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Seven years. The human body regenerates all of its cells in seven years. That's what Bruno heard in passing conversation as a teenager.
It's been seven years since his life fell apart. The drugs and hospital and knife and deaths and arrow and Passione. Seven years since watching fish swirl around in the morning water turned into exhorting businesses and zipping bodies into tiny pieces. Bruno wonders if he really remembers pulling in nets, and gulls swooping out around their boat, or if it's years of fantasies he decided are real. He asks himself if he remembers his father's face and a new wave of tears washes over him.
He can't remember.
The tears run down his face, like they have for the past hour, and he has no plans to fight against them. His silk shirt is snot-stained. Bruno cries into a harsh world, the floorboards creaking under him with any hitched breath or hiccup, his shitty uninsulated home chilling him to the bone. If he really listens, he would be able to hear his neighbors latest shouting match in the street. But Bruno's usually hypervigilant senses have dulled beyond his own recognition. He should be diffusing the situation, G*d knows without his intervention there would be full-out brawls, however today, he is weak and pathetic and has gross goop and tears pouring from his face. Their shouts remind him he can't afford a breakdown.
A weak knock on the door turns into something more confident and he almost thinks it's Pannacotta - he has to protect him, has to get him away from Passione one day, with Pannacotta's intellect, with the kid's potential, and Bruno's connections, he has to make a better life for him - and then whoever it is clears their throat and it's far too deep to be Pannacotta asking to come in and panic floods his mind.
It's one hurtful blow when Pannacotta sees Bruno in a funk. Pannacotta doesn't have any stability or guidance, and it does something to a kid, seeing adults who should have the answers, who should know how to survive the world, beaten down and sniffling on the floor. Especially when that adult is your leader in a gang, who sometimes tells you to threaten people for late payments but tries not to because that's not how childhoods should be, it's not how any person's life should be. It's a different kind of risk if it's the new guy, who should view you as strong and confident and merciless, might see you weak and suffering.
Bruno must have overthought for too long, let too many minutes pass,fail because when he comes back to reality, all he can hear are his neighbors. Bruno lets his body go slack from the tense ball he had turned himself into against the wall. He falls on his ribs, an elbow digs into his guts, and he has no intentions to make his new position any kinder on his body. Or to move his hair, which he knows will be soon stained with tears and dust and who knows what else is on his bedroom's floor.
It's fine! He'll give himself a few pep talks, who cares if they become muddied with mean words, and he'll be fine by dinnertime. Tonight he'll make something simple. Pannacotta won't question it. He'll tell the new guy it's a bad breakup, something, whatever, nevermind the fact Bruno has been single all of his life. Thank his busy schedule of making the world a shitty place, marring his family name, rinse and repeat for that.
With even the mere concept of relationships entering his mind, in this sorry state, he thinks of his mother, and any plans he thought up are washed away with more sobs. He remembers her less than the other fishermen in his hometown. Bruno tells himself it's for the best. If he remembered more, he might break and seek out her new family, her new phone number, her new email even if he doesn't understand how that shit works, he might want warmth and words of wisdom from a woman who hasn't seen him in seven years.
The divorce of his parents wasn't bad! She confessed at one summer lunch she was a lesbian, she couldn't handle the expectations from a small fishing town, she couldn't let the woman she loved move away to Rome without her. And mealtimes in the Buccellati household became happier after that, however numbered. His father raised him well, they were happy, and if his mother had stayed, maybe she would be hurt eventually, too. But no matter the peace Bruno had made with his upbringing, it hurt.
A groan leaves Bruno's mouth and the floor creaks as he rolls over onto his back and stretches his legs. Another knock at the door immediately makes him jolt and curl up into a ball again. There's no privacy for him this time. The door opens and Bruno needs to squint through the light the open door invites.
Fuck.
It's the new guy. Abbacchio. He really ought to call them their name in his head, not just "the new guy," they aren't exactly a guy, even if they're definitely slugging through their first month within Passione.
The sunlight illuminates their white hair, and Bruno would think it's really pretty if their tall frame from Bruno's position on the floor didn't bring seven-years-gone memories to mind. With all the energy he can muster, Bruno shoves the memories from his mind, and sits up. If he looks like a sopping wet miserable mess, Abbacchio has no comments on it.
"I. Bad breakup." Bruno manages to say. He almost chokes on a sob he stifles, or maybe it was a laugh, he can't tell. Whenever someone's around him in this state, he can't shrug the thought he's a bif joke and laugh. If Pannacotta wasn't so well-versed in explaining things to uneducated adults and psychology for some terrifying reason, Bruno would still be convinced he's the villain in a slasher film descending into madness. "I'm fine."
"Fugo asked me to give you some water. I apologise for the intrusion, Mr. Buccellati." Abbacchio keeps their voice level and free of judgement. But they don't dare move out of the doorframe, clearly lost without more orders.
Orders. Of course Pannacotta would use his newfound I'm actually second in command power to solve precarious situations. Namely Bruno not so stubley breaking down. Pannacotta has seen enough adults in a bad place to avoid them himself, and Bruno closes the kid off whenever he's too upset anyway. Too many feelings churn around in Bruno's gut for him to count. He comes to one final thought: leave the house whenever he gets a little teary! He's such a fuck-up for not thinking to leave.
Abbacchio shifts their weight, patiently waiting for an answer, however uncomfortable they are with the tense air - and probably the screaming from outside. Bruno had seen Abbacchio wear headphones whenever their surroundings were too loud and grating.
"Thank you." Bruno finally gets the idea to stand up, and takes the glass of water from them. He shakily takes a sip. "In future. I." His voice cracks. "I would prefer not to have any interruptions. Unless it's urgent."
"Understood." Abbacchio turns to leave, but looks back at Bruno one last time before retreating to their own room. "With all due respect, fuck whoever hurt you."
Bruno laughs.
Yeah.
Fuck whoever hurt him.