Work Text:
A waft of cigarette smoke.
———
In the cold silence, Avilio pours himself a drink of Lawless Heaven, sits himself alone on the couch, lights dim.
“It’s almost over, Corteo.”
He says to no one in particular, downing the liquor in one go.
He stands, grabbing his hat and lighting a cigarette. Smoke curls around his face in twisted tendrils.
He leaves, heads back to the Vanetti manor. Back to his revenge, to being Avilio Bruno and not Angelo Lagusa.
Nero suspects nothing, and Avilio acts the same.
———
A gunshot.
———
All it takes is a gunshot.
Both Vincent Vanetti and Don Galassia fall.
And he departs, blood clinging to his cheek as a warm reminder that it was done.
———
Glass shattering.
———
Shards cut into his skin and blood beads on his chest like sweat.
Then, his hands are bound and he is reminded of what he has done.
The gunshot rings in his ears, the blood splatters onto his hands, his clothes, but the smile never leaves Corteo’s lips as his head goes limp and rolls to the side.
Ah. Agony.
That is what he feels.
Nothing is right. Everything is wrong.
Was it all pointless?
———
Maybe everything wasn’t meaningless after all.
———
Two sets of footprints in the sand, erased time and time again by the relentless waves.
If only the past too could be so easily wiped away.
Angelo walked ahead of Nero.
“The reason I didn’t kill you is because I didn’t want to kill you.”
A smile reserved only for himself.
Nero raised his gun.
A confession for only one person to hear.
The gunshot rang out.
Birds screeched and flappped their wings to fly away from danger.
The ocean roared, rushing in to wrap around the tattered clothes. To lap away the pool of blood seeping in to the sand.
The wind howled and the clouds cried.
The whole of nature was in uproar.
———
Either way, I am still sorry...
———
A ride back alone. A glance at the passenger seat only yields a view of a single canned pineapple container.
Death escaped and fate swapped.
The one who slids away is not who was expected.
A lone sheet of paper discovered in the glove box.
A shaky scrawl with some blotted ink.
‘I’m sorry...
...I fell in love.’
Two short phrases conveying more meaning than his stoic expression ever could.
———
Rivers of blood.
———
It’s a lone trudge up the beach, blood soaking clothes and breathing ragged. Dragging more than anything his way across the stinging sand that scratches at his wounds and makes it that more agonizing.
Whenever the tide draws near, it pulls back tinted pink and red with blood.
Flashing through his mind is all those whom he had killed or had been killed during his little twisted game of revenge.
Always echoing in his head is the sound of gunshots, always stinging his nostrils is the metallic tang of blood so strong he can taste on his tongue and feel it with every breath.
He curls into the shore, pain agonizing and cruel.
It’s not a swift release but a bitter promise.
———
The splashing of alcohol.
———
Alone in a dingy motel far from Lawless, Nero pours himself a glass of Lawless Heaven, noting the absence of those gleaming gold eyes and the cold touches of those lithe fingers.
He takes a sip, savoring the taste, though it’s spoiled by the thought that the person who first introduced the drink to him had betrayed him, killed his family, hurt him.
Yet he can’t fully feel that burning fury. That all-consuming hatred.
———
The clink of glass.
———
He sets down the empty glass, leaning back onto the motel bed, reflecting.
Now he was truly alone.
He had lost everything.
Even that last little existence that he had clung to before.
His eyes close shut. He opens them and stare up at the ceiling.
Why?
———
Lips brushing and hands touching.
———
He remembered it with a clarity. The first road trip with Avilio- no, Angelo. Waiting in the warehouse, close but not too close, a rather strange feeling resting in his chest that they weren’t close enough- yet.
Then when he offered Avilio the cigarette after asking him if he wanted to join the family, their hands touched and he had a sort of revelation.
After that, their relationship had changed subtly. More inconspicuous and unconscious touches- a hand placed on a shoulder, a pat on the back, ruffling hair.
And after he killed Frate...
Their lips brushed against each other, chapped yet soft and addicting.
———
But it ends now.
———
He no longer had the energy, sunlight stinging his eyes and making him squint. He heard footsteps, felt the scornful gazes burning his back before they snort derisively and turn away, receding along with the tide. His life bleeding out, the sand hot and irate against his skin, the sun scalding on his back, the ocean licking at his feet.
He couldn’t move so he merely lay there, waiting.
He sighed, resigned. Ready to accept his fate.
He turned his somber golden gaze up towards the clouded sky, eyes wet.
“It’s done, Corteo. I’m coming home.”
A bitter laugh.
Then with a skillful hand, he snuffs out the flame of the candle, but his fingers do not get scorched.
———
I’m sorry.
———
Cigarette smoke puffs out, coiling in the air like a snake. He stares out a window, the glass cracked and broken. A glass of Lawless Heaven in his hand. A gun on his lap.
But something is missing.
He hears the footsteps, but the call of that voice falls on deaf ears.
———
‘Nero,
I loved you.’
———
An open window. The butt of a stomped out cigarette. A half-drunk glass of alcohol. An empty room. No one’s there.
~the end~