[It's the first birthday he's gotten to celebrate here that didn't involve sneaking presents in front of a door in the middle of the night, which is noteworthy. That night, after dinner (and a red velvet cake, made by Fugo and himself), Polnareff waits on Bruno's bed. The presents are piled before him, four in all.
The first: a large box containing any number of cosmetics, lipsticks and eyeliners that range in color from blue to gold to green. Some of them Giorno picked out, and some of them Polnareff grabbed.
The second: a notebook full of recipes, both Italian and French in origin, all written by hand. They range from appetisers to desserts, lunches to dinners, and all of them (as far as Polnareff knows) things they've never made before.
The third: a few pulp novels about criminals and cops. They all of them have some kind of theme on organized crime, and they're all in French.
The fourth (and the one he's most anxious for Bruno to open) is Bitches Brew, by one Miles Davis.]
[When it comes to his birthday, Bruno falls somewhere in the middle between the refusal to acknowledge and the inability to talk about anything else. While he doesn't make nor want it to be a spectacle, he's appreciative and gracious for all the effort put into selecting presents for him, and putting together all of the little surprises that have been peppered throughout the day. He does, however, foolishly seem to believe this late at night that it's definitely come to an end because it isn't exactly a well-guarded secret that Bruno both turns in and wakes early.]
[He's genuinely surprised to find Polnareff not only waiting for him, but doing so with multiple presents.]
So the same man who couldn't wait to give me barrettes he made for me has been sitting with four presents for how long?
[The smell of coffee wafts out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and through the hall. This is not unusual, because coffee is an important part of this predominately Italian household. What's unusual about this morning is the fresh plate of flakey, powder-dusted pastries on the counter next to Bruno's usual mug and a folded note. The open face of it reads For Buccellati in Fugo's precise and cramped handwriting. When unfolded, there's a simple message written inside: Buon compleanno. Thank you for everything.
After Bruno sits down for his breakfast, his watch will buzz as a message comes in from Giorno on his watch. If he chooses to open it, he will find a video that starts rather unceremoniously looking down at an empty spot of the theater’s stage that is partially obscured by a blurry golden finger. The view adjusts to focus on a piano, where Fugo and Giorno are sitting. Fugo quirks a smile up at whoever is holding the watch, before reaching out and carefully adjusting their fingers. “Grazie,” he tells them and leans back to nudge Giorno with his elbow. “Giogio, we’re on.”
Giorno startles visibly (slightly at the adjustment to the filmmaker’s grip, more when alerted to his Time To Shine), then gives a quirked, goofy smile at the camera. ”I’m ready,” he says, ”I think. Probably,” and elbows Fugo in the side.
Fugo laughs and has the look of someone who’s tempted to take step three in what would inevitably be an eternal cycle of jostling each other via elbows. “You’ll do fine,” he reassures, before looking back at the camera. “Today we’ll be playing for you a piano duet of ‘Heart and Soul,’ which was originally written by Hoagy Carmichael in 1938.”]
[With no further ado, Fugo focuses his attention on the keys of the piano. There’s sheet music, but it’s entirely for Giorno’s benefit. Fugo begins to play, his long fingers easily setting a steady, rolling rhythm in the lower register. Giorno is responsible for picking out the melody, something that doesn’t come as easily to him. This isn’t one perfect take: there are a few faltering false starts, where Giorno joins in a little too soon or can’t quite keep up with the pace and they need to start over. Fugo doesn’t seem to mind, but Giorno puffs out his cheeks and blows his bangs out of his eyes each time-- but, eventually, something clicks and they get it right.
The tune, when they finally get going, is a simple one. It’s perfect, in an easygoing way that speaks less of precision and more of comfort between the two of them. It’s clear they’ve practiced, but not to the point of technical perfection, because Giorno is relying heavily on Fugo to keep tempo, swaying back whenever he begins to stray a bit off beat. It’s not up to orchestra standard--but by the end they’re both smiling, Fugo faintly and Giorno in triumph. The piece finishes with a slight diminuendo and a delicate flourish from Giorno which, by the look on Fugo’s face, was not planned but also not unexpected. They both look up at the same time, bright and attentive and looking at the camera like they’re waiting for a reaction. Then Giorno lifts both his hands in the air and pronounces: ”Tada!” Beside him, before the camera goes dark and the recording ends, Fugo covers his mouth with one hand and his shoulders tremble with the effort not to laugh and ruin Giorno’s perfect finale.]
[When Bruno gets up to his room again, there will be a package leaned up against his door, garnished with a card marked TO BRUNO in Giorno’s distinctive hand. The package is wrapped in black and white-striped paper with a neatness that probably indicates the wrapper spent way too much time on it. The contents of the package are likely familiar to Bruno; they’re a reprise of the gift set Giorno gave Bruno last Christmas, their first big holiday together. The package contains: an amber necklace, cool to the touch; a fashionable sweater, made of alpaca wool, soft and loose; homemade potpourri (cedar, cinnamon, jasmine petals, pine shavings); fall leaves, preserved in glass paperweights; spices (freshly-ground ginger, paprika, basil, some Mystery Peppers); dried pumpkins + gourds with ginger and lavender-scented tealights; and a collection of twisting branches, decorated with tiny glowing lights.]
[The card is, perhaps surprisingly, short and simple. It reads: Bruno, I bet you thought this would be crammed with words, didn’t you? There’s no need. I love you and that’s what I need to say most of all, and most often. I love you. Buon compleanno from your Giorno.]
[On the other hand, the card is also full of gold glitter, so who does Giorno honestly think he’s fooling?]
[Much later in the afternoon, perhaps long enough for someone to have gone and slept for a few hours because he was up Very Early making Complicated Italian Pastries, Bruno will receive two additional messages from Fugo. They’re both audio and aren’t prefaced by any sort of special messages.
The first is an hour-long recording of piano jazz, presumably some of the music that Fugo memorized during his time playing piano at the bar. Although it’s what Fugo would call stiff and someone as well-versed in the genre as Bruno is will be able to sense that it’s a touch stilted in some places, it’s a performance meant to set whoever is listening to at ease.
The second recording is much shorter. It’s just one song: a jazz rendition of Pachebel’s Canon In D. Unlike the first recording, this one is played with light fingers and an easier heart.]
I heard that it was your birthday recently. I cannot tell you who told me because they would get in trouble probably and I don't want to get them in trouble. (It was Polnareff.) You seem like the sort of person who likes a quiet birthday with family and things, so I did not want to bother you that day. However, I wanted to say something, at least, because I like birthdays and also I like you.
I looked up how to say happy birthday in Italian and there are a lot of different ways but I like this one: Tanti auguri di buon compleanno e cento di questi giorni a te. It's supposed to mean something like "best wishes on your birthday and may you have 100 more," I think. I might have gotten it wrong. But it sounds like something similar in English--many happy returns. So those, too, for you.
I can't imagine who would do something like that, but it's admirable that you're willing to protect their identity. (He'll be able to get himself out of trouble. Eventually.) It was very thoughtful of you to respect my privacy, but it'd be difficult for you to ever be a bother because I like you, too.
All the same: grazie. For both the well wishes and taking the time to learn it in Italian. That's very kind of you to go out of your way like that.
I'm also glad we had the chance to meet. Before we met, Jean (Polnareff) said very nice things about you and he wasn't exaggerating. (I'm sure you've noticed how much he enjoys exaggeration.) I hope we get the chance to spend more time together in the future because I'd like the chance to get to know you better.
If there's ever anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. Thank you again for the birthday wishes.
- Bruno
P.S. I don't have a preference how you address me, but I won't be offended if you call me just Buccellati or even Bruno. Either way, you don't need to call me signor unless that's more comfortable for you.
[If it was anyone else writing to him, Bruno would probably just respond to her letter the same way he responds to all of his text messages by, you know, not formatting it as a letter in the first place. But given that it's Lucy, Bruno's willing to take the extra step to meet her partway even if his letter in return is far less formal. He doesn't want to give her any reason to potentially feel embarrassed and run the risk that she doesn't contact him for a time to compensate.]
[At precisely 6:07 in the morning, Polnareff's bedroom door opens and a person pads inside. Pads is the appropriate verb to use here, because the person who creeps in can't weigh very much at all. Forty, fifty pounds at the most. They're dressed in something too big, apparently, because after a moment there's a muffled shout as they trip and thump against the floor. But whatever, it's fine! They're still sneaky! They're still totally sneaky as they creep into the room!
Their room, by the way, but it's not as if he and Bruno haven't been trading off where they sleep.]
[These aren't sent all at once. No, rather: they're sent idly throughout the day, indiscriminately and without really expecting much of an answer. Which is good, because they don't get an answer. Who knows why? Maybe Polnareff's watch isn't getting much reception. Stranger things have happened. But regardless, while they weren't sent all at once, they most certainly arrive all at once.]
ridley just BIT ME my daughter just BIT ME what the fuck this is what happens when you leave in the morning you miss all the drama and BETRAYAL what the fuck she's stomping aroudn the bed like a fuckin queen like she hasnt done anything wrong but SHE KNOWS fucking shit that really hurt
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i can't believe you stole from me as a kid i want you to teach me that
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can you carve pumpkins follow-up question: do you want to carve pumpkins with me second follow-up question: do you want to go to that halloween party at egress with me third follow-up question: will you go dancing with me there
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i really want a cigarette like i'm not smoking one beause i wanna kiss you soon but god i want one
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shit speaking of kissing are you wearing that lacy shirt today i can't remember i remember you kissing me but most mornings are kind of a blur honestly i mean i'll find out tonight but i like the thought keeps me warm while i'm out running
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babe why aren't you answering meeee are you pissed because i whistled at you the other night no you definitely liked that are you just busy or what brunnoooooooo
[Fugo has a problem. He's agreed to figure out something to do with Giorno after the party. It'd a date. The whole night is a date. Or it might be two dates. He's not exactly sure of the protocol here, if it's just one long date or two shorter ones. Because here is a fact: Fugo has only the vaguest ideas of what counts as a date between two actual people. He doesn't want to think back and rely on movies that Mista's made him watch, mostly because they seem fake and also because he's not good at being funny on purpose. The point is that despite promising he'd figure something out, he doesn't have any idea where to start.
There's no way in hell he's asking Polnareff for advice. Period. The thought of asking Kakyoin makes him want to bury his face in a pillow. He has no idea how to navigate this sort of conversation with Suzie, even though she's offered excellent advice in the past. Which leaves one person as the natural choice: quiet, even-tempered Bruno Buccellati. Pros: he's had boyfriends before and has gone out on dates. Cons: he knows Giorno and will know what's up immediately.]
Buccellati? Do you have a moment? I'd like to ask you something.
[He still. Absolutely does not want to do this in person. Or even in the same house. This message will come to Bruno in the afternoon, when he is supposedly practicing piano in the theater.]
[In case the folks are wondering at home, Bruno has no idea what Fugo's question might be. He often opens most conversations like this, so it could be anything from unimportant to severely important. Bruno just answers in his typical fashion by leaving the door wide open for Fugo to ask whatever it is he'd like to at his own pace.]
[ On Bruno's doorstep (possibly next to Fugo's set of flowers), there's a black wicker basket beset with flowers.
But not just any. Layers of white flowers, like white roses and baby's breath and queen's lace-- interspersed with single flowers of black magic hollyhock. It imitates his couture, in an effort Tonika hopes isn't too tacky.
On the note, it says - From Kurama's Flower Shop in slightly sloppy calligraphy. ]
[He hates nightmares, he really does, but after a full year of them, he supposes he ought to be used to it by now. They're better than hallucinating during the day, aren't they? But they've gotten worse since December came, and there's nothing more humiliating than waking up screaming and knowing the whole house has heard.
God. He didn't used to be this bad. Time was, he'd jerk awake in the middle of the night maybe once a week. Just spring awake, that was it, no screaming or shouting at all. Sometimes he'd even be able to shake it off on his own. Having Bruno there helped, god knows: there's nothing more assuring than someone else in your bed.
But not now. Not lately. Now he wakes up crying, gasping for breath and Abdul's name on his lips. Had he shouted in his sleep? It's possible. It wouldn't have been the first time, god knows. Polnareff shudders and runs a hand over his face, trying to both wipe away the tears and pull himself together. He doubts Bruno had slept through all that, but his lover is still lying with his back to him, so perhaps he's gotten lucky.
He sits up. He doesn't dare get out of bed, not yet, but there'll be no going back to bed tonight. Polnareff shoves a hand through his hair, tugging lightly, as he glances around the room. Their room, or one of their rooms, anyway, which in reality is really his room. There: the pile of books he still has to return to the library. There: the basket Bruno had finally bought him for laundry, neat in the corner. There: his dresser, with Julian's sword perched upon it. And right above that . . .
Polnareff exhales shudderingly, his eyes locked on the illustration hanging there. There, Abdul, his Abdul, grinning so triumphantly before Magician's Red.]
[It happens every so often. Polnareff has a nightmare and he jerks awake strong enough that it pulls Bruno out of sleep for just a few hazy seconds. Bruno just curls in a little closer to Polnareff when that happens, waiting to see if he can settle back down on his own or if he needs a little more than just Bruno's physical presence. It's never gotten to the point that Bruno's had to fully wake up and talk with him though. Polnareff either settles back in or he steps away for a cigarette or two, but he doesn't tend to need Bruno for more than that.]
[Bruno waits now, too, even though this is incredibly different from usual. He's never heard Polnareff make so much noise before. There's never been tears. At least not to the extent that Bruno knows they're there without having to look. But he waits because Polnareff deserves the opportunity to somewhat privately pull himself together a little better than freshly woken up from whatever images or memories his sleeping mind had just played out for him in vivid technicolor. Just a little time to come back into the room, and not in the past or in his mind. Staring out into the dark of the room, Bruno listens to Polnareff's breathing as the metric for how much time he needs alone. He knows it probably won't reach something calm and smooth for a while, but he listens for it to pull away from erratic.]
[Only once his breathing seems to settle enough that Polnareff has at least a vague awareness that he's in the room right now does Bruno sit up. Bruno keeps the motion small and slow, and avoids trying to tear his attention away from the illustration. (Whatever he saw in his dream, replacing it with that image of Abdul right now is important.) Bruno slides a hand across Polnareff's back to wrap his arm around his shoulders. He says nothing for now, only giving a light tug as a silent offer that Polnareff can lean on him if he needs or wants to.]
[It's around eight o'clock. Dinner has been cooked and eaten; the dishes have been done. Everyone is in various states of relaxing, lazing about, enjoying their new Christmas presents or simply digesting. It's a quiet day, and promises to be an even quieter night.
And somewhere in the house, Polnareff comes up behind Bruno, hands sliding over his arms and chin resting on his shoulder. His boyfriend had been lounging on the couch and reading, but not anymore.]
I have, [he announces quietly,] a surprise for you. But you have to be sneaky-- don't tell anyone, all right?-- and you have to meet me outside. Dress warm, we're going on a walk. It's not far.
[He pulls back before Bruno can ask any questions, hands shoving in his pockets. He's not particularly sneaky himself, but he is fairly quiet as he yanks on his coat and heads out the door to wait for his boyfriend.]
[He definitely has questions. It'd be impossible for Bruno to not have questions when 1) Polnareff is being that cryptic and 2) he's asking Bruno to go outside at night when it is much colder. If where they're going really isn't "not far," so help him . . . ]
[He gives Polnareff the benefit of the doubt because he loves him and bundles up to meet Polnareff outside. God, he can see his breath before he even steps outside himself. That's how cold it is. Bruno wrinkles his nose a little, but sucks it up.]
Are you going to give me any hints about what the surprise is?
[He, of course, asks this once he's already attached himself to one of Polnareff's arms for warmth.]
[There is a small batch of fresh almond cookies in a fancy black and white tin outside of Bruno's door. On top is placed a red and yellow rose and a note, which is not in Giorno's handwriting. The note reads:]
[If it had just been the note, it might have taken a little more sleuthing to figure out whose handiwork the surprise batch of cookies was from, but the addition of a rose give sit away nearly immediately. Bruno brings the tin inside his room. The note is placed with other such keepsakes, carefully tucked away, and the rose is cared for before he tries a cookie. Unsurprisingly, it's nowhere near bad at all. But while normally he might give his thanks in person, he pulls out his watch instead. This is a little bit of a different set of circumstances.]
I hope you'll pass along my gratitude to Gold Experience.
[Here's something nobody tells you about being a gangster: it's a long fucking day of work.
Nobody says that when they hire you. Nobody had took him aside at age twelve and told him quietly that the hours were long and there were no benefits, and incidentally if you mouth off at your boss you're going to get a lot more to deal with than a strongly worded note. He would have liked to have known all that. It might not have changed anything, but he still would have liked to know.
At least the pay is good. That's true, though it isn't as good as, perhaps, he'd been led to believe. But it's good enough to afford one half of a rather large apartment downtown, two bedrooms and a fantastically huge kitchen. It's enough that he can have a dog, a fat little thing of indeterminate breed that he loves almost as much as he loves the other person who lives in that apartment. It's enough they eat well every night, and that's something both he and Bruno don't take lightly, not after the lives they've led.
And after he's done-- once all the stores they're protecting have been checked in on, once he's spoken to whatever people he has to, once he's cleaned himself of the blood and wiped down his gun-- he gets this. He gets to climb up the shitty wooden stairs and duck past two landings in order to reach the familiar red door. He gets to come home, and that's worth a hell of a lot.
He doesn't shout. He's very careful about that, ever since he'd learned Bruno has a habit of bringing home . . . call them guests. But he's very enthusiastic as he closes the door behind him and looks around for his absolutely-not-lover, what are you talking about, there's no lovers here, there's just two best friends, look, they even have a second bedroom.]
[It is not Bruno who responds to his name first. Rather it is the previously mentioned fat little dog that abruptly makes her appearance out of the kitchen, pausing just for a brief second before barking and bounding over in wiggling and bouncing excitement. It's difficult for her to make up her mind whether to lead him to Bruno or to stay and try to soak in attention. Fortunately Bruno removes some of the challenge by at least coming to the doorway of the kitchen. He has a little bit of a sleepy look in his eyes, having spent time catching up with changes in the books. He's let Fugo do most of the heavy-lifting on that end since he came to live with them — he has a much better sense for numbers than Bruno ever has — but he'd rather not be left out of the loop or rely purely on a verbal report. He's the one who will ultimately be held accountable, anyway.]
[Bruno leans, or rather sags against, the doorframe of the kitchen, rubbing at one of his eyes with the heel of one of his hands. He blinks the sleepiness away.]
You're home a little early.
[Or at least it seems like he is. He's really not sure how much time he's spent looking things over, so he actually has no idea what time it is right now. How Fugo is so ready and willing to lose time in those books is honestly beyond Bruno.]
Actually. Polnareff hasn't really done much today. Oh, he'd greeted Bruno with a kiss when he'd finally stumbled downstairs, and he's generally been fairly attentive, but there's been nothing particularly special in terms of romance. No flowers, no shouts of love, nothing over the top or hugely ostentatious. Just attention, quiet but persistent, all day.
And that's because he's been anticipating tonight.
Not that (although he is looking forward to that too, Valentine's day sex is almost as good as birthday sex). It's something else. It's . . .
Well. He has a plan, and the weight of what he's planning is heavy in his pocket.]
Hey.
[It's only nine o'clock, which means they have some time to themselves before Bruno inevitably passes out. Polnareff had grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses, and he smiles as he slips into their room and closes the door behind him.
(Their room: by all rights, it's Bruno's room, but more and more Polnareff is simply treating it as his own. He still stores things in his room, of course, but it's simply gotten easier to live here instead of always darting back and forth. Besides: there's nothing better than falling asleep night after night next to his lover).]
I did get you something, y'know. I didn't forget what day it is.
[He murmurs it as he settles across from Bruno and offers him a glass.]
[Although it's been a bit of a surprise, Bruno hasn't particularly minded that Polnareff's taken a far more subtle approach to Valentine's Day with nothing all that special throughout the day. Predictably, Bruno certainly hadn't been over the top himself. Profiterole mysteriously appeared in the fridge, and dinner just happened to be one of Polnareff's favorite dishes, but it was otherwise a fairly normal day.]
[Though now that Polnareff's appeared this late (because it is late for Bruno, anyway) with wine, Bruno thinks maybe he should be a little more concerned that it has been so quiet all day.]
I didn't think you'd forgotten, [he says, taking the offered glass with a kiss.] You like springing romantic gestures on me after dinner at least.
[That's not . . . Polnareff, you have to be more specific.]
BABE EVERYOEN IS A BABY I JUST MADE OCTOPUS FOR KAKYOIN AND GAVE HIM CHERRIES HES SITTING IN CHARIOTS ARMS BECAUSE HE'S LIKE SIX!! BABE IT'S LIKE HALLOWEEN BUT I'M AROUND TO EENJOY IT THIS TIME AROUND
[There are several strange things about this morning.
The first: that Polnraeff sees it at all. He doesn't usually wake up until noon, and that especially goes for when he's sleeping in Bruno's bed. He's comfortable there, and it's not like he has a job to get to, so why bother rising?
But no, this morning, Polnareff wakes up when Bruno leaves the bed for the shower, and he doesn't fall back asleep. Because the second strange thing is that he feels . . . empty. Not sick, he determines after a long few moments. Not sick, and not tired. Maybe muzzy? Only it's been a fair few minutes since Bruno left for the shower, he's long since woken up. Polnareff taps his chest idly, because that's where the empty feeling originates: right in the center of his chest.
But it's not so bad. Actually, beyond the confusion, he feels fairly . . . content? Warm, oddly enough, even though he's shimmied out from under the covers. Warm and relaxed, his muscles all melted, and Polnareff sighs as he lies back down and stretches out. He still feels strange mentally, but at least physically he's doing all right.]
[Something certainly feels off to Bruno this morning, and it's not because Polnareff is still awake by the time he's done with his shower. (Though that's not say he's not surprised all the same.) In fact, Bruno can't quite put his finger on what exactly is off, but he can't quite shake the nagging feeling that something is missing.]
[Bruno pauses a moment in the doorway on the way back to his room when he spots Polnareff with his eyes still open, and not in a groggy, fighting the inevitable sort of way that he's used to. Rather than simply leaning over long enough to give him a kiss before heading downstairs to get breakfast started, Bruno steps around to Polnareff's side of the bed, sitting on the edge.]
[There are only a few days left. Giorno isn't sure why they're still here, honestly, except that there's some sort of instinct--some feeling. They have to wait.]
[He told Fugo, who agreed to it. Which says a lot about how much Fugo trusts him, really. Being here isn't pleasant by a long shot. The sky is crumbling; the cracks spread down into the world around them, through the streets. The food in the house is running low. They're short on time.]
[And then one day, fingers twined with Fugo's on the way out of the theater, Giorno looks up and sees why he wanted to stay here: Bruno Buccellati stepping out of a tear, back into Ruby City.]
[His fingers tighten so hard it must hurt. He opens his mouth to speak, and--nothing. He doesn't know what to say. He just stares, helpless and hurting and so, so happy.]
[Day by day, Ruby City falls apart a little more. Fugo has been watching the cracks spread with a mute, horrified fascination. It reminds him too much of Angelica's dream and the way it shattered. Holding onto Giorno isn't just a comfort: it's Fugo's way of staying grounded in an increasingly frightening and unreal situation.
But he trusts Giorno; believes him when he says that they should wait. Fugo knows that Giorno would not willfully put him-- or Lucy, or Naegi, or even Togami-- in a dangerous position without reason.]
[It was right to wait. Because there, stepping out of a tear--]
Buccellati? [His mouth is dry. His fingers tighten around Giorno's, too startled by what he's looking at for anything else to get through.] Is... that you?
[Is this real? The line between dreams and reality has become especially blurry this past week. But, he-- desperately wants to believe that what he's looking at is real.]
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9/27, 10ish at night
The first: a large box containing any number of cosmetics, lipsticks and eyeliners that range in color from blue to gold to green. Some of them Giorno picked out, and some of them Polnareff grabbed.
The second: a notebook full of recipes, both Italian and French in origin, all written by hand. They range from appetisers to desserts, lunches to dinners, and all of them (as far as Polnareff knows) things they've never made before.
The third: a few pulp novels about criminals and cops. They all of them have some kind of theme on organized crime, and they're all in French.
The fourth (and the one he's most anxious for Bruno to open) is Bitches Brew, by one Miles Davis.]
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[He's genuinely surprised to find Polnareff not only waiting for him, but doing so with multiple presents.]
So the same man who couldn't wait to give me barrettes he made for me has been sitting with four presents for how long?
well how can i resist tagging this back
you are so cute
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BRIGHT & EARLY ON 9/27
After Bruno sits down for his breakfast, his watch will buzz as a message comes in from Giorno on his watch. If he chooses to open it, he will find a video that starts rather unceremoniously looking down at an empty spot of the theater’s stage that is partially obscured by a blurry golden finger. The view adjusts to focus on a piano, where Fugo and Giorno are sitting. Fugo quirks a smile up at whoever is holding the watch, before reaching out and carefully adjusting their fingers. “Grazie,” he tells them and leans back to nudge Giorno with his elbow. “Giogio, we’re on.”
Giorno startles visibly (slightly at the adjustment to the filmmaker’s grip, more when alerted to his Time To Shine), then gives a quirked, goofy smile at the camera. ”I’m ready,” he says, ”I think. Probably,” and elbows Fugo in the side.
Fugo laughs and has the look of someone who’s tempted to take step three in what would inevitably be an eternal cycle of jostling each other via elbows. “You’ll do fine,” he reassures, before looking back at the camera. “Today we’ll be playing for you a piano duet of ‘Heart and Soul,’ which was originally written by Hoagy Carmichael in 1938.”]
[With no further ado, Fugo focuses his attention on the keys of the piano. There’s sheet music, but it’s entirely for Giorno’s benefit. Fugo begins to play, his long fingers easily setting a steady, rolling rhythm in the lower register. Giorno is responsible for picking out the melody, something that doesn’t come as easily to him. This isn’t one perfect take: there are a few faltering false starts, where Giorno joins in a little too soon or can’t quite keep up with the pace and they need to start over. Fugo doesn’t seem to mind, but Giorno puffs out his cheeks and blows his bangs out of his eyes each time-- but, eventually, something clicks and they get it right.
The tune, when they finally get going, is a simple one. It’s perfect, in an easygoing way that speaks less of precision and more of comfort between the two of them. It’s clear they’ve practiced, but not to the point of technical perfection, because Giorno is relying heavily on Fugo to keep tempo, swaying back whenever he begins to stray a bit off beat. It’s not up to orchestra standard--but by the end they’re both smiling, Fugo faintly and Giorno in triumph. The piece finishes with a slight diminuendo and a delicate flourish from Giorno which, by the look on Fugo’s face, was not planned but also not unexpected. They both look up at the same time, bright and attentive and looking at the camera like they’re waiting for a reaction. Then Giorno lifts both his hands in the air and pronounces: ”Tada!” Beside him, before the camera goes dark and the recording ends, Fugo covers his mouth with one hand and his shoulders tremble with the effort not to laugh and ruin Giorno’s perfect finale.]
SLIGHTLY LATER ON 9/27
[The card is, perhaps surprisingly, short and simple. It reads: Bruno, I bet you thought this would be crammed with words, didn’t you? There’s no need. I love you and that’s what I need to say most of all, and most often. I love you. Buon compleanno from your Giorno.]
[On the other hand, the card is also full of gold glitter, so who does Giorno honestly think he’s fooling?]
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AFTER A NAP ON 9/27
The first is an hour-long recording of piano jazz, presumably some of the music that Fugo memorized during his time playing piano at the bar. Although it’s what Fugo would call stiff and someone as well-versed in the genre as Bruno is will be able to sense that it’s a touch stilted in some places, it’s a performance meant to set whoever is listening to at ease.
The second recording is much shorter. It’s just one song: a jazz rendition of Pachebel’s Canon In D. Unlike the first recording, this one is played with light fingers and an easier heart.]
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early october ig idk what is time baby don't time me
Mr.Signor Buccellati,I heard that it was your birthday recently. I cannot tell you who told me because they would get in trouble probably and I don't want to get them in trouble. (It was Polnareff.) You seem like the sort of person who likes a quiet birthday with family and things, so I did not want to bother you that day. However, I wanted to say something, at least, because I like birthdays and also I like you.
I looked up how to say happy birthday in Italian and there are a lot of different ways but I like this one: Tanti auguri di buon compleanno e cento di questi giorni a te. It's supposed to mean something like "best wishes on your birthday and may you have 100 more," I think. I might have gotten it wrong. But it sounds like something similar in English--many happy returns. So those, too, for you.
I am glad to have met you.
Sincerely,
Lucy Steel
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I can't imagine who would do something like that, but it's admirable that you're willing to protect their identity. (He'll be able to get himself out of trouble. Eventually.) It was very thoughtful of you to respect my privacy, but it'd be difficult for you to ever be a bother because I like you, too.
All the same: grazie. For both the well wishes and taking the time to learn it in Italian. That's very kind of you to go out of your way like that.
I'm also glad we had the chance to meet. Before we met, Jean (Polnareff) said very nice things about you and he wasn't exaggerating. (I'm sure you've noticed how much he enjoys exaggeration.) I hope we get the chance to spend more time together in the future because I'd like the chance to get to know you better.
If there's ever anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. Thank you again for the birthday wishes.
- Bruno
P.S. I don't have a preference how you address me, but I won't be offended if you call me just Buccellati or even Bruno. Either way, you don't need to call me signor unless that's more comfortable for you.
[If it was anyone else writing to him, Bruno would probably just respond to her letter the same way he responds to all of his text messages by, you know, not formatting it as a letter in the first place. But given that it's Lucy, Bruno's willing to take the extra step to meet her partway even if his letter in return is far less formal. He doesn't want to give her any reason to potentially feel embarrassed and run the risk that she doesn't contact him for a time to compensate.]
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10/7, morning
Their room, by the way, but it's not as if he and Bruno haven't been trading off where they sleep.]
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[Or probably would be if the thump hadn't woken them up. Bruno doesn't sit up yet, but he does stir awake.]
Jean? Are you alright?
[Because who else would be tripping in Polnareff's room? Boy, is Bruno in for a surprise.]
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ridley just BIT ME
my daughter just BIT ME what the fuck
this is what happens when you leave in the morning you miss all the drama and BETRAYAL
what the fuck
she's stomping aroudn the bed like a fuckin queen like she hasnt done anything wrong but SHE KNOWS
fucking shit that really hurt
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i can't believe you stole from me as a kid
i want you to teach me that
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can you carve pumpkins
follow-up question: do you want to carve pumpkins with me
second follow-up question: do you want to go to that halloween party at egress with me
third follow-up question: will you go dancing with me there
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i really want a cigarette
like i'm not smoking one beause i wanna kiss you soon but god i want one
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shit speaking of kissing are you wearing that lacy shirt today
i can't remember
i remember you kissing me but most mornings are kind of a blur honestly
i mean i'll find out tonight but i like the thought
keeps me warm while i'm out running
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babe why aren't you answering meeee
are you pissed because i whistled at you the other night
no you definitely liked that
are you just busy or what
brunnoooooooo
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Tell me what you want me to answer and I'll be happy to, cicci.
1/3
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10/20ish - text
There's no way in hell he's asking Polnareff for advice. Period. The thought of asking Kakyoin makes him want to bury his face in a pillow. He has no idea how to navigate this sort of conversation with Suzie, even though she's offered excellent advice in the past. Which leaves one person as the natural choice: quiet, even-tempered Bruno Buccellati. Pros: he's had boyfriends before and has gone out on dates. Cons: he knows Giorno and will know what's up immediately.]
Buccellati? Do you have a moment? I'd like to ask you something.
[He still. Absolutely does not want to do this in person. Or even in the same house. This message will come to Bruno in the afternoon, when he is supposedly practicing piano in the theater.]
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[In case the folks are wondering at home, Bruno has no idea what Fugo's question might be. He often opens most conversations like this, so it could be anything from unimportant to severely important. Bruno just answers in his typical fashion by leaving the door wide open for Fugo to ask whatever it is he'd like to at his own pace.]
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12/3, 12:01 AM
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That's really not something I've thought about before, Jean.
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But not just any. Layers of white flowers, like white roses and baby's breath and queen's lace-- interspersed with single flowers of black magic hollyhock. It imitates his couture, in an effort Tonika hopes isn't too tacky.
On the note, it says - From Kurama's Flower Shop in slightly sloppy calligraphy. ]
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God. He didn't used to be this bad. Time was, he'd jerk awake in the middle of the night maybe once a week. Just spring awake, that was it, no screaming or shouting at all. Sometimes he'd even be able to shake it off on his own. Having Bruno there helped, god knows: there's nothing more assuring than someone else in your bed.
But not now. Not lately. Now he wakes up crying, gasping for breath and Abdul's name on his lips. Had he shouted in his sleep? It's possible. It wouldn't have been the first time, god knows. Polnareff shudders and runs a hand over his face, trying to both wipe away the tears and pull himself together. He doubts Bruno had slept through all that, but his lover is still lying with his back to him, so perhaps he's gotten lucky.
He sits up. He doesn't dare get out of bed, not yet, but there'll be no going back to bed tonight. Polnareff shoves a hand through his hair, tugging lightly, as he glances around the room. Their room, or one of their rooms, anyway, which in reality is really his room. There: the pile of books he still has to return to the library. There: the basket Bruno had finally bought him for laundry, neat in the corner. There: his dresser, with Julian's sword perched upon it. And right above that . . .
Polnareff exhales shudderingly, his eyes locked on the illustration hanging there. There, Abdul, his Abdul, grinning so triumphantly before Magician's Red.]
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[Bruno waits now, too, even though this is incredibly different from usual. He's never heard Polnareff make so much noise before. There's never been tears. At least not to the extent that Bruno knows they're there without having to look. But he waits because Polnareff deserves the opportunity to somewhat privately pull himself together a little better than freshly woken up from whatever images or memories his sleeping mind had just played out for him in vivid technicolor. Just a little time to come back into the room, and not in the past or in his mind. Staring out into the dark of the room, Bruno listens to Polnareff's breathing as the metric for how much time he needs alone. He knows it probably won't reach something calm and smooth for a while, but he listens for it to pull away from erratic.]
[Only once his breathing seems to settle enough that Polnareff has at least a vague awareness that he's in the room right now does Bruno sit up. Bruno keeps the motion small and slow, and avoids trying to tear his attention away from the illustration. (Whatever he saw in his dream, replacing it with that image of Abdul right now is important.) Bruno slides a hand across Polnareff's back to wrap his arm around his shoulders. He says nothing for now, only giving a light tug as a silent offer that Polnareff can lean on him if he needs or wants to.]
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action, but gone without a trace
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12/27ish
And somewhere in the house, Polnareff comes up behind Bruno, hands sliding over his arms and chin resting on his shoulder. His boyfriend had been lounging on the couch and reading, but not anymore.]
I have, [he announces quietly,] a surprise for you. But you have to be sneaky-- don't tell anyone, all right?-- and you have to meet me outside. Dress warm, we're going on a walk. It's not far.
[He pulls back before Bruno can ask any questions, hands shoving in his pockets. He's not particularly sneaky himself, but he is fairly quiet as he yanks on his coat and heads out the door to wait for his boyfriend.]
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[He gives Polnareff the benefit of the doubt because he loves him and bundles up to meet Polnareff outside. God, he can see his breath before he even steps outside himself. That's how cold it is. Bruno wrinkles his nose a little, but sucks it up.]
Are you going to give me any hints about what the surprise is?
[He, of course, asks this once he's already attached himself to one of Polnareff's arms for warmth.]
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pre-20s event
SAFE
HOME
GRAZIE
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I hope you'll pass along my gratitude to Gold Experience.
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it's 192x and we're celebrating
Nobody says that when they hire you. Nobody had took him aside at age twelve and told him quietly that the hours were long and there were no benefits, and incidentally if you mouth off at your boss you're going to get a lot more to deal with than a strongly worded note. He would have liked to have known all that. It might not have changed anything, but he still would have liked to know.
At least the pay is good. That's true, though it isn't as good as, perhaps, he'd been led to believe. But it's good enough to afford one half of a rather large apartment downtown, two bedrooms and a fantastically huge kitchen. It's enough that he can have a dog, a fat little thing of indeterminate breed that he loves almost as much as he loves the other person who lives in that apartment. It's enough they eat well every night, and that's something both he and Bruno don't take lightly, not after the lives they've led.
And after he's done-- once all the stores they're protecting have been checked in on, once he's spoken to whatever people he has to, once he's cleaned himself of the blood and wiped down his gun-- he gets this. He gets to climb up the shitty wooden stairs and duck past two landings in order to reach the familiar red door. He gets to come home, and that's worth a hell of a lot.
He doesn't shout. He's very careful about that, ever since he'd learned Bruno has a habit of bringing home . . . call them guests. But he's very enthusiastic as he closes the door behind him and looks around for his absolutely-not-lover, what are you talking about, there's no lovers here, there's just two best friends, look, they even have a second bedroom.]
Bruno?
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[Bruno leans, or rather sags against, the doorframe of the kitchen, rubbing at one of his eyes with the heel of one of his hands. He blinks the sleepiness away.]
You're home a little early.
[Or at least it seems like he is. He's really not sure how much time he's spent looking things over, so he actually has no idea what time it is right now. How Fugo is so ready and willing to lose time in those books is honestly beyond Bruno.]
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2/14
Actually. Polnareff hasn't really done much today. Oh, he'd greeted Bruno with a kiss when he'd finally stumbled downstairs, and he's generally been fairly attentive, but there's been nothing particularly special in terms of romance. No flowers, no shouts of love, nothing over the top or hugely ostentatious. Just attention, quiet but persistent, all day.
And that's because he's been anticipating tonight.
Not that (although he is looking forward to that too, Valentine's day sex is almost as good as birthday sex). It's something else. It's . . .
Well. He has a plan, and the weight of what he's planning is heavy in his pocket.]
Hey.
[It's only nine o'clock, which means they have some time to themselves before Bruno inevitably passes out. Polnareff had grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses, and he smiles as he slips into their room and closes the door behind him.
(Their room: by all rights, it's Bruno's room, but more and more Polnareff is simply treating it as his own. He still stores things in his room, of course, but it's simply gotten easier to live here instead of always darting back and forth. Besides: there's nothing better than falling asleep night after night next to his lover).]
I did get you something, y'know. I didn't forget what day it is.
[He murmurs it as he settles across from Bruno and offers him a glass.]
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[Though now that Polnareff's appeared this late (because it is late for Bruno, anyway) with wine, Bruno thinks maybe he should be a little more concerned that it has been so quiet all day.]
I didn't think you'd forgotten, [he says, taking the offered glass with a kiss.] You like springing romantic gestures on me after dinner at least.
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4/6, early afternoon
[That's not . . . Polnareff, you have to be more specific.]
BABE EVERYOEN IS A BABY
I JUST MADE OCTOPUS FOR KAKYOIN
AND GAVE HIM CHERRIES
HES SITTING IN CHARIOTS ARMS BECAUSE HE'S LIKE SIX!!
BABE
IT'S LIKE HALLOWEEN BUT I'M AROUND TO EENJOY IT THIS TIME AROUND
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[PLEASE DON'T ACCIDENTALLY FOOD POISON THE CHILDREN, BABE...]
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4/?? beginning of power swap, i'm always on time
The first: that Polnraeff sees it at all. He doesn't usually wake up until noon, and that especially goes for when he's sleeping in Bruno's bed. He's comfortable there, and it's not like he has a job to get to, so why bother rising?
But no, this morning, Polnareff wakes up when Bruno leaves the bed for the shower, and he doesn't fall back asleep. Because the second strange thing is that he feels . . . empty. Not sick, he determines after a long few moments. Not sick, and not tired. Maybe muzzy? Only it's been a fair few minutes since Bruno left for the shower, he's long since woken up. Polnareff taps his chest idly, because that's where the empty feeling originates: right in the center of his chest.
But it's not so bad. Actually, beyond the confusion, he feels fairly . . . content? Warm, oddly enough, even though he's shimmied out from under the covers. Warm and relaxed, his muscles all melted, and Polnareff sighs as he lies back down and stretches out. He still feels strange mentally, but at least physically he's doing all right.]
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[Bruno pauses a moment in the doorway on the way back to his room when he spots Polnareff with his eyes still open, and not in a groggy, fighting the inevitable sort of way that he's used to. Rather than simply leaning over long enough to give him a kiss before heading downstairs to get breakfast started, Bruno steps around to Polnareff's side of the bed, sitting on the edge.]
You seem awfully awake.
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end of july 2017.
[He told Fugo, who agreed to it. Which says a lot about how much Fugo trusts him, really. Being here isn't pleasant by a long shot. The sky is crumbling; the cracks spread down into the world around them, through the streets. The food in the house is running low. They're short on time.]
[And then one day, fingers twined with Fugo's on the way out of the theater, Giorno looks up and sees why he wanted to stay here: Bruno Buccellati stepping out of a tear, back into Ruby City.]
[His fingers tighten so hard it must hurt. He opens his mouth to speak, and--nothing. He doesn't know what to say. He just stares, helpless and hurting and so, so happy.]
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But he trusts Giorno; believes him when he says that they should wait. Fugo knows that Giorno would not willfully put him-- or Lucy, or Naegi, or even Togami-- in a dangerous position without reason.]
[It was right to wait. Because there, stepping out of a tear--]
Buccellati? [His mouth is dry. His fingers tighten around Giorno's, too startled by what he's looking at for anything else to get through.] Is... that you?
[Is this real? The line between dreams and reality has become especially blurry this past week. But, he-- desperately wants to believe that what he's looking at is real.]
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