[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.
[Which isn't a very sensitive thing to say, but he doesn't mean it nastily. He knows. He thinks he'll remember Giorno's description for the rest of his life, it was that horrifying. By the end he couldn't see or feel, a corpse stumbling towards the end, and if that doesn't send shivers down his spine . . . god, he can't imagine. He knows he can't; he's brushed against death, but never like that.
Kakyoin had died quickly. Horribly, yes, but quickly. So had Abdul. To have it linger on and on; to know it was coming, and yet to keep pushing forward . . .
Anyway. He knows, is the point. Polnareff watches Bruno carefully, studying the stillness of his face and the expression in his eyes.]
[There's another pause. This one isn't as long because Bruno knows the answer to that question without a doubt, but it's still not something easy for him to part with. He had admitted it to Giorno, but that had been once and when the wounds were still fresh and raw enough that he didn't think he could sit with them a second time. Not when he no longer had anything to move forward towards as he had the first time.]
It was different with him, [he says, his voice soft and quiet.] With Abbacchio.
When he got here, neither one of us really had anything but each other then. Giorno and I were at odds with each other, and Abbacchio would never forgive him because Giorno took over Passione in the end when I died and so did Narancia.
[He glances briefly at Polnareff because it's not a perspective that Bruno agrees with. He doesn't see his death, Abbacchio's, and certainly not Narancia's as sacrifices for putting Giorno at the head of Passione specifically. They were sacrifices in the name of something far greater than Giorno's advancement.]
Things got better.
[Bruno got better. He can't even objectively argue against that, not when he recognized that he wasn't fine. At least not as fine as he pretended to be.]
But if there was a chance that Abbacchio would have more beyond this place, I never would have...
[He doesn't move in closer, though he very much wants to. There's a foot between them, and somehow that seems insurmountable. There's still an emotional distance between them, so there has to be a physical distance as well.]
I know what happened to you at home. I know you're not alive, but you are here. You think-- what, that if we start something, you're gonna lead me on? Ruin me for something more when I go home? Except I know the risks, and I still want to try it with you. I don't have a wife and kids waiting for me in the future, you're not breaking up some big romance-- and while I'm here, while we're here, why can't we have this?
If you don't want to do this because you don't like me, or you're not attracted to me, I'll respect that. But if you're doing it because you think you're somehow sparing me by pulling away, you've got another thing coming.
[How long are you going to keep pretending you're still dead?]
[He let himself think then of a small future. Nothing beyond the limits of this city, but it was something for a few minutes while he was at Abbacchio's side. For just a few minutes, Bruno felt alive again and so did Abbacchio. He was there. The future faded completely, but Bruno didn't. And he's been okay with that because even in the position of consigliere to Giorno, things have stay settled as they are in the moment. There's nothing further beyond the day-to-day. There's no thought that Bruno is going to be there forever and Giorno's grown to be independent of Bruno. He's been grateful for all of it. But he knows more than that, and...]
[Bruno wordlessly shakes his head. Polnareff shouldn't be after someone who doesn't, who can't have a future.]
[A moment's pause, and then he slips over. There's still an inch of space between them, a gap that he doesn't yet close, but he's close enough to touch. Close enough he can see the way Bruno's fingers tighten against his legs; the way the emotion in his eyes flickers.]
I like you.
[He says it softly.]
And I think you like me. And that's all that ought to matter. That's all it should come down to. Even if it's just for a day, even if--
[It's his turn to glance away for a few seconds. Words, why does it always come down to words? He's not good at words. But he has to be right now, and so he takes a few seconds try and wrangle his thoughts into some semblance of order.]
I don't . . . I don't want to not start something just because it might hurt someday. That's not a good enough reason. You start letting that kind of thought stop you, what's the point of living at all? What's the point of anything if you're so worried about the future? Maybe we'll only last for a day, you and me, and maybe you're right, maybe I'll regret this years from now. I want it anyway. I want you anyway.
[Bruno has to close his eyes for the brief second when Polnareff moves closer to him. He opens his eyes and looks at Polnareff by the time he's settled that close. Bruno is tense now that Polnareff is closer. The physical distance between the two of them is so small and there's nowhere to go, but part of him still wants to get away. And he says I like you and Bruno can feel his heart rise up into his throat, and then he can't decide if he wants to pull away or stay here forever.]
[He listens to what Polnareff is saying, and he has arguments against all of it, some of which come before it's even left Polnareff's mouth. But he's also listening to the cadence of Polnareff's voice and he can feel the warmth of him this close. And all he can see are blue eyes that let the arguments become so weak that they crumble into dust to be carried off by the breeze. Slowly, Bruno's grip on his hands relax as Polnareff is speaking until they let go of one another. Polnareff stops speaking again and Bruno quietly lets go of a breath he didn't realize he was holding.]
[His hand moves from his lap to Polnareff's cheek, and for a moment, he thinks that's all he needs. He just needs the warmth of Polnareff's skin under his fingertips just one time. But he doesn't takes his fingers away and they instead move to cup Polnareff's cheek in his hand, and he watches them as they do so for a brief second before he meets Polnareff's eyes again. He doesn't hold eye contact long with Polnareff, however, his gaze dropping down to his lips. Bruno hesitates twice. He hesitates first to lean in closer, and then he hesitates again just before their lips meet.]
[It still feels like a bad idea. Nothing Polnareff can say or do will change that feeling, and Bruno feels like he should move away. But... But if this can be just for the moment... If Polnareff can promise him this moment.]
[Bruno closes the distance, pressing their lips together.]
[He knows what's coming the moment Bruno touches his face. It's a fight not to rush it, because this is something he needs to let Bruno do to him, not vice-versa. He's given enough; now Bruno has to meet him halfway. So he waits, holding himself as still as he can, staring at Bruno as he hesitates and then resolves himself.
It's worth the wait. The second their mouths meet it's worth it, because this is what he's been imagining for weeks now. And god, but it's a good kiss. It's not the hottest kiss he's ever gotten, no, nor the sweetest, but it's worth so much more because of who it's coming from.
It's hard not to laugh. He just feels giddy, that's all; it's just that Bruno is kissing him, that's all. Nothing to get worked up about, except he knows the second they break the kiss he's going to be grinning like an idiot. He leans in, pressing closer, his hand hesitating before blindly settling along Bruno's hip.
It isn't a long kiss. The first one isn't meant to be. Soon he breaks it, mouth sore in the best possible way.]
All right?
[He doesn't dare pull away. Just murmurs the words quietly, foreheads still pressed together, close enough he can feel Bruno's breath hot against his mouth. Christ.]
[It's a good question because even after it's said and done, it still feels like it was a bad idea. But with the weight of Polnareff's hand on his hip and the lingering feeling of his smiling against Bruno's, it feels a little more distant of an idea. Something closer to an afterthought that barely can even register in his conscious mind. So, yeah. It's all right. That's a way of putting it.]
[It might not really be qualified as a smile, but Bruno unmistakably has the beginnings of one on his face.]
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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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[Which isn't a very sensitive thing to say, but he doesn't mean it nastily. He knows. He thinks he'll remember Giorno's description for the rest of his life, it was that horrifying. By the end he couldn't see or feel, a corpse stumbling towards the end, and if that doesn't send shivers down his spine . . . god, he can't imagine. He knows he can't; he's brushed against death, but never like that.
Kakyoin had died quickly. Horribly, yes, but quickly. So had Abdul. To have it linger on and on; to know it was coming, and yet to keep pushing forward . . .
Anyway. He knows, is the point. Polnareff watches Bruno carefully, studying the stillness of his face and the expression in his eyes.]
Is that a reason for your sake or mine?
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It was different with him, [he says, his voice soft and quiet.] With Abbacchio.
When he got here, neither one of us really had anything but each other then. Giorno and I were at odds with each other, and Abbacchio would never forgive him because Giorno took over Passione in the end when I died and so did Narancia.
[He glances briefly at Polnareff because it's not a perspective that Bruno agrees with. He doesn't see his death, Abbacchio's, and certainly not Narancia's as sacrifices for putting Giorno at the head of Passione specifically. They were sacrifices in the name of something far greater than Giorno's advancement.]
Things got better.
[Bruno got better. He can't even objectively argue against that, not when he recognized that he wasn't fine. At least not as fine as he pretended to be.]
But if there was a chance that Abbacchio would have more beyond this place, I never would have...
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[He doesn't move in closer, though he very much wants to. There's a foot between them, and somehow that seems insurmountable. There's still an emotional distance between them, so there has to be a physical distance as well.]
I know what happened to you at home. I know you're not alive, but you are here. You think-- what, that if we start something, you're gonna lead me on? Ruin me for something more when I go home? Except I know the risks, and I still want to try it with you. I don't have a wife and kids waiting for me in the future, you're not breaking up some big romance-- and while I'm here, while we're here, why can't we have this?
If you don't want to do this because you don't like me, or you're not attracted to me, I'll respect that. But if you're doing it because you think you're somehow sparing me by pulling away, you've got another thing coming.
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[How long are you going to keep pretending you're still dead?]
[He let himself think then of a small future. Nothing beyond the limits of this city, but it was something for a few minutes while he was at Abbacchio's side. For just a few minutes, Bruno felt alive again and so did Abbacchio. He was there. The future faded completely, but Bruno didn't. And he's been okay with that because even in the position of consigliere to Giorno, things have stay settled as they are in the moment. There's nothing further beyond the day-to-day. There's no thought that Bruno is going to be there forever and Giorno's grown to be independent of Bruno. He's been grateful for all of it. But he knows more than that, and...]
[Bruno wordlessly shakes his head. Polnareff shouldn't be after someone who doesn't, who can't have a future.]
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I like you.
[He says it softly.]
And I think you like me. And that's all that ought to matter. That's all it should come down to. Even if it's just for a day, even if--
[It's his turn to glance away for a few seconds. Words, why does it always come down to words? He's not good at words. But he has to be right now, and so he takes a few seconds try and wrangle his thoughts into some semblance of order.]
I don't . . . I don't want to not start something just because it might hurt someday. That's not a good enough reason. You start letting that kind of thought stop you, what's the point of living at all? What's the point of anything if you're so worried about the future? Maybe we'll only last for a day, you and me, and maybe you're right, maybe I'll regret this years from now. I want it anyway. I want you anyway.
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[He listens to what Polnareff is saying, and he has arguments against all of it, some of which come before it's even left Polnareff's mouth. But he's also listening to the cadence of Polnareff's voice and he can feel the warmth of him this close. And all he can see are blue eyes that let the arguments become so weak that they crumble into dust to be carried off by the breeze. Slowly, Bruno's grip on his hands relax as Polnareff is speaking until they let go of one another. Polnareff stops speaking again and Bruno quietly lets go of a breath he didn't realize he was holding.]
[His hand moves from his lap to Polnareff's cheek, and for a moment, he thinks that's all he needs. He just needs the warmth of Polnareff's skin under his fingertips just one time. But he doesn't takes his fingers away and they instead move to cup Polnareff's cheek in his hand, and he watches them as they do so for a brief second before he meets Polnareff's eyes again. He doesn't hold eye contact long with Polnareff, however, his gaze dropping down to his lips. Bruno hesitates twice. He hesitates first to lean in closer, and then he hesitates again just before their lips meet.]
[It still feels like a bad idea. Nothing Polnareff can say or do will change that feeling, and Bruno feels like he should move away. But... But if this can be just for the moment... If Polnareff can promise him this moment.]
[Bruno closes the distance, pressing their lips together.]
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It's worth the wait. The second their mouths meet it's worth it, because this is what he's been imagining for weeks now. And god, but it's a good kiss. It's not the hottest kiss he's ever gotten, no, nor the sweetest, but it's worth so much more because of who it's coming from.
It's hard not to laugh. He just feels giddy, that's all; it's just that Bruno is kissing him, that's all. Nothing to get worked up about, except he knows the second they break the kiss he's going to be grinning like an idiot. He leans in, pressing closer, his hand hesitating before blindly settling along Bruno's hip.
It isn't a long kiss. The first one isn't meant to be. Soon he breaks it, mouth sore in the best possible way.]
All right?
[He doesn't dare pull away. Just murmurs the words quietly, foreheads still pressed together, close enough he can feel Bruno's breath hot against his mouth. Christ.]
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[It might not really be qualified as a smile, but Bruno unmistakably has the beginnings of one on his face.]
Kiss me again, and I'll let you know.
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