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The potted plant sitting on the breakfast nook table is altogether unobtrusive – or at least it tries to be, despite its appearance. It’s a weird thing. All pointed, with what look to be a couple of long, sharp buds poking out among browning foliage. The wilting leaves don’t do much for its appearance, nor does the clod of dry dirt holding it in its drab plastic pot.
Leone stares the plant down. His chair is scooted back from the table to make room for the its sheer size. “You went grocery shopping,” he says. “Said you might pick up extra shampoo while you were out.”
Bruno, with his head buried in the fridge as he tucks away fresh parmesan, hums the affirmative. “I did grab shampoo, since I finished a bottle of yours last night. I already put it away in the bathroom.”
Yes, that’s awfully sweet of him. Very thoughtful. Leone is grateful every single day, that he’s landed himself such a kindhearted husband, and the beautifully blatant domesticity of Bruno using all of his shampoo is in no way lost on his weak love-laden heart.
But still…
There is a large bizarre plant in their breakfast nook. Nearly in the lap of Leone’s early afternoon tea – tea that he’s been waiting to drink with Bruno, blatant domesticity style.
This plant is very much cramping that style.
“If all you bought is groceries and shampoo,” Leone lifts a hand, pointing one finger at the not-as-green-as-it-should-be monstrosity in front of him, “then what the hell is this?”
He knows very well what it is of course. Not in technical terms, but in general. As in, he knows what it’s doing here – because this is a familiar routine by now.
“I don’t remember its proper name,” Bruno says as he snaps the refrigerator door shut. “People call it birds of paradise, though, because the flowers look like them.” He wanders to Leone’s side, standing by the waiting tea, but his eyes remain fixed on their new houseplant with a certain sad affection that Leone recognizes.
He’s going to stop letting Bruno leave the house alone at this rate – or scratch that, he’ll just have to keep Bruno in at all times, because Leone is often powerless to stop this kind of thing from happening even when he tags along. For reasons he will not disclose at this present time.
“Where did you get it?” he asks, already resigning himself again thanks to those eyes. That pitying expression that pulls on all of Leone’s heartstrings, even when it’s directed at a fucking plant.
“There was a street vendor, on my way home,” Bruno explains.
“Why did you get it?” See, Leone is not an idiot. He knows the answer; knows very well why Bruno brought this sad excuse for a plant home. It’s written all over his face, sewn into his posture.
Sure enough:
“Look at it, Leone.” Bruno’s fingers brush lighter than air over one sorry dried-up leaf. “It’s in such bad shape – no one else was going to buy it!” He frowns, pressing his finger into the dry dirt (seriously, did that street vendor take care of this plant at all?). “I think I can save it…”
And there it is. The most endearing thing in the world. Leone’s heart is a mess just like that. But Bruno is overlooking one very important detail, and alas Leone has to remind him of it.
“Bruno,” he says, as steady as he can, “we don’t have room for more houseplants.”
They really, really don’t. This tiny beach shack can only take so much!
Their small guest room was originally supposed to be for actual guests – because they do get those, in the form of Narancia, usually, but even Giorno or Mista or Trish or Fugo come around sometimes – but now it’s a veritable forest. So much recovering greenery is stuffed inside that you can’t even see the bed when you glance in, let alone sleep in it.
Every available surface from their front stoop to their back porch steps and every windowsill in between is chock full of plant life. Roses and vines and wildflowers and even things that Leone has no idea what the hell they are but sure as shit knows they’re not supposed to grow in Italy.
They crowd the porch. The mantle. The dining room table and kitchen counters. Three on top of the fridge and five behind the couch. Too many to count in their bedroom.
Not even the bathroom is safe. Leone stares down a herd of succulents and ivy perched on the back of the toilet every time he takes a piss.
And more than once, he’s gone to take a shower and found houseplants sitting in the tub after being showered of dust themselves. Bruno has humidifiers and thermostats all set to perfect plant temperatures to nurse them back to health. He has a schedule for watering and feeding them – which is something that Leone didn’t even know plants needed before.
Even the outdoor gardens and planters are overflowing. What space isn’t taken up by plants is taken up by plant supplies or accessories. Things like extra soil and empty pots waiting to be filled.
Their house has become a veritable conservatory thanks to Bruno’s obsessive need to care for neglected plants that he finds on the roadside, wasting away in grocery stores, forgotten in nurseries, and on one memorable occasion, stolen from a stranger’s porch in the dead of night because they were “letting it die”.
It’s not only Bruno’s compulsive caretaking to blame, though. Giorno is also at fault here.
Not simply for the fact that he’s Giorno, mind, but for the fact that he’s taken to entrusting Leone and Bruno with valuable documents or items transformed into plants via Gold Experience. (That arrow is even around the house somewhere – Leone can’t recall which plant it is. Probably something ostentatious, knowing Giorno.)
So there it is. The fact of the matter is that they just plain old don’t have any more space to spare, especially not for a plant as big as this one.
Bruno disregards this valid concern with a shrug. “It can go on the deck.”
Great idea! Except: “We don’t have room on the deck.” Because that was the very first place to fill up. Now it swarms with bees every summer. They like purple flowers a lot, Leone has noticed.
“It’s not going to get that big,” Bruno defends. “Only about two meters, according to the stall owner.”
Leone feels compelled to point out that, “There’s nothing ‘only’ about two meters.”
Pausing in fussing over his poor plant, Bruno aims those sad eyes at Leone. He has to be doing this on purpose, the clever bastard. He has to know. “This one is in bad shape – it might not get that big.”
Appealing to Bruno’s rational side is useless. It might as well not exist while that heroic parental instinct side of him is busy rescuing whatever he can get his hands on. Never mind that it’ll be the death of all free floor-and-tabletop space in this house.
Leone doesn’t even have the strength to argue anymore. He’s not about to wrestle this tragic plant away from that tragic expression on Bruno’s face, and they both know it.
The stare down is mostly for show. Leone lost before Bruno even walked this thing through the door.
See? This is why his being there doesn’t help prevent these incidents at all. No matter how much he grumbles, thick fluttering eyelashes above sympathetic blue eyes sucker punch his heart and walk all over him each time.
He doesn’t have the heart to deny Bruno something to care for. It’s not like he’s in Passione anymore. His daily tasks no longer include looking after Narancia and everyone else, though he still does his fair share of that anyway.
…Leone lives here, too, of course. But even he isn’t enough of a handful to keep Bruno permanently busy, thank you very much. (Not anymore, anyway.)
If a million houseplants can fill whatever void needs to be filled here, Leone will put up with it. Do his share to help take care of the million.
Bruno has re-homed a couple, at least. And there are worse things to hoard. Worse hobbies to take up.
“Jeez,” Leone grumbles, as he breaks eye contact to sip at his tea. “We need to adopt a kid or something before you bring every plant in the country to our living room.”
It doesn’t hit him, what he said, until there’s too long of a silence and he looks up to find Bruno’s widened eyes and stiffened posture.
Adopt a kid, Leone said.
Haha.
Fuck.
His teacup clatters back to its saucer. “I mean,” he stutters, cheeks all hot, a distinct need to run the hell away from his slip of the tongue gnawing at him. “I think there might be room left on the deck. If you…” He forces himself to his feet, finds the strength to stay put, feigns deep interest in this newest plant. “If you want me to help you find a place.”
Bruno’s gaze is still tangibly heavy on the side of Leone’s face – but after a couple of seconds, that sensation vanishes, Bruno turning his focus to the plant. “Sure.”
-
Much later that night, Leone is having an impossible time falling asleep. He’s staring up at their darkened ceiling, feet sticking out from under the covers because they keep getting too hot, but that’s just about the only problem he can think of that ought to be keeping him from sleep – and yet.
Here he is. Hours past bedtime, wide awake for no damn reason.
“Leone.”
Apparently Bruno isn’t resting any easier, a fact that Leone doesn’t think counts as any kind of consolation. Their shoulders are touching in a comfortably warm way, and a glance reveals a thoughtful furrow between Bruno’s brows, his hands resting atop his stomach and the blanket alike.
Leone answers with a, “Hm?”
“What you said earlier…”
Oh. Leone’s insides twist, and he tries not to physically cringe. What he said earlier can only be in reference to one spectacular slip, after all. One that he’s been trying not to think about. “Yeah?”
“About…a kid,” Bruno clarifies, unnecessarily. “Did you mean it?”
To that, Leone’s kneejerk response is to roll out of bed, or pretend he’s fallen asleep, or change the subject. But his husband knows him too well for any of those options to fly, not to mention that none of them are at all fair. So he thinks on it, for a too-long beat of silence.
“I don’t know,” he says, after another too-long beat of silence. Because that’s the only conclusion he’s able to arrive at. “I mean…we can’t, when we’re still so connected to Passione, so it…” With the both of them lying on their backs like this, it’s all too easy for Leone to get lost scrutinizing Bruno’s expression without the danger of eye contact. “It doesn’t matter, right? Even if I did…mean it.”
Bruno sighs, deep and slow through his nose. He turns his head, and here’s that eye contact after all, with an odd unfamiliar note swimming in blue eyes. “Yeah,” he says, so soft that Leone almost misses it. “I guess it doesn’t.”
Those unfathomable eyes stay glued to Leone, so he stares into their depths.
From the look of him, there’s more Bruno wants to say; Leone will patiently wait.
“I…” Bruno starts, his voice still set to a whisper. A pause, and then he picks back up. “I always thought it would be nice. To raise a family.”
Oh. God. That is the sweetest and most heartwarming thing that Leone’s ever heard in his life. So in line with who Bruno is as a person, his endless stream of impulsive caretaking – but, the thing is, they’ve been together for so long, got as married as they can – and Bruno’s never…
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Bruno turns away, back to staring up at the ceiling. “It was a silly childhood dream, and I realized that soon enough. There wasn’t any point.”
Pointless or not, that melancholic expression on Bruno’s face is too much for Leone to bear. Even from the side it’s overwhelming his heart, filling it with sore sympathy.
“When I was younger I wanted to be like my parents,” Bruno continues in that gentle-soft tone, and Leone is transfixed. “And as I got older, I saw how many bad parents there are out there…wondered if I’d be a good one. But I knew I couldn’t, with the way my life turned out, so…”
“You would be a disgustingly good parent,” Leone assures on automatic. Because it’s true.
That gets one corner of Bruno’s mouth to tick upward. The half-smile doesn’t stick, but it’s better than none at all. “So would you.”
Now that is a complete lie. “No I wouldn’t.”
Although the expression on Bruno’s face as he glances over seems to disagree with this fact, an argument doesn’t come. Supposedly it’s sidelined in favor of his curiosity. “Did you ever think about it? Having kids?”
Well. Deep diving into childhood memories and the like has never been a favorite pastime of Leone’s, but for Bruno’s sake he’ll try. Scowling up toward the ceiling and unable to shake the feel of earnest blue eyes as Bruno takes his turn at patiently waiting.
“I…guess I assumed I’d settle down eventually.” Because that must have been in his life plan somewhere, even if only in the back of his mind as a given along with everything else. It’s weird to think about, looking back from here. “My career was my focus until…” Until it quite spectacularly wasn’t. “And after that I didn’t think I’d have a future at all.” So there’s that depressing segue.
Things turned out okay, by some miracle – though there are still some days where Leone expects all of this to blow up in his face, or that he’ll wake up and find that it’s all a dream and he’s drunkenly sprawled in an alleyway. Or dead on a beach in Sardinia.
Bruno rolls over onto his side and into Leone, pressing a cheek to his shoulder, and Leone accepts the intrusion with an arm wrapped around Bruno to keep him close. Appreciates the silent offer of comfort (that only melts his heart all the more).
“So…no, I guess I never did think about having kids. Specifically.”
He can feel the way Bruno’s chest expands on a deep breath, along with the soft puff of air as he exhales. His hands are beneath the covers, now, and his fingers brush gentle at Leone’s side. “It was the same for me,” he says, something fragile about his voice. “I didn’t think I’d get a future, either.”
That hurts a whole lot more when Bruno says it – probably because Leone knows that Bruno wanted a future, whereas Leone himself…very much did not, for a stretch of time. Plausibility of one aside.
Kissing Bruno’s forehead is too easy in this position and feels too right with the current mood, so Leone doesn’t hesitate. His mouth lingers long enough for another, even. “We got one, though,” he mutters against Bruno’s skin.
A hum of agreement. “Yeah…”
“Complete with a handful of brats.”
When Bruno smiles, Leone can feel it through the fabric of his shirt. Small but genuine, as his smiles always are. “So we wound up with kids after all?”
“Yes. Lucky us,” Abbacchio grumbles, fighting off the reflexive smile that always tries to form in response to Bruno’s. Can’t have him suspecting Leone’s true feelings about those brats. “They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Mhm.” Bruno presses a lingering kiss to Leone’s shoulder, sees right through him as usual. “I love them, too.” He seems intent on snuggling closer – which threatens to make it way too hot beneath the covers, so Leone winds up uncovering both of his legs, only for one of Bruno’s to rest on them instead. He has an arm stretched across Leone’s stomach, too – and he’s kissing Leone’s shoulder again – with that tiny, fond smile in place –
And Leone was being sarcastic, but he sure as hell does feel lucky right now. With Bruno half atop him in their foliage-filled bedroom. Bittersweet subject matter or not.
If he thinks too long about this, it’ll make him (even more) emotional.
So continued grouching it is.
“Plus, we have all these plant children, too.”
Bruno actually laughs at that. A quick bright burst of warm and melodic sound that doesn’t last near long enough. He settles further into Leone’s side, snuggling in. It’s sweet of him, affection tangible even without the kiss he drops on Leone’s cheek. His eyes are shiny, though, despite that gentle upturn at the corners of his mouth and how it’s hanging around for much longer than usual.
Leone angles himself in toward Bruno, turned onto his side a little ways. “What is it?” he asks those wet eyes and soft smile.
“It’s just nice.” A pause, during which Bruno’s fingers land gentle on Leone’s chest. They can probably feel his heartbeat. “Having this – having anything like a family again.”
Here, Leone almost asks if Bruno means the plants, but his expression is altogether too sincere – in the end Leone can’t bring himself to break the moment. Or even to lighten it. Because Bruno is right that it’s nice and his easy proximity coupled with the late hour have Leone feeling malleable in a safe way.
So all he does is lie still and listen and drown in Bruno’s eyes. Like he always seems to anymore.
“I didn’t think I’d get to,” Bruno continues, his hand gliding toward Leone’s face, cupping his cheek. “It didn’t seem possible, until I met you.”
Oh, Leone is going to die like this. With that rough-warm hand on his face and all these loving words spilled. He’s not worth even half of what Bruno’s claiming. Now isn’t the time to bring that up, either.
“And even then I never really dared to think that we’d end up here.”
That smile on Bruno’s face goes bittersweet as he speaks, and Leone wants to kiss it away. To steal that taut edge that only belongs on his own smiles and not anywhere near Bruno’s tangible happiness. It’s as easy as leaning in close, burying a hand in dark hair and pressing his mouth to Bruno’s.
The feeling of a gentle smile melting against Leone’s lips is divine in a sappy way. Makes him feel even safer – enough that he’s able to mumble against Bruno’s mouth, eyes still closed.
“You…gave me a future, too,” is what he says. Fondness crawling through his insides and refusing to be contained. “You are my future.”
He squeezes Bruno in tight, burying his face in Bruno’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to face him after such a cheesy line – but he couldn’t help it, not really. After their tiny, private wedding and everything that came before and after, he’s probably earned the right to be a little cheesy if he wants to. To make sure Bruno knows what he means to Leone. How safe he keeps his heart.
Both of Bruno’s arms wind around Leone, hugging him back tight and sure. “You’re mine, too, my love.”
Agh, fuck, it’s fine. Leone didn’t need his heart anyway. Most of it has already belonged to Bruno for a long time, might as well give him the rest of it for whatever it’s worth. Holding him so close is bound to get uncomfortably hot soon, but Leone can’t even begin to care.
Letting go doesn’t feel right just yet. Especially not with Bruno pressing kisses wherever he can reach, his soft mouth lingering over skin and fabric…
“I just wish you’d stop bringing home sad plants,” Leone blurts, after a moment.
And it gets another laugh from Bruno. God. Forget that long-past Sardinian beach. This – Bruno happy and close and showering Leone with affection and joy – is definitely going to be the cause of Leone’s death.
“Maybe,” Bruno says, pulling back the tiniest bit so that he can lock eyes with Leone, “we could get a pet.”
Hm. Leone’s brow furrows on a frown. A pet, huh? That might not be so bad, emphasis on might. “Like a cat?”
There’s that charming little smile back on Bruno’s face, complete with a cheerful shine to his vibrant eyes. “I was going to suggest a dog.”
“Cats are better,” Leone grouches on automatic.
It only seems to encourage Bruno. “One of each?”
“We don’t have room for more than one with all these plants,” is what Leone says, but the truth is that the eager expression on Bruno’s face has him thoroughly weak. It didn’t even take any arguing, and he’s close to cracking already. Pondering the virtues of one of each.
A pet (or two) isn’t the same as kids, but it’s close enough. And it happens to be much more doable for them, all circumstances considered.
Plus, Bruno is the one who suggested it…meaning it might be a feasible lifelong dream compromise…if a lifelong dream is the kind of thing you compromise on…
“I can find new homes for some of them,” Bruno bargains. If he’s talking about getting rid of plants, then he must really want a pet (or two). He’s also starting to draw patterns on Leone’s back with gentle fingers, while his other hand is making its way toward Leone’s hair. Like this, Bruno will work him to putty while pinning him with that peaceful gaze.
Manipulation tactics, if Leone’s ever experienced them. And he’s weak to them, in no way willing to fight, because one of each does sound nice, and less plants is a plus –
And honestly, who is Leone to refuse Bruno anything as simple as this?
“…One of each,” he winds up muttering. Those fingers tangled in his hair catch on it as he dips forward to kiss Bruno’s cheek. Blue eyes are lit up so bright that Leone’s having a hard time holding their gleeful attention. “But just one of each,” he insists, because he can see this getting out of hand. “No matter how many plants you get rid of, we don’t have room for an entire herd.”
Bruno’s grin widens at that. A bad sign, given what they’re discussing. “But what if there are two dogs that can’t be separated? Or I find another cat abandoned on the side of the road?”
Groaning, Leone tips over the rest of the way. Can’t help it. Fondness overwhelms him and he has no choice but to roll on top of Bruno, squish him against the bed and kiss him several thousand times. All over his joyous face.
“You’re so –” Leone’s cut off by his own hair getting in the way, and when he goes to brush it aside his hand meets Bruno’s already at work doing the same thing. “Fuck, I love you.” This next kiss lands on Bruno’s mouth, firm and sure. They’re holding hands, strands of Leone’s hair tangled between their fingers. “Don’t turn this house into a zoo.”
“It’s already a forest,” Bruno says, with an innocent tilt to his head.
Oh, so he’s aware that the plant thing is out of control, is he? Leone raises an eyebrow at him. “So you acknowledge that you have a plant problem?”
Flipping the script and Leone alike, Bruno rolls the both of them back over so that he’s on top. Squeezes Leone’s hand in his. “No,” he says, planting a triumphant kiss on the tip of Leone’s nose and fortifying his victory, “I have no problem at all.”