[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.]
[He doesn't need to be, he knows, but still he mutters it, embarrassed despite himself at being caught. Stupid, right? Amid all his grief and shame and horror, to be embarrassed at crying . . . but not so embarrassed he pulls away. Polnareff presses back against Bruno, his fingers curling against the blanket.]
He saved my life twice, you know. Twice. And both times, I got him killed.
[Bruno presses a quick series of kisses to Polnareff's temple, forehead, and cheek. Quiet reassurances that Bruno is right here, that he doesn't need to feel shame over crying, and that Bruno loves him no matter what. He rubs his shoulder lightly. What he doesn't do is bother with telling Polnareff that it's not his fault. That's the sort of argument that Polnareff's probably had with himself and maybe others more than a few dozen times. It's likely so tired and worn that neither side holds much weight unless Polnareff's mood predisposes it to hold greater significance in that moment.]
[It's tempting though. It's incredibly tempting both because Bruno loves him and because he knows Polnareff to ultimately be a just and noble man. That he would ever intentionally put someone's life at risk is impossible to twist into sensible logic, and so, it seems unlikely that it's his fault in the sense he should carry guilt with him. Bruno also gets the feeling -- just from the scant mentions of Abdul in the past -- that Abdul wouldn't have been the sort of person who'd put his life at risk and regretted it. He'd be glad that Polnareff survived even if it meant that he, Abdul, didn't.]
[But Bruno's witnessed the aftermath of death enough times to know that even if reasoning can be changed, the emotions are so much more difficult. There really aren't words that one can use to counter those sorts of feelings for someone else, they have to learn to make their own peace with the circumstances. So, he rubs at Polnareff's shoulder and sits with him and his overwhelming feelings without judgment or real argument.]
Was your dream what happened or an exaggeration?
[Bruno tries to avoid, too, getting voyeuristic. There's a difference, he thinks, between Polnareff sharing what he's willing and Bruno asking for details. If that's not something Polnareff can talk about just yet, that's fine. Bruno can respect that because answering the question as it is would be enough to understand why he's so immediately upset in this moment. But the question also gives Polnareff space to talk about what happened and about Abdul. Not that either subject has ever been particularly taboo for Bruno, but he understands why there's been one for Polnareff.]
What happened, but . . . it was all blurred. It was . . .
[He's grateful that Bruno doesn't press for details. He's grateful, too, he doesn't immediately try and tell him it's not his fault. It is. It is, sure as if he shoved Abdul in front of Hol's gun and Cream's void. Abdul ought to have lived, but he didn't, and it's Polnareff's fault he didn't, those are just the facts.]
It was all of it. All at once, he got shot and then it was . . .
[Hell. He wants to explain and he doesn't, all at once. Or rather: he wants Bruno to simply know, without the need for words. But his lover isn't a telepath, and so Polnareff takes in a harsh breath and says:]
He was eaten. Just fucking eaten by a Stand, by Dio's fucking henchman, just fucking-- I looked behind me and there was nothing left but his arms, just his arms, god! The last thing he did was shove me out of the way, and I didn't-- I should've--
[He shoves a hand over his eyes, gritting his teeth to try and stave off another sob.]
I think I loved him. [Guilt surges up in him, hot and all-encompassing, on top of everything else. He shouldn't tell Bruno that; that's mean and cruel, but god help him, it's true. That love isn't in place of Bruno, it isn't as if his boyfriend is some stopgap measure meant to fill the void, but it still feels like a betrayal.] And I never knew enough to tell him, and then I got him killed, and I never-- how the fuck can I live with that?
[It would be a lie to say that hearing Polnareff say something like that doesn't stir up at least something akin to mild discomfort because Bruno is only human, which means he's just as flawed and occasionally selfish as the rest of humanity. But he also understands love to be a complex thing that people tend to over-simplify, which means he understands that loving Abdul doesn't inherently conflict, diminish, or change Polnareff's love for Bruno. It's not the point anyway, the foolish notion of Abdul vs. Bruno. The point is that Polnareff had something he wanted to say, he just didn't realize it in time. And now there's no telling if he'll ever get that chance again.]
[It's something that Bruno can relate to, and he thinks that Polnareff has at least a vague idea of that by now or it might not be that even now would he be able to say it. But unlike Polnareff, Bruno has the comfort in knowing for certain that Abbacchio knew to some extent. Maybe not the whole of it because Bruno could never be completely selfish enough to take and say it, but he knew and understood enough with needing Bruno to say it. Sometimes that's enough. Sometimes it falls a little short. But it's something compared to Polnareff's relative nothing to alleviate the guilt and pain surrounding the abrupt loss of Abdul.]
He probably knew, Jean. You have a big heart, and wear it on your sleeve, [Bruno says, speaking in gentle, quiet tones as he moves his hand up to run his fingers through Polnareff's hair. This isn't like the way he normally teases Polnareff at how obvious he is to anyone willing to pay attention. It isn't even the subtle praise of his exuberant affection. It's softer reassurance instead.] I know that's not the same thing as being able to say it, but I think he knew. But even if he didn't know, I don't think he'd want you to torture yourself like this because it was his decision to save you, not yours.
[Because chances are, he thinks, Abdul loved him, too. Because it's impossible not to love Polnareff even just a little. And because he knows that no matter how good a person is, they have to hold some love for someone they're willing to make that kind of sacrifice for.]
[He tugs Bruno down, lying back on the bed so he can press up even closer to him. That hand in his hair is worth everything, and he pushes against it, his eyes closing.
It's all very well and good, he thinks, to say that Abdul wouldn't want him to torture himself. Bruno's not wrong; he likely wouldn't. It was his decision, no matter that it went contrary to what they'd all agreed outside the mansion. He'd made a choice, just as Iggy had. Just as Kakyoin had. But--]
I thought he was here, when I first came and saw Kakyoin. I thought . . . I don't know. I'm always ready to believe in a miracle.
[He murmurs it against his neck, his eyes closing.]
Same with Sher, when she came back here. I was so ready to believe that it was her, that nothing had gone wrong, that I hadn't-- that she was okay.
[Bruno continues stroking Polnareff's hair, fingers occasionally scratching at his scalp gently. He listens to him while making the conscious decision to keep his breathing even, calm, and slow to give Polnareff something to match if he needs to. It's heartbreaking to listen to Polnareff though. Bruno has always known at least a fraction of the weight that Polnareff carries around on his shoulders regardless of how much he disguises it with smiles and jokes. But whenever it gets said out loud, it becomes so much more vivid, and Bruno would give just about anything to take it away from him.]
I know, sweetheart. I wish they were here for you. [He wishes he understood why some people are here and others are not, but it's not likely either one of them will ever have the answer to any of that when just the simple fact the dead come back here at all remains a mystery. But if they had any answers, any meaningful ones anyway, there might be something that oculd be done about it.] I hope that they are someday.
[Before you go back, he thinks, but doesn't say aloud. He refuses to add the weight of another death to Polnareff's mind tonight.]
Even if it's just for a few minutes, I hope you get more time with them.
[He falls silent for a long few seconds, focusing on his breathing. It's a steady pattern, soothing and calming, and he tries like hell to match his to it. It takes a while. His breathing is still ragged, but at least it's slowed.]
You would've liked Abdul. He's so-- he was so smart. Our first fight, I was under Dio's control. I was his slave-- did you know that? The fucker kept me slave for three months in Egypt, kept me brainwashed . . . anyway. My last mission was to kill Jotaro and the others, and so I fought my hardest, but it didn't matter. The guy kicked my ass and saved my life, and I just . . .
[No. He doesn't want to think about how little he'd repaid his friend. He just wants to talk about him, that's all, just tell Bruno about what a good person he is.]
He had a good sense of humor. You wouldn't know it from the first conversation, but he did. He was kind, too. Real kind. Smart, like I said. And-- god, but he was full of himself sometimes.
[That comes with a huff of laughter. Polnareff finally tips his head back, peering up at Bruno. He still wants those fingers in his hair, but he can at least look at his boyfriend. Brushing away the last of the tears, he smiles and says:]
Stupid bastard thought he knew everything about everything, and god forbid you argue with him or you'd be there all day. I mean, he wasn't wrong most of the time-- you could ask him about anything and he'd give you an answer. Food or culture or Stands or whatever, between him and Kakyoin I learned too much about everything.
[Bruno does nothing to interrupt. He doesn't even try to fill the silence when Polnareff takes those few seconds to steady his breathing somewhat. Whatever words spill out and at whatever pace they happen to spill out is enough. He's watching Polnareff as he speaks so that when he does finally work up the courage to look up at him again, he's able to greet Polnareff with a gentle smile.]
Learning things? That sounds awful, [he teases gently, taking a little time to move a few stray strands of Polnareff's hair back into some semblance of place.] I can see why you loved him though. It sounds like he was a good man.
[Someone who matched Polnareff in his ideals and values, and also had enough of a sense of humor to give back to him as much as he dished out? Of course it was only a matter of time before Polnareff fell in love with someone like that.]
[Though really, Bruno isn't sure how he feels about that tense switch. He matches the past tense that Polnareff sticks to, but he's not sure if that's helpful for him or not. It's really hard to say because there are certainly merits for either. Keeping Abdul in the present tense keeps the hope that he'll come here someday alive. Putting him in the past tense, however, keeps the long-term outcome in mind. Bruno isn't one to judge about which is correct, so it's probably safest to just stick to whatever Polnareff puts out there.]
[There's more he wants to say about Abdul, and he will in a moment. But now that he's not crying, that seems important to establish. He cups his cheek, his thumb brushing against his skin softly.]
And it's not . . . it's not because I lost him, that I fell in love with you. I love you because you're you. You know that?
[Bruno's free hand comes up to cover the hand on his cheek, turning his head a little to press a kiss to his palm.]
I know. [He intertwines their fingers together loosely.] I wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case.
[Bruno doesn't think Polnareff would have settled for that. He certainly wouldn't have only let Bruno pull just far enough away that he'd have the space to breathe until it felt safe enough to be close.]
And it's okay if part of you still loves him.
[He doesn't believe that you meet people like that, fall in love, and then that's it. The love is gone the moment they are, it doesn't fade immediately into memory. Hell, even when large swaths of it become memory, there's probably always going to be a small piece of love reserved just for that person that no one else can touch. And that's okay with Bruno. He wants Polnareff to have that. He thinks he needs it.]
[He says it quickly, his heart leaping into his throat. The last thing, the very last thing, that he wants is for Bruno to think he has to share Polnareff in some way. That he in any way comes in second, or that he's somehow lesser, or-- god, or anything.
But . . . that's not what he's saying. He's not saying it's all right that Polnareff somehow prioritizes Abdul, or loves Bruno less. Just that it's all right that his heart is, in some minor way, torn in two.
He still feels guilty. But Polnareff swallows and scoots closer, pressing their foreheads together.]
[Bruno discards the half-attempt at denial. It's reflexive. It's concern for Bruno and Bruno's feelings. All well and good, but not the point and not the focus here and now. So, it's easy to discard. Bruno lets go of Polnareff's hand to hold his cheek instead. His other hand slips out of his hair to do the same to his other cheek.]
I love you.
[He murmurs it softly, thumbs stroking his cheekbones again and again slowly. While he would not want that to eclipse what Polnareff feels for Abdul, he does wish that it could be enough to soothe the pain and guilt he feels. Maybe not entirely, but at least some of it. That's simply unrealistic, however, and is far beyond anything that Bruno could ever do for him. In the end, the most Bruno can do is support Polnareff when he needs it and sit with him in these feelings so that he doesn't have to be with them alone. The harder parts are things that Polnareff will have to do for himself. It's the only way he'll heal.]
[Bruno shifts to kiss Polnareff's forehead before encouraging Polnareff to settle back down once more, Bruno's hand returning to Polnareff's hair once again.]
Tell me more about him?
[The good, bad, or whatever else in between, it really doesn't matter. Abdul just can't continue to be something that Polnareff feels like he can't talk about to Bruno. Not after nightmares like that.]
[He stares at him for a few seconds longer, eyes darting about his face, before nodding.]
He was a fortuneteller. A real one, I mean, not just one of those scam artists. He taught me a little . . . I could probably read your future for you. I, hah, I made a tarot deck for Lucy, when she first got here. It's just a pack of cards, but it works just as well as a real set.
[He slips a hand around Bruno's hips, pulling him in close. Slipping his fingers beneath his shirt, he traces his fingers against his skin, trying to think.]
We were the same age, or just about, and I think that set us apart a little. I mean, don't get me wrong, Kakyoin and Jotaro are my best friends, but I think . . . I don't know. It was easier for us to understand each other, just like it was easier for them sometimes. We'd compete a lot-- he was competitive as hell, even if he tried to pretend sometimes he was too mature for that. He always tried to act like that: mature, you know? Superior. I thought he was at least thirty the first time I met him, and then I asked and no, turns out he just really feels like he's gotta be in charge of all of us. Then again, it's not like Mr Joestar was all that put together. He was determined, but it was Abdul who'd make all the hotel arrangements or whatever.
Mm . . . that's a pretty accurate illustration Jotaro did me, you know. Him and Magician's Red both. He was one of those people who had a real presence, you know? He'd walk into a room and you'd know right away.
[Bruno runs his fingers through Polnareff's hair slowly as gentle encouragement while he speaks. Occasionally, a small smile appears, but never too wide because the ache created from love and longing is obvious in every word. Things like that ache deserve quiet respect.]
I'm glad you had someone like that with you.
[Because Polnareff needs that sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes he just needs someone to rein him back in. Whatever else Abdul may or may not have been, it's obvious that he helped keep Polnareff steady, most likely in the moments when he needed it most. Kakyoin likely tried, but he lacked the confidence and ultimately the maturity to do it in a way that Polnareff could respond to. It had to be Abdul.]
[He keeps sliding his fingers against his skin, his eyes flickering over his face. Talking about Abdul hurts. It'll probably always hurt, in the same way talking about Sherry always hurts. But that hurt comes with a wonderful warmth, something nostalgic and fond all at once.]
He taught me a little Arabic once. Numbers, and how to say basic stuff like hello and whatever . . . he let me teach him a bunch of French before telling me he knew it perfectly, because of course he did. It got easier to talk to him after that-- once I could do it in French, I mean. I think I started to understand him better. He wasn't as open as me, so it took me a while to understand him.
[It's gentle teasing though because it's one thing that Bruno wouldn't change about Polnareff for the world. It makes it easier to trust him, and to eventually reciprocate with some openness of your own. Bruno imagines Abdul figured that out for himself once he came to realize that it was genuine.]
I hope he broke it to you gently when he told you he could speak French fluently.
Are you kidding me? Of course he didn't. I was teaching him phrases, and I said something like, "Okay, you got that?" and he answered me in perfect French, all smooth and shit. Of course I did, I can speak French perfectly, I'm Mohammad Abdul and I can pronounce everything with a Parisian accent--
[His voice goes deep for that impression, his mouth scrunching up into what he imagines is a smugly superior expression. It collapses after a moment, and Polnareff huffs, snuggling closer to Bruno. His mood has lifted a fair bit, it seems, as he offers his boyfriend a pitiful look.]
All my friends are cruel.
[Are, present tense. Polnareff hesitates, draws in a breath-- and then shakes his head minutely. He won't change it.]
[Are is a hard word to miss in his sentence after all the was that had been floating around. But when Polnareff shakes his head, Bruno goes with his instinct to leave it be and continue to follow Polnareff's lead. It's okay, he thinks, for Abdul to not be so firmly rooted in the past. That sometimes he can be pulled into the present with the ones who are.]
You're just such an easy target that even the kind ones can't help themselves.
[Normally, a sentence like that would be a whine, joking and eager to be comforting. This time, though, it's a quiet murmur, and Polnareff noses against him.]
[He does, too. Bruno can be merciless in his teasing, but only to a limit. He knows precisely where the line is, and always stops far short of it. There's not a moment where Polnareff feel as if he can't trust Bruno, and that's remarkable.
He sighs again, shifting to push into Bruno's touch.]
Mm. Tell me something. Something . . . I don't know. That doesn't matter. Something stupid. Distract me?
[Something to distract him? Bruno's quiet a brief moment as he thinks of what might be sufficiently distracting that isn't going to lend itself to heavier discussion again. Nothing serious or important.]
Did you know that when an octopus moves one of its tentacles, it actually does most of the thinking in the tentacles for it rather than in its brain? If you were to cut off its connection to the brain, it'd still move like a regular tentacle all on its own.
[Thank God for facts about the ocean and the creatures in it. You can't more irrelevant to the previous topic of conversation or safer from hard topics than facts about octopuses. Especially when it has the potential to gross Polnareff out, which isn't very hard when it comes to sea creatures.]
[It's a less emphatic curse than it might usually be, but it's still sincere. Polnareff wrinkles his nose, pulling a face. Gross. That's most definitely a distracting fact, and Polnareff focuses on it as much as he can.]
And then what happens to it? It just-- what, wiggles around forever?
No, it's not like a starfish where it just grows another starfish. It'll die eventually. But if the octopus is caught by a predator, that can give it time to escape. It'll grow a new limb in a month or two, and be as good as new.
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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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[He doesn't need to be, he knows, but still he mutters it, embarrassed despite himself at being caught. Stupid, right? Amid all his grief and shame and horror, to be embarrassed at crying . . . but not so embarrassed he pulls away. Polnareff presses back against Bruno, his fingers curling against the blanket.]
He saved my life twice, you know. Twice. And both times, I got him killed.
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[It's tempting though. It's incredibly tempting both because Bruno loves him and because he knows Polnareff to ultimately be a just and noble man. That he would ever intentionally put someone's life at risk is impossible to twist into sensible logic, and so, it seems unlikely that it's his fault in the sense he should carry guilt with him. Bruno also gets the feeling -- just from the scant mentions of Abdul in the past -- that Abdul wouldn't have been the sort of person who'd put his life at risk and regretted it. He'd be glad that Polnareff survived even if it meant that he, Abdul, didn't.]
[But Bruno's witnessed the aftermath of death enough times to know that even if reasoning can be changed, the emotions are so much more difficult. There really aren't words that one can use to counter those sorts of feelings for someone else, they have to learn to make their own peace with the circumstances. So, he rubs at Polnareff's shoulder and sits with him and his overwhelming feelings without judgment or real argument.]
Was your dream what happened or an exaggeration?
[Bruno tries to avoid, too, getting voyeuristic. There's a difference, he thinks, between Polnareff sharing what he's willing and Bruno asking for details. If that's not something Polnareff can talk about just yet, that's fine. Bruno can respect that because answering the question as it is would be enough to understand why he's so immediately upset in this moment. But the question also gives Polnareff space to talk about what happened and about Abdul. Not that either subject has ever been particularly taboo for Bruno, but he understands why there's been one for Polnareff.]
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[He's grateful that Bruno doesn't press for details. He's grateful, too, he doesn't immediately try and tell him it's not his fault. It is. It is, sure as if he shoved Abdul in front of Hol's gun and Cream's void. Abdul ought to have lived, but he didn't, and it's Polnareff's fault he didn't, those are just the facts.]
It was all of it. All at once, he got shot and then it was . . .
[Hell. He wants to explain and he doesn't, all at once. Or rather: he wants Bruno to simply know, without the need for words. But his lover isn't a telepath, and so Polnareff takes in a harsh breath and says:]
He was eaten. Just fucking eaten by a Stand, by Dio's fucking henchman, just fucking-- I looked behind me and there was nothing left but his arms, just his arms, god! The last thing he did was shove me out of the way, and I didn't-- I should've--
[He shoves a hand over his eyes, gritting his teeth to try and stave off another sob.]
I think I loved him. [Guilt surges up in him, hot and all-encompassing, on top of everything else. He shouldn't tell Bruno that; that's mean and cruel, but god help him, it's true. That love isn't in place of Bruno, it isn't as if his boyfriend is some stopgap measure meant to fill the void, but it still feels like a betrayal.] And I never knew enough to tell him, and then I got him killed, and I never-- how the fuck can I live with that?
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[It's something that Bruno can relate to, and he thinks that Polnareff has at least a vague idea of that by now or it might not be that even now would he be able to say it. But unlike Polnareff, Bruno has the comfort in knowing for certain that Abbacchio knew to some extent. Maybe not the whole of it because Bruno could never be completely selfish enough to take and say it, but he knew and understood enough with needing Bruno to say it. Sometimes that's enough. Sometimes it falls a little short. But it's something compared to Polnareff's relative nothing to alleviate the guilt and pain surrounding the abrupt loss of Abdul.]
He probably knew, Jean. You have a big heart, and wear it on your sleeve, [Bruno says, speaking in gentle, quiet tones as he moves his hand up to run his fingers through Polnareff's hair. This isn't like the way he normally teases Polnareff at how obvious he is to anyone willing to pay attention. It isn't even the subtle praise of his exuberant affection. It's softer reassurance instead.] I know that's not the same thing as being able to say it, but I think he knew. But even if he didn't know, I don't think he'd want you to torture yourself like this because it was his decision to save you, not yours.
[Because chances are, he thinks, Abdul loved him, too. Because it's impossible not to love Polnareff even just a little. And because he knows that no matter how good a person is, they have to hold some love for someone they're willing to make that kind of sacrifice for.]
[He presses another kiss to Polnareff's temple.]
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It's all very well and good, he thinks, to say that Abdul wouldn't want him to torture himself. Bruno's not wrong; he likely wouldn't. It was his decision, no matter that it went contrary to what they'd all agreed outside the mansion. He'd made a choice, just as Iggy had. Just as Kakyoin had. But--]
I thought he was here, when I first came and saw Kakyoin. I thought . . . I don't know. I'm always ready to believe in a miracle.
[He murmurs it against his neck, his eyes closing.]
Same with Sher, when she came back here. I was so ready to believe that it was her, that nothing had gone wrong, that I hadn't-- that she was okay.
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I know, sweetheart. I wish they were here for you. [He wishes he understood why some people are here and others are not, but it's not likely either one of them will ever have the answer to any of that when just the simple fact the dead come back here at all remains a mystery. But if they had any answers, any meaningful ones anyway, there might be something that oculd be done about it.] I hope that they are someday.
[Before you go back, he thinks, but doesn't say aloud. He refuses to add the weight of another death to Polnareff's mind tonight.]
Even if it's just for a few minutes, I hope you get more time with them.
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[He falls silent for a long few seconds, focusing on his breathing. It's a steady pattern, soothing and calming, and he tries like hell to match his to it. It takes a while. His breathing is still ragged, but at least it's slowed.]
You would've liked Abdul. He's so-- he was so smart. Our first fight, I was under Dio's control. I was his slave-- did you know that? The fucker kept me slave for three months in Egypt, kept me brainwashed . . . anyway. My last mission was to kill Jotaro and the others, and so I fought my hardest, but it didn't matter. The guy kicked my ass and saved my life, and I just . . .
[No. He doesn't want to think about how little he'd repaid his friend. He just wants to talk about him, that's all, just tell Bruno about what a good person he is.]
He had a good sense of humor. You wouldn't know it from the first conversation, but he did. He was kind, too. Real kind. Smart, like I said. And-- god, but he was full of himself sometimes.
[That comes with a huff of laughter. Polnareff finally tips his head back, peering up at Bruno. He still wants those fingers in his hair, but he can at least look at his boyfriend. Brushing away the last of the tears, he smiles and says:]
Stupid bastard thought he knew everything about everything, and god forbid you argue with him or you'd be there all day. I mean, he wasn't wrong most of the time-- you could ask him about anything and he'd give you an answer. Food or culture or Stands or whatever, between him and Kakyoin I learned too much about everything.
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Learning things? That sounds awful, [he teases gently, taking a little time to move a few stray strands of Polnareff's hair back into some semblance of place.] I can see why you loved him though. It sounds like he was a good man.
[Someone who matched Polnareff in his ideals and values, and also had enough of a sense of humor to give back to him as much as he dished out? Of course it was only a matter of time before Polnareff fell in love with someone like that.]
[Though really, Bruno isn't sure how he feels about that tense switch. He matches the past tense that Polnareff sticks to, but he's not sure if that's helpful for him or not. It's really hard to say because there are certainly merits for either. Keeping Abdul in the present tense keeps the hope that he'll come here someday alive. Putting him in the past tense, however, keeps the long-term outcome in mind. Bruno isn't one to judge about which is correct, so it's probably safest to just stick to whatever Polnareff puts out there.]
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[There's more he wants to say about Abdul, and he will in a moment. But now that he's not crying, that seems important to establish. He cups his cheek, his thumb brushing against his skin softly.]
And it's not . . . it's not because I lost him, that I fell in love with you. I love you because you're you. You know that?
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I know. [He intertwines their fingers together loosely.] I wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case.
[Bruno doesn't think Polnareff would have settled for that. He certainly wouldn't have only let Bruno pull just far enough away that he'd have the space to breathe until it felt safe enough to be close.]
And it's okay if part of you still loves him.
[He doesn't believe that you meet people like that, fall in love, and then that's it. The love is gone the moment they are, it doesn't fade immediately into memory. Hell, even when large swaths of it become memory, there's probably always going to be a small piece of love reserved just for that person that no one else can touch. And that's okay with Bruno. He wants Polnareff to have that. He thinks he needs it.]
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[He says it quickly, his heart leaping into his throat. The last thing, the very last thing, that he wants is for Bruno to think he has to share Polnareff in some way. That he in any way comes in second, or that he's somehow lesser, or-- god, or anything.
But . . . that's not what he's saying. He's not saying it's all right that Polnareff somehow prioritizes Abdul, or loves Bruno less. Just that it's all right that his heart is, in some minor way, torn in two.
He still feels guilty. But Polnareff swallows and scoots closer, pressing their foreheads together.]
I love you.
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I love you.
[He murmurs it softly, thumbs stroking his cheekbones again and again slowly. While he would not want that to eclipse what Polnareff feels for Abdul, he does wish that it could be enough to soothe the pain and guilt he feels. Maybe not entirely, but at least some of it. That's simply unrealistic, however, and is far beyond anything that Bruno could ever do for him. In the end, the most Bruno can do is support Polnareff when he needs it and sit with him in these feelings so that he doesn't have to be with them alone. The harder parts are things that Polnareff will have to do for himself. It's the only way he'll heal.]
[Bruno shifts to kiss Polnareff's forehead before encouraging Polnareff to settle back down once more, Bruno's hand returning to Polnareff's hair once again.]
Tell me more about him?
[The good, bad, or whatever else in between, it really doesn't matter. Abdul just can't continue to be something that Polnareff feels like he can't talk about to Bruno. Not after nightmares like that.]
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He was a fortuneteller. A real one, I mean, not just one of those scam artists. He taught me a little . . . I could probably read your future for you. I, hah, I made a tarot deck for Lucy, when she first got here. It's just a pack of cards, but it works just as well as a real set.
[He slips a hand around Bruno's hips, pulling him in close. Slipping his fingers beneath his shirt, he traces his fingers against his skin, trying to think.]
We were the same age, or just about, and I think that set us apart a little. I mean, don't get me wrong, Kakyoin and Jotaro are my best friends, but I think . . . I don't know. It was easier for us to understand each other, just like it was easier for them sometimes. We'd compete a lot-- he was competitive as hell, even if he tried to pretend sometimes he was too mature for that. He always tried to act like that: mature, you know? Superior. I thought he was at least thirty the first time I met him, and then I asked and no, turns out he just really feels like he's gotta be in charge of all of us. Then again, it's not like Mr Joestar was all that put together. He was determined, but it was Abdul who'd make all the hotel arrangements or whatever.
Mm . . . that's a pretty accurate illustration Jotaro did me, you know. Him and Magician's Red both. He was one of those people who had a real presence, you know? He'd walk into a room and you'd know right away.
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I'm glad you had someone like that with you.
[Because Polnareff needs that sometimes. Not all the time, but sometimes he just needs someone to rein him back in. Whatever else Abdul may or may not have been, it's obvious that he helped keep Polnareff steady, most likely in the moments when he needed it most. Kakyoin likely tried, but he lacked the confidence and ultimately the maturity to do it in a way that Polnareff could respond to. It had to be Abdul.]
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[He keeps sliding his fingers against his skin, his eyes flickering over his face. Talking about Abdul hurts. It'll probably always hurt, in the same way talking about Sherry always hurts. But that hurt comes with a wonderful warmth, something nostalgic and fond all at once.]
He taught me a little Arabic once. Numbers, and how to say basic stuff like hello and whatever . . . he let me teach him a bunch of French before telling me he knew it perfectly, because of course he did. It got easier to talk to him after that-- once I could do it in French, I mean. I think I started to understand him better. He wasn't as open as me, so it took me a while to understand him.
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[It's gentle teasing though because it's one thing that Bruno wouldn't change about Polnareff for the world. It makes it easier to trust him, and to eventually reciprocate with some openness of your own. Bruno imagines Abdul figured that out for himself once he came to realize that it was genuine.]
I hope he broke it to you gently when he told you he could speak French fluently.
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Are you kidding me? Of course he didn't. I was teaching him phrases, and I said something like, "Okay, you got that?" and he answered me in perfect French, all smooth and shit. Of course I did, I can speak French perfectly, I'm Mohammad Abdul and I can pronounce everything with a Parisian accent--
[His voice goes deep for that impression, his mouth scrunching up into what he imagines is a smugly superior expression. It collapses after a moment, and Polnareff huffs, snuggling closer to Bruno. His mood has lifted a fair bit, it seems, as he offers his boyfriend a pitiful look.]
All my friends are cruel.
[Are, present tense. Polnareff hesitates, draws in a breath-- and then shakes his head minutely. He won't change it.]
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You're just such an easy target that even the kind ones can't help themselves.
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[Normally, a sentence like that would be a whine, joking and eager to be comforting. This time, though, it's a quiet murmur, and Polnareff noses against him.]
You're my boyfriend, chéri, you gotta defend me.
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Of course, cicci. You know I always will.
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[He does, too. Bruno can be merciless in his teasing, but only to a limit. He knows precisely where the line is, and always stops far short of it. There's not a moment where Polnareff feel as if he can't trust Bruno, and that's remarkable.
He sighs again, shifting to push into Bruno's touch.]
Mm. Tell me something. Something . . . I don't know. That doesn't matter. Something stupid. Distract me?
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Did you know that when an octopus moves one of its tentacles, it actually does most of the thinking in the tentacles for it rather than in its brain? If you were to cut off its connection to the brain, it'd still move like a regular tentacle all on its own.
[Thank God for facts about the ocean and the creatures in it. You can't more irrelevant to the previous topic of conversation or safer from hard topics than facts about octopuses. Especially when it has the potential to gross Polnareff out, which isn't very hard when it comes to sea creatures.]
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[It's a less emphatic curse than it might usually be, but it's still sincere. Polnareff wrinkles his nose, pulling a face. Gross. That's most definitely a distracting fact, and Polnareff focuses on it as much as he can.]
And then what happens to it? It just-- what, wiggles around forever?
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No, it's not like a starfish where it just grows another starfish. It'll die eventually. But if the octopus is caught by a predator, that can give it time to escape. It'll grow a new limb in a month or two, and be as good as new.
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