Chapter Text
Bucciarati has been shot.
The line repeats itself over and over in Leone's head as he steps into his shoes with such urgency, the heels fold over on themselves.
The words reverberating in his head grow louder still when he snatches his keys off the small dresser at his entrance and steps outside in the crisp autumn air that instantly nips at his bare arms.
And by the time he's running down the streets he has grown so familiar with, the phrase has become a mantra, persistently droning on until it's the only thing he can think about while his feet carry him down a memorised path.
He can see it. Red trickling down a pristine white suit. Perfectly groomed brows pinched together in agony as a hand clutches over the wound, expertly summoning a zipper for the sake of stopping the bleeding while he hides from the vile culprit.
Leone doesn't know much. What happened, where it happened, why it happened. Hell, he doesn't even know where Bucciarati had been shot in the first place. All he knows is that he's home and fine.
Although, Giorno, the bearer of the bad news, definitely has a completely warped definition of the word 'fine', so Leone takes his particular judgement with a grain of salt.
The sight of a familiar building snaps Leone out of his panic-induced daze just long enough to kick him back into action, and his pace speeds up into a near sprint as if those few seconds alone are crucial to his Capo's survival.
A trembling hand digs the keychain out his pocket, the violent tremors of his fingers rattling the brass keys, making it nearly impossible to find the right one. Leone even drops them a total of two times, the motion punctuated with a frustrated growl that would have certainly turned a few heads hadn't it been well past midnight.
Even as the lock clicks to announce Leone's success, and the door opens for the man to stumble right in, he feels lost, dizzy. The apartment should feel familiar and comfortable as it has for a while, but right at this moment it reeks of anxiety, uncertainty and fright.
From the moment Leone had picked up his phone, right to unlocking Bucciarati's apartment, at least a dozen different scenarios had played in his head. And walking around this corner and into the bedroom where the man is undoubtedly residing would only materialise that fear.
But Leone didn't come here just to prove his nightmares right. This is not about himself.
So, with squared shoulders, Leone shuts and locks the door behind himself, toes out of his shoes to leave them in a messy heap at the entrance, before crossing the short hall and pushing through the slightly ajar door to Bucciarati's bedroom.
There he sits, propped up against the headboard with a thickly bandaged and padded shoulder, gaze already pointed in Leone's direction, looking pale, exhausted, in pain . The mere sight of it awakens something within Leone, who hadn't even announced his presence yet, let alone greeted the other.
He stumbles forward, and a choked sound is wretched from his throat as he comes to a standstill besides Bucciarati's bed, fists clenched at his side. There are so many things he wants to say.
How are you feeling?
What happened?
I'll be there for you.
But when his lips part, something entirely different comes out instead.
"I can't believe you went on that mission alone," he utters, slow and quiet. But as he continues, his voice grows louder, more frantic, emotional. "You knew it was a high-risk situation yet you still refused any help from anyone who offered. What were you thinking ?"
Bucciarati just looks at him, lets him rage on while those deep blues burn through him.
"And look what happened to you now, huh? Something that could've easily been avoided if you hadn't been so fucking stubborn !"
"Abbacchio."
"Do you have any idea how worried everyone will be when they find out? You'd never let any of us do anything this reckless, yet here you go doing it yourself without any preservation!"
"Abbacchio, stop."
"And Giorno just fucking let you go all by yourself, irresponsible brat. You could've died Buccia—"
"Leone!"
With an audible click, Leone's jaw snaps shut. His chest is heaving from the outburst, and possibly still from the remnants of sprinting all the way here. Bucciarati's expression is unreadable, but there is something in those tired looking eyes that instantly deflates Leone's defensive stance.
Hurt.
And Leone instantly feels guilty for yelling at this man who's had a more than stressful night already. He should be here to hold him, comfort him, but he'd let his own emotions take over. Like he always did, damn it.
"Go home, Leone."
It stings. But Leone knows he deserves the cold treatment. This is an order, and since that very first day he had sworn his loyalty to Bucciarati, he hadn't defied a single command. He's a Soldato, driven to carry out his duty as quickly and professionally as he could, no matter the sacrifice. It dawns on him then that he had given the injured man absolute shit over something he himself has been guilty of doing time and again. And knowing now just how much Bucciarati cares about him, he can only imagine how many times he has felt those exact things that Leone is feeling right at this moment.
Leone Abbacchio has never refused an order from Bucciarati. But this man before him right now isn't Bucciarati, his Capo. No, this man is Bruno , his dearest friend whom he has grown so close to over the past years.
Bruno , who holds him and talks to him so patiently when Leone's past comes to catch up with him.
Bruno , who curses like a sailor when he stubs his toe, and snorts when he's laughing too hard.
Bruno , who had started opening up about his own history, worries, and fears, entrusting Leone with his feelings like he'd never dared to do with anyone else.
And so, for the first time in his life, Leone refuses to blindly follow his demand.
"No. I'm staying."
The tell-tale signs of surprise flit across Bruno's previously hardened expression, softening up the tight line of his mouth and low set of his brows. Leone can practically see the inner monologue playing out in the other's undoubtedly exhausted mind, contemplating how to move forward from this unexpected turn of events. The silence is palpable, but Leone holds his own with the knowledge that his presence hasn't been refused a second time. Yet, at least.
The silence is broken by a heavy sigh. Defeat. And Leone feels himself relax again. More than anything, he's lucky that Bruno is too tired to argue, but he doesn't miss the look of relief and the slight sag of his posture against the headboard of his bed. Bruno's hand drops then, patting the space on the mattress beside him in a silent invitation. One Leone doesn't have to think twice about as he crosses the short distance to Bruno's bed to crawl in, careful not to jostle Bruno too much as the mattress dips under his weight. His own shoulder comes to press against Bruno's uninjured one when the latter seeks out comfort in the form of physical touch.
It's something Leone is still getting used to, the way Bruno would gravitate closer and initiate small physical gestures like a hand pressed to his back, or a reassuring nudge against his leg. So, when a head gently lands atop of his shoulder, Leone has to purposefully force himself to relax, easing himself into the previously unfamiliar feeling of affection, as well as the lingering guilt for having lost his composure earlier.
"I'm so—"
"Shush, stop overthinking. I'm not mad."
A chilly hand finds Leone's slightly clammy one, their palms pressing together in a loose hold. Leone's mind is still reeling with questions, anxiety, jitteriness, but at least Bruno is here by his side, alive , and that's what matters most to him at this moment.
Bruno laughs then, completely out of the blue. The sound is so unexpected, Leone would have blamed it on his imagination if it hadn't been for the feeling of a jolt against his shoulder. The sudden movement caused Bruno to hiss through his mirth, but once he'd adjusted his injured shoulder into a more comfortable position, he sagged against Leone's side once again. And Leone couldn't keep his eyes off of him, briefly humouring the possibility of Bruno's painkillers being the source of such misplaced amusement.
"Of course I chose the one week Giorno is out of town to get myself injured."
This time it's Leone's who huffs out a short bout of laughter at the irony of the situation. But Bruno has always had an influence on his mood, and seeing that gleeful sparkle in those previously dulled blue eyes is a huge relief and comfort to him. It's true that the Capo has suffered worse throughout his career. Hell, he'd been practically dead , but it never stopped him from getting right back up on his feet. However, seeing him injured will never be easy, especially if it was caused by something completely avoidable.
Leone releases the other's hand for a moment, wiping his palm on his sweatpants before reclaiming Bruno's cold fingers in his own warmer grip. It's probably the fatigue and blood loss that has seeped out the warmth in his body, but it reminds Leone a little bit too much of the events leading up to Giorno's instalment as Passione's new leader. Had this happened before the hardship they had gone through at that time, Leone probably wouldn't have reacted this strongly to Bruno's injury. But his desire to protect this man has only grown stronger as their relationship shifted towards something more personal and intimate.
Those same cold fingers tighten their grip around Leone's where they had slotted together, pulling Leone out of his thoughts. Their laughter has long since subsided, and the only sound in the room was that of their breathing.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Leone finds himself asking after a few more breaths, now resting his cheek against the top of Bruno's head, over the braid that looked a little messier than the man probably would've liked.
There's a pause, and when Leone looks down, he can tell that Bruno has shut his eyes. For a moment, he thinks that he might have fallen asleep, until his lips part in answer.
"It was a failed negotiation," he started, all of the fatigue instantly returning to his soft voice and slumped posture. "I think I've told everyone before about the organisation who has been distributing drugs around our old area." Leone nods his agreement, cheek rubbing against pitch black hair. "I was meeting with their leader for the proposition of a compromise. They disagreed, I kindly advised them to either take it or leave, and... well, you're a clever man, I'm sure you can fill in the blanks."
"...You zipped off a guy's limbs again, didn't you?"
Silence.
"Perhaps I might have used my stand as a means of persuasion, yes."
"I'm coming with you next time."
Bruno simply hums in agreement, too tired to argue with a more than stubborn Leone. Besides, he has always been known to be a reflective man. Assessing, analysing, learning from his mistakes to move further. It's what has made him so successful in his job, what led him to become a Capo, beloved by the civilians under his protection and his subordinates, and feared by his enemies. Chances are that even though Bruno has been shot, the other gang won't be causing a ruckus anymore for a while because of that.
But no matter how professional and powerful Bruno Bucciarati is, he's only human. He has his limits just like anybody else does. He is reckless, makes mistakes and stupid decisions just as often as others do. Not many people get to actually see that side of his, but that doesn't mean it's not there, that it doesn't affect him. Leone has learned this overtime, knows that right now Bruno is most likely thinking of all the missteps he has made, backtracking the entire event to filter out his errors so he can make more informed decisions next time. Knows that it's eating him up from the inside, and that he feels guilty for worrying everyone so much over something that shouldn't have happened in the first place. Leone can tell from the way his breathing hitches from time to time, from how his jaw shifts against the shoulder he's pressed up against as he chews on the inside of his cheek, from those cold fingers twitching in his grip every so often.
It explains why Bruno wasn't asleep yet despite his obvious fatigue. Besides the bullet wound in his shoulder, of course.
"My head hurts," Bruno sighs after a while, wriggling his fingers out of Leone's grip and bringing them up to his face, two fingers pressing between his brows and smoothing them over his forehead and temples as if to physically rub out the headache.
"I wonder why," Leone quips dryly, and it earns him a sharp pinch on his thigh before Bruno's hand returns to nurse his headache. "Do you need me to get you anything? Some water, painkillers?"
That same hand points to the nightstand beside the bed, directing Leone's attention to the half full water bottle and strip of prescription painkillers. Right, of course, independent as always.
Leone thinks of what else might help ease that seemingly persistent headache, as well as the intrusive thoughts that are most likely still keeping Bruno from winding down properly. Chatting the night away is certainly not an option, nor is dragging in the television from the living room to distract Bruno with whatever the channels had to offer at this time of the day.
What would Bruno do?
The answer to that question instantly softens the beginnings of a frown that had already been tugging at his lips and creasing his brow. He knows exactly what Bruno would do, and with that knowledge, an idea springs to mind.
With a gentle hand and strategic shift, Leone nudges the other man back upright, shooting him a somewhat apologetic look when the motion rewards him with an annoyed glance. At this point, Leone knows better than to take it personally though. The man has been shot, for fuck's sake.
"Scoot forward a little bit for me, will you?" Leone hums, and he's acknowledged by a pair of curious blue eyes scrutinising him, looking him up and down as if a mere glance would present Bruno with the answers to all of his questions. Still, he complies, deciding to save his breath as he carefully pushes himself upright, groaning when the change of posture causes his injured shoulder to shift slightly. Leone reaches forward to help out, but is stopped by a hand against his chest, stubbornly pushing him back.
With the newly acquired space between Bruno's back and the headboard of his bed, Leone shifts and moves behind the other man, manoeuvring his long leg around him as carefully as he could. When Bruno caught onto his intentions, he shifted a bit further forward to give Leone some more space until he was comfortably sandwiched between Bruno and the headboard, his legs now on either side of the injured man.
With a tap to Bruno's side, Leone ushers him to lean his weight back so he's slumped against Leone's front. It takes a bit of shifting and a few pained gasps until Bruno finds an angle that's comfortable for him, slightly slouched and leaning more heavily onto his good shoulder. But once he does, his head drops backwards against Leone's sternum, accompanied by a full body sigh.
That's a good start.
They stay like that for a while, pressed together comfortably while Bruno continues to rub the tension from his forehead. It's Leone's hand that ends up pushing it away, prompting Bruno to drop it back into his lap. The angle makes the motion a little bit awkward at first since Leone can't really see what he's doing, and he nearly pokes Bruno's eye once or twice until his fingers find silky bangs. He smooths it back, carding through the strands and gently untangling the hairs that had clumped together over time during Bruno's frantic day. The gesture draws out a pleased sigh from the other man, which Leone takes as a sign to continue.
Once his fringe has been thoroughly detangled and pushed aside, Leone slides his hand upwards, letting his fingers trail over the slightly haggard braid that ran across the top of Bruno's head a few times. His other hand joins in then to carefully unclasp the two pins that held the end of the braid in place, only to drop them onto the nightstand once they'd been removed. The next few minutes, Leone busies himself with undoing the tight braid, careful fingers ushering the strands down over the sides until they had all been flattened out again. There, much more comfortable.
Of course, that alone isn't going to do much for the migraine that threatens to keep Bruno up longer than necessary, so Leone takes it upon himself to slide his fingers back into the thick, pitch black strands of Bruno's hair that contrasted his own wispier, paler tresses. Leone pressed the tips of his fingers onto the skin of the other's scalp, careful at first, but more persistently so after a confirmative hum from the man pressed against his chest. His fingers massage the sore skin while untangling whatever knot he came across in the process, and by the time there isn't a single tangle left, Bruno has completely melted into him.
Leone hunches over, noticing how Bruno has shut his eyes throughout the impromptu massage. Good. But he isn't quite asleep yet.
His hands come up at the sides of Bruno's head, pressing the pads of his middle fingers against the man’s temples to rub out any lingering tension. An appreciative sigh tells Leone that the gesture is well-received. Whatever thoughts had been keeping Bruno up are expertly rubbed out by purposeful touches and at this point, even Leone feels himself growing drowsy.
With a completely relaxed and pliant Bruno in his arms, Leone ends up dropping one hand, which is quickly caught by slightly less chilly fingers that instantly slide to fit between Leone's. The hand that remained at Bruno's temple now moves up to his forehead instead, fingertips ghosting over warm skin, sliding down over Bruno's nose, and lower still until they reached his lips, earning him a half-kiss as they puckered slightly against the pads of his fingers. The gesture prompted a fond smile from Leone, who dropped his forehead against Bruno's hair where the braid used to be. At that point, his fingers have reached Bruno's chin where they linger for a second before trailing up his jaw and to his ear, before returning back to his forehead, only to repeat the entire circuit again and again.
It's by the tenth time or so that Leone finds himself halting at the sound of a soft snore. It seems like the gentle touches had served their purpose of lulling Bruno to sleep, much to Leone's contentment. His own eyelids had grown heavy as well throughout the process, and although he'd probably regret falling asleep upright like this the next morning, he can't really find it in himself to care much right now.
No matter the hardships, the pain, the mistakes they might experience in the future, Leone takes comfort in the knowledge that he has someone to confide in, and that that person trusts him in return.
With one hand still clasped in Bruno's, Leone presses his lips to the crown of Bruno's head before shutting his eyes at last.
"Sleep well."