareff's hot hurt, and that doesn't make sense either. Rejection means repulsion, or worry, or regret; it isn't grief. It isn't this worn-out exhaustion.]
I'm asking why it hurts you for me to joke about it.
[It is an answer. Polnareff can't see it, but it's there. Can't. Bruno is saying I can't, not I don't want to. Can't.]
[He continues to have contradicting desires — one part of him wanting Polnareff to understand and the other wanting him not to ever — to the point there's almost a pleading in his eyes. But he blinks a few times, breaking eye contact with Polnareff for a few seconds without turning away. When he looks again, his eyes are more carefully neutral.]
[Polnareff is waiting for an answer. He deserves one. But Bruno doesn't know how to give one any differently than he's already said. His gaze darts away again, briefly as if there's an answer somewhere for him that isn't Polnareff. But there isn't one. Of course there isn't.]
[He bites back his initial frustrated response and glances away for a few seconds. That isn't an answer, he wants to say, because how could it be? But Bruno isn't an idiot. He isn't feeding him some line, and he's never been one to be cruel. So how is I can't an answer?
Why does my joking upset you? Polnareff had asked. And he'd answered: I can't be anything more than a friend.]
Can't. [He says it slowly, and feels as if things are starting to slot into place.] Because you don't like me that way? Because you're not attracted to me? Or because of something else, Bruno?
[It's the something else that makes Bruno break eye contact again so briefly that it doesn't even register to Bruno that he did it in the first place. He draws a steadying breath.]
Something else, [he echoes, though he's reluctant to admit it.]
[He hates-- he hates-- that he feels a swell of hope. It's inevitable, just as inevitable as the way his eyes light up, but he hates that it happens nonetheless. He hates the fact he's got hope all over again, because he knows the chances are minimal at best.
He wants to ask two things. But this is a touch more vital, and so he swallows his more selfish question and says carefully:]
[Here is where Bruno finds himself reluctant again to answer. Because it feels like so many things and so much of it he doesn't want to put on Polnareff. He doesn't even want to part with it in general. He looks away again because he can't stand that look of hope in Polnareff's eyes. He put that there again and he knows he shouldn't have, but he can't see any other choice he could have made. So, he just looks out at the ocean again instead of at Polnareff while the debate carries on inside himself as to whether or not he can or should tell Polnareff anything further.]
[Would it be cruel to say nothing? To refuse to tell him? Or would it be worse? Would Polnareff be able to understand or would he see this as something he can surmount and just latch further onto that hope that Bruno wishes he didn't have? Bruno folds his hands together in his lap, neatly but also tight enough that his knuckles start to turn a little white. If he were the type to reflexively smile, it'd probably come across more as a grimace, but as it is, Bruno's expression remains neutral albeit straining to remain so in his eyes.]
[It occurs to him that he hasn't had a conversation like this since... Since...]
Where do I start? [he says absentmindedly and more to himself than to Polnareff.] Jean, this is just borrowed time for me.
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I think you're biased from how much time you spend around Kakyoin.
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Nah. Jotaro grins, and Giorno sighs, and Fugo-- actually, no, he laughs too. But you really appreciate them.
[They're veering into uncertain territory now, and his breath is coming a little shorter. This is stupid to do on a boat, maybe, but he's not about to veer off the subject.]
You're the one I like telling them to.
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Polnareff, don't— [He cuts himself off because he'd never meant to be so abrupt, but impulse took over. Bruno knows that he's smarter than that. Able to be far more gentle and kind than that even when having to do something like this. But he can't take it back, so he doesn't bother trying. He only firmly follows up with,] Wherever you're intending for this conversation to go. Whatever you mean to say. Don't.
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What had he said to Jotaro? Here we are, he'd typed, and I have been rejected before. He'd been so careless about it, certain in the knowledge he wouldn't be rejected, smug in the assurances of Giorno and Jotaro's teasing, absolutely sure that this would end in--
God, but he's an idiot. Because here they are, right, and he's Polnareff once again. God, no wonder Bruno had suddenly gone quiet. He'd been staring at him like a fool; of course he'd taken a few mental steps back.
His ears have gone red. He presses his lips tightly together, biting back the hurt few words that want to escape. He's already humiliated himself enough over the past few minutes; he's not about to do it further.]
All right.
[Fine. This is fine. Heartache fades; he's gotten over feelings like this before. God, but he'd gone and told everyone, he'd been so fucking excited and now they're all going to look at him expectantly, they're all going to have the same damn reaction--]
But that doesn't mean you're getting out of building a second boat with me.
[It's not a joke, really. It's a vaguely said thing as he stares out at the horizon, and what it truly means is: are we still friends?]
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[Bruno swallows thickly and he is looking at Polnareff at least a little — he won't be a coward and avoid looking at him altogether — but otherwise he remains still. Still and quiet because this feels like shit. He knows, he knows, that he's making the right choice right now. He hates sitting beside someone obviously in pain and doing nothing to alleviate it when there's something that he could do. Especially when it is the result of something that he's done that's caught someone undeserving. But his hands are tied because he knows that temporary relief will do more harm in the long run.]
[Besides, if he were to do that, it would be for his sake — deep down it would be — and not for Polnareff, and that would be the wrong reason. He has to sit with this and deal with the consequences, and he can only hope that Polnareff will bounce back quickly.]
[He pulls his hand back out of the water and draws a few slow breaths as he looks out over the water. He focuses on the briny smell of the ocean air, the way the sunlight dapples on the surface of the water, dancing along the waves, and the heat that's slowly but surely drying his hand. His fingers curl loosely along the side of the boat.]
You had enough names for what? [He glances over at Polnareff so quickly that he's barely more than a vague, blurry shape of arranged colors.] Six boats?
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Yeah. Just about.
[But I could come up with more, he thinks, if that's what it takes. He doesn't get Bruno as a lover and that's all right, but he's going to be really pissed if he loses him a friend because of this.]
I mean, none of them are ever going to be as good at the Codfather, but I think the Titanic Two deserves her time in the sun.
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[Bruno's being careful now. Polnareff is talking fairly smooth, and it leads him to believe that they'll recover from this. And he's happy about that because as much as he thinks what Polnareff was about to say was a bad idea, as much as he knows they need to scale things back at the very least until they can figure things out, that doesn't mean he hasn't enjoyed his time with Polnareff or that he values his friendship any less. Certainly not so little that he'd be comfortable with willingly letting it go entirely.]
[He lets his fingers skate the surface of the water briefly again.]
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That was a good one.
[He admits it with half a smile and leans back, lying flat on his back.]
We can paint that one gold. All gold, blue trim. After that, we'll see what colors Giorno wants. Kakyoin'd be all about cherries, and Jotaro just likes the ocean no matter what.
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Jotaro would probably be happy with fish on his. Or a reef of some kind.
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I could do fish. I could paint Aquamentus for him, I like that fish. And his otter. And our last boat, I'll do all the house pets. Ridley and Aquamentus and Jolie and all of them.
[A pause.]
Fugo needs one. I mean, he doesn't need one, but we might as well have the complete set. You too.
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[Which isn't something that Bruno says with any sort of judgment, simply honesty. Fugo worries about enough as it is. Having something to look after, most likely also to train, probably wouldn't do him any good. At least not right now. Maybe if he's had more time to settle and had a chance to warm up to the idea. But Bruno doesn't contemplate any of that out loud, looking down at his fingers as they dip into the water again.]
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[The water really is nice. Cold, but not icy; when it gets hotter, maybe he'll slip in. Then again, maybe not; it's not the best thing in the world, throwing off your shirt after you've been rejected, even if it's just to swim.]
Just get ready around my birthday to start sneaking into a piano store and zippering one away. I could steal it manually, but I'm going to enlist you. Maybe Giorno too, it might be a three-man operation.
[He's starting to get some of the familiar cadence back, but there's a flat beat there he can't help.]
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You'd have to probably explicitly tell Giorno to stay home if it's a gift for Fugo.
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[A beat, and he doesn't sit up as he adds:]
I'm not going to suddenly try and kiss you if you laugh at a joke, you know. I mean, I get it, you aren't into me, but that doesn't mean you have to pretend you don't find me funny.
[It's a little sharper than he means it to be, but it's not truly angry.]
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You're not being particularly funny right now. [It's the first time Bruno's sounded a little cold towards Polnareff. He purses his lips looking back at the water because that was unnecessary. Bruno didn't need to say that. (He stops moving his hand, bringing his slightly colder fingertips into a tight grip within his opposite hand, trying to warm them again. He'd forgotten how much he hates feeling cold.) Or at least Bruno didn't need to say it like that. So, he tries to smooth it over by clarifying, in a quieter voice.] I know you probably don't mean anything by it and I don't have the right to tell you what to do, but don't joke about that. Not right now.
[A beat.]
Please.
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Why?
[It's a real question. Real enough that he sits up on his elbows, regarding Bruno as he stares down at nothing. His tone isn't as soft or sweet as it might have been-- there's an edge there, a mixture of anger and hurt that he's trying like hell to suppress-- but it's a real question.
It's the please that did it. He might have snapped otherwise, because how could Bruno ask him of anything after saying no? But please, and he's not about to ignore the guy when he says that.]
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[He doesn't have a leg to stand on here. He can't ask for or tell Polnareff to do anything. Bruno knows that he's lying through omission because to do anything else... Bruno's fingers slip free to rest against the pulse point on his wrist. He shouldn't be lying. But he doesn't know how to tell the truth without giving Polnareff false hope and Bruno doesn't think he could ever forgive himself if he managed to do something like that. He lowers his head to remove Polnareff completely from his periphery through a combination of angle and hair falling in his face.]
[. . .]
[It wasn't supposed to be like this. This day. Out here. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Bruno squeezes his eyes shut tight, looking at the dancing after-image in the darkness beneath his eyelids. Part of him, only a small part, wants to simply curl around the dull ache he feels in the pit of his chest and leave it at that. But he won't here and now. Bruno worries his lower lip for a brief second before he opens his eyes again. He lifts his head.]
I'm sorry, I can't— [Bruno shakes his head a little. He's being unfair. He shouldn't have said anything. He reacted too quickly and should have just shouldered the sting of Polnareff's words without saying anything because that's the fair and responsible thing to do. He pulls his fingers away from his pulse.] I'm sorry.
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[He doesn't truly owe him anything. They're friends, but they're not fire-forged like he and Kakyoin or Jotaro. Bruno doesn't have to give him a reason, and maybe pushing it will just lead to more hurt. It might be something as stupid as I just don't find you attractive; that's just how it falls out sometimes.
But that doesn't explain why Bruno wouldn't want him to joke about it. There's only one real reason, and it's that Bruno is hurt by it-- and why would he be hurt by it? What possible reason could he have to be hurt? He was the one who pushed Polnareff away-- god, he was the one who started using his last name instead of his first, so what on earth does he have to be hurt about?]
Bruno--
[Polnareff sits up fully now. He can't catch his eye, not when he's hunched over like that, but he's staring intently at him.]
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[He feels trapped between what he should do and what he wants to do. Or maybe what he needs to do. Everything seems so muddy and blurred together at this point.]
[Slowly, Bruno manages to lift his gaze back up to Polnareff, but he says nothing immediately. He allows a silence to fall, covered only by the sounds of the water against the side of the boat and the ocean breeze. And he wishes then, just for a little while, that he could tell the kinder lie that Polnareff has ultimately misread the entire situation. Hell, he'd be satisfied with any lie at this point. But he looks at Polnareff and he can feel the truth threaten to spill out in ways that he doesn't want it to, and he wishes they weren't so far apart and nowhere near each other at the same time.]
Pol— [No. He can't do that again. He shouldn't have in the first place. He corrects himself,] Jean.
Jean, I've liked the time we've spent together. I— [He has to correct himself again.] I like spending time with you. But I can only be your friend. I can't be anything more than that.
[There's a pause.]
I'm sorry.
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He's Jean again, he notices. He's Jean, and that was in the present tense, and it most assuredly wasn't an answer.]
I'm not asking you to be.
[God, no. God help him if he were to make an even bigger fool of himself than he already has. Polnareff's breathing has gone a little harsh, his eyes narrowed. Bruno looks ragged, wrecked, a cold counterpoint to Polnareff's hot hurt, and that doesn't make sense either. Rejection means repulsion, or worry, or regret; it isn't grief. It isn't this worn-out exhaustion.]
I'm asking why it hurts you for me to joke about it.
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[He continues to have contradicting desires — one part of him wanting Polnareff to understand and the other wanting him not to ever — to the point there's almost a pleading in his eyes. But he blinks a few times, breaking eye contact with Polnareff for a few seconds without turning away. When he looks again, his eyes are more carefully neutral.]
[Polnareff is waiting for an answer. He deserves one. But Bruno doesn't know how to give one any differently than he's already said. His gaze darts away again, briefly as if there's an answer somewhere for him that isn't Polnareff. But there isn't one. Of course there isn't.]
I know, [he says quietly.] I'm telling you why.
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[He bites back his initial frustrated response and glances away for a few seconds. That isn't an answer, he wants to say, because how could it be? But Bruno isn't an idiot. He isn't feeding him some line, and he's never been one to be cruel. So how is I can't an answer?
Why does my joking upset you? Polnareff had asked. And he'd answered: I can't be anything more than a friend.]
Can't. [He says it slowly, and feels as if things are starting to slot into place.] Because you don't like me that way? Because you're not attracted to me? Or because of something else, Bruno?
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Something else, [he echoes, though he's reluctant to admit it.]
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He wants to ask two things. But this is a touch more vital, and so he swallows his more selfish question and says carefully:]
What else, exactly.
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[Would it be cruel to say nothing? To refuse to tell him? Or would it be worse? Would Polnareff be able to understand or would he see this as something he can surmount and just latch further onto that hope that Bruno wishes he didn't have? Bruno folds his hands together in his lap, neatly but also tight enough that his knuckles start to turn a little white. If he were the type to reflexively smile, it'd probably come across more as a grimace, but as it is, Bruno's expression remains neutral albeit straining to remain so in his eyes.]
[It occurs to him that he hasn't had a conversation like this since... Since...]
Where do I start? [he says absentmindedly and more to himself than to Polnareff.] Jean, this is just borrowed time for me.
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