[Nope. There really wasn't anything to prepare Bruno for how sweet Polnareff is at this age. Not that he isn't sweet at 22, but there's something even more so at this age. Bruno smiles.]
[The important thing is that he tried his very best. Or at least close enough to it. Bruno's satisfied with the attempt anyway, and the promise even if he knows the not sleeping is definitely a lie.]
[Bruno pulls the blankets in the spot beside him back, scooting the pillow down some and gives him a small nudge to move there.]
[He falls onto the pillow, mashing his face against it with a satisfied nnn. It's a good pillow. It's a good bed, soft without being too soft, just the way he likes it. Jean yanks the blanket to his shoulders, his eyes already half-closed.]
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Giurin giurello? Pinky swear?
[Bruno offers the pinky of his free hand.]
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[No, forget it. He can't with the odd sounds that make up Italian. Jean sighs heavily and offers his pinky, hooking it securely around.]
Yes. I swear and sh-- junk. I swear I'll always be good, all the time, forever.
[A beat, and then he offers a yawn, long and wide.]
Except now I want . . . I wanna lie down. I'm not going to sleep, I just . . . I wanna lie down for a while.
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[Bruno pulls the blankets in the spot beside him back, scooting the pillow down some and gives him a small nudge to move there.]
Here.
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Don't leave.
[At least: not while he's still awake.]
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I won't. Don't worry, patatino.
[Once he's settled, Bruno leans back some to rest on an elbow and rub Polnareff's back in slow circles.]
I'll stay right here.