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“What a charming young man, it’s a shame he had to throw away his life like that.”
“He’s just a kid, Capo.”
“Goodness, how tragic…”
Whispered truths that were never as secretive as they were intended. Hushed voices, sympathetic glances, pained grimaces, as if the mere thought of a young boy selling himself to Italy’s largest mafia brought them physical discomfort.
That minuscule sliver of solace was always short-lived, Bruno had soon found out in the form of the subordinates that always gave him the nastiest tasks so they wouldn’t have to do it themselves; the leader who cruelly took nearly all of his income in the guise of providing protection in return; the old ladies who relied on him to clean up their messes when their unruly sons got themselves into trouble yet again.
It is easy to forget what ‘normal’ really means. Regular. Ordinary. Mundane. None of those words really describe Bruno’s current life. Or rather, Bruno’s ‘normal’ isn’t quite normal at all. Not anymore. Not when his perfectly laid out future was so ruthlessly taken away from him.
But Bruno has long since given up on dwelling in the unfairness of his past, and ultimately his future. Not even when Narancia had slammed his fist onto the table in frustration when he had been brash enough to inquire about Bruno’s background with Passione. Not even when Fugo came up with different scenarios of how he could still escape the crimes he has been forced to commit. Not even when Giorno had shared the tragic stories of his own past in a rare moment of vulnerability.
So then, if he has learned to push down that resentment and accept his fate, why is today any different? Why does Bruno find himself sighing wistfully against the crisp, salty breeze meeting him from the ocean before him? Why is it that his eyes prickle as the cerulean meets ultramarine, willing them to melt together as one?
“Are you trying to start a fire?”
Leone’s low voice effectively pulls him back to earth, and with the slam of a leather boot stomping down against the balcony’s tiles, he returns to his body.
Ah, right, he’d stepped outside a few minutes ago for a smoke, though it seems like the cigarette he had lit decided to leave its residence between his lips and burn out onto the tile instead.
“Never a bad idea to test the flammability of a hotel room,” Bruno replies mildly, barely looking over his shoulder to acknowledge his partner.
Leone simply clicks his tongue while bending down to pick up the flattened cigarette butt, though there is not a trace of malice in his voice when he mumbles, “I’ll keep that in mind next time Giorno sends us out together.”
Blues eyes return to where they had previously been staring a hole into the horizon, possibly to replace the sun that has been steadily sinking down the horizon. It’s a gorgeous sight, the sky rendered in oranges, reds, pinks and purples.
Bruno turns his head slightly when Leone sidles up beside him, having deposited the cigarette into the ashtray on the balcony’s table.
Their gazes meet then. Deep blue against a mesmerising golden-violet. Even the breathtaking sunset before them can’t quite compete with that mysterious hue. Bruno has always considered himself privileged for having witnessed those eyes regaining the spark they had lost years ago, courtesy of trauma and pain.
In this moment, however, it appears that his own eyes betray the turmoil within, judging by the deepening scowl that creases the skin between meticulously groomed and drawn brows.
Instantly, Bruno plasters on a smile out of pure habit. Muscle memory, if you will. But that expression doesn’t fool the observer. It never has, since the day they met.
“What’s with the moping? That’s my thing,” Leone offers tentatively, his painted lips quirking up just a hint on one side.
Bruno merely replies with a sharp exhale through his nose, gaze softening ever so slightly before he turns it back to face the final remnants of the sun before it disappears. Though it seems like he hadn’t fast enough to miss the fall of Leone’s expression.
Those eyes are still on him; he can feel them. Warm, but not quite burning. Inquisitive, but not obtrusive. Just examining.
Nearly a decade long, Bruno has lived his life full of bloodshed, embezzlement, exploitation, and murder.
This kind of lifestyle is often romanticised, regarded as something that toughens a person up. But Bruno has always argued that it only weakens one’s morale. It’s easy to forget who you really are after hiding behind false threats, feigned smiles and forced servitude.
If anything, being a member of Passione for as long as he has, Bruno has learned how to build up walls around himself and hide behind often excessive confidence and authority.
A tough nut to crack, as Mista has once eloquently worded it.
Or hypocrisy, Fugo had objected in a bout of defiance, arguing that Bruno has always encouraged his subordinates to express themselves without listening to his own advice. Something the man in question knows to be true.
As does the person beside him.
One sideways glance tells Bruno that Leone is trying to find the right words to say, painted lips pressing into a thin line while those sharp brows are lowered in thought. The older man isn’t terribly confident in his comforting skills, Bruno knows, but it warms his heart to know that he’s trying, at least.
And so, to offer his partner some respite, and to prove his younger subordinate’s words from at least three years ago wrong, Bruno meticulously takes down one of those walls.
“I miss being out on the ocean.”
There, those first few bricks have been loosened.
Though, when Bruno witnesses his companion going rigid in his peripheral, he nearly reaches in to return those blocks where they came from in instant regret.
That feeling proves to be misplaced though, when Leone’s hand shifts into view onto the railing Bruno is still clutching. A long, slightly gaunt finger comes to loop around Bruno’s; a silent encouragement to continue.
“Or rather,” Bruno continues, wetting his lips and tasting the salt from the ocean breeze that had dried them, “I miss the feeling it gave me, before…” He trails off and anxiously pinches Leone’s finger between his own pinky and ring finger.
The squeeze that is offered in return is enough to slacken his grip again.
Leone isn’t unfamiliar with his background, but that doesn’t make opening up about this lingering sadness and regret much easier. It’s not that Bruno doesn’t want to talk about it, but more so that he doesn’t really know how. What is there to say?
“In all honesty,” Leone starts against the increasingly more persistent breeze, “I don’t think you’ll ever experience that exact feeling again.”
Bruno smiles bitterly. It’s the truth. Leone never sugarcoats, which he considers to be a good trait to have, albeit not the most comforting one in this exact circumstance.
“However,”
Dark brows shoot up to partly disappear under a slightly windswept fringe, intrigued. Bruno turns his head, curious eyes urging Leone on.
“Someone once told me that memories should just remain memories. Events and feelings meant to be recalled, but not relived.”
Bruno surprises himself with the smile that suddenly comes a lot more naturally. Having his own words used against him like that always catches him off guard.
“Must’ve been a wise person,” Bruno replies wryly, to which Leone snorts.
“Very. You would like him.”
Silence follows up the conversation, the only interruption being the wind serving as a souvenir for Bruno to reminisce his past. Right now, he isn’t quite capable of turning that melancholy into something more positive. But that’s alright.
All in due time.
Surprisingly, it is Leone who ends up filling the quiet, and Bruno almost feels proud.
“Maybe you should take me out to sea sometime. Show me what it’s like.”
The pinky finger that overlaps his own shifts then. Though before Bruno can lament its loss, the comforting warmth of Leone’s palm envelops the back of his hand instead.
Bruno swiftly abandons the darkening sky before them for the sake of locating that sparkle within the sunset that is Leone’s gaze. And what a beautiful sight it is, paired with the faint crinkling at the corners, courtesy of that private smile Bruno has been seeing more of as of late.
And just like that, Bruno understands his own recycled words a little better.
Why chase the sensation of a life he has long since left behind, when he could be making new memories instead?
“Yes,” Bruno breathes more than speaks, “I would love that.”