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Bruno takes a deep breath, eyes closing for a good few seconds before opening them again.
The rows of green, speckled here and there with dusty purple, are still winding over the soft dip and rise of rolling hills as far as the eye can reach. The sky too is just as stark as it had been when they had arrived, with the sun now lethargically beginning its descent, only obscured by the occasional stray wisp. It’s a sight he never thought he would get to appreciate in person.
“What are you doing?” comes a voice warm and familiar, laced with a hint of amusement Bruno is quick to catch.
He smiles, finds it unsurprisingly easy to abandon the notoriously beautiful landscapes of the French Provence in favour of humouring his love with a response instead.
“Just making sure this is all still real.”
A mischievous twinkle appears in those sunset eyes, the usual crease between his now raised brows smoothed out when he quips, “Need me to pinch you?”
Batting away the grabby hand already creeping towards him, Bruno dares not suppress the amused snort he feels bubbling up. Instead, his hand snakes around Leone’s arm, amusement hidden against the man’s shoulder for a moment until he feels a pair of lips landing atop his head.
They continue their stroll down the rolling vineyards at a leisurely pace—something Leone had to reteach him when Bruno had all but rushed out of the quaint cottage they booked for the week on their first night there.
And even now, a few days into their holiday and more than a little tipsy from the wine tasting earlier, Bruno still feels a lingering restlessness thrumming underneath his skin. He catches himself fighting the urge to look over his shoulder sometimes, or to scope out possible enemy hiding spots. After all, that has been his reality since the tender age of twelve.
As the wind picks up for a brief moment, Bruno brings himself back to the here and now with a gentle squeeze around Leone’s bicep. Being here with Leone does feel right, and it’s obvious that the sentiment is mutual. Bruno can tell from the way Leone peers down at him, a soft, private tug at his wine-stained lips as they let the breeze carry them down the gentle slope.
It had been Giorno who had proposed the idea of taking a break from their duties, and never before had Bruno witnessed his love so readily agreeing with any of their Don’s suggestions.
“A vacation?” Bruno had heard himself parrot incredulously, the word tasting as foreign on his tongue as it had sounded in his ears.
In hindsight, that should have been reason enough to comply without further thought. Yet, it had taken Giorno’s stubborn refusal to assign him any new work and Leone buttering him up with the prospect of getting to be alone for a few days to get a tentative ‘yes’ out of Bruno.
It’s not that Bruno didn’t want to take a step back every once in a while—he doesn’t wear his workaholic tendencies with pride. He just wasn’t sure whether he was capable of removing himself and not being around, should things go awry.
That, and vacationing is something new for him. Silly as it may sound, it’s… intimidating. Where would they go? What if he doesn’t speak the country’s language? What would they even do for a whole week?
Ha, and to think he’d accused Leone of being a ruminator. Leone, who had already prepared a few locations to choose from, who had let him help pick some activities and helped him pack his suitcase. Leone, who had so patiently sat down with him to teach him a few words of French just so Bruno wouldn’t feel helpless throughout their trip.
The very man who walks beside him, tuts a few times to catch Bruno’s attention. And what a sight he is, Bruno muses when he looks up expectantly. His shoulders are lax, courtesy of the numerous wine-filled afternoons and evenings spent enjoying each other’s companionship. The loose blouse he wears billows in the breeze just so, only further enticing Bruno to take his sweet time helping him out of it button by button later tonight.
“Sometimes I wish I could turn off that brain of yours,” Leone chides mildly, a look of feigned disdain on his face. One Bruno sees through without fail.
“Turn off , you say?” Bruno quirks a brow, one corner of his lips drawing up when he adds cheekily, “Why, you typically do the exact opposite, mon amour .”
That earns Bruno a light-hearted, yet decidedly powerful shove from a red-cheeked Leone who appears to be holding back a chortle.
“You’re the worst,” Leone snorts instead despite the warm hand slinking back around Bruno’s waist telling him otherwise. And just for a moment, Bruno finds himself genuinely not caring about the stacks of work he’ll be coming home to in a few days, nor any possible danger lurking around the corner.
Right now, the only thing that matters is the charming scrunch of Leone’s nose when a kiss is dropped to his jaw, and the sight of pink tipped ears peeking out from his loosely tied hair.
“You know,” Bruno starts again once their snickering has dissolved into content sighs, “if you really want to help empty my head, you will have to keep me distracted.”
Leone slows his pace then, scanning his love for a moment as if to interpret his intentions. They both know well enough by now that the occasional sip of wine does a wonderful job at bringing out the troublemaker within Bruno.
“Is that so?” Leone responds lowly, fully aware that taking his love’s bait could be dangerous in the best possible way, “And how do you suggest I do that?”
Bruno sidles up close to his love, having already scanned the area in preparation. Lovely and relaxing as their vacation has been so far, there’s no harm in a bit of excitement, right?
One hand dances up Leone’s arm, his lips already latched onto the heated skin just above the collar of his blouse. Leone’s throat bobs under the attention, one of his hands landing between Bruno’s shoulder blades when he stammers Bruno’s name, not quite the protest he intends it to be.
Bruno trails up to a clean-shaven jaw, takes in his love’s cologne while his fingers fiddle with one of the buttons holding Leone’s blouse together to further weaken his knees.
And only when already rendered an absolute mess, does Bruno lean up even further, lips finding a now bright red ear where he whispers,
“Catch me if you can—”
And off he bolts, spurred by giddy delight and leaving his stunned partner in the dust as he dashes for the clearing down the end of the grapevine rows they’d been following. His own laughter nearly drowns out the exasperated sound Leone makes before the telltale sound of scurrying footsteps only fuels Bruno’s excitement.
Just for a moment, as Bruno peeks over his shoulder to witness Leone coming at him fast and grinning like a madman, does he forget any worries that had dared to plague him throughout his desperate attempts at winding down. All it took was a bit of reflection, some good-natured deception, and the sight of his frazzled lover tailing him while he fast approached the tree he’d set his sights on earlier.
“Bruno—” comes a slightly out-of-breath warning when the man in question grabs hold of the lowest tree branch he could reach. “You are not climbing that tree.”
Bruno is absolutely climbing that tree.
Heart rate up from the sprint and body lax from the healthy dose of laughter and wine alike, it takes Bruno a good few minutes to climb all the way up to a sturdy enough branch, perched up a few feet and waving at his fondly disgruntled boyfriend still stood at the base with crossed arms.
“Satisfied?” Leone calls from below, cheeks still rosy after that whole ordeal.
“Actually,” Bruno responds thoughtfully, eliciting an immediate sigh from his partner, “A bunch of grapes would be just lovely up here.”
A pause.
“I can’t just pick grapes from the vineyard, you absolute menace.”
Bruno scoffs while swinging his free-hanging legs, “Says the mafioso.”
Leone’s lips part as if readying a retort, only for his jaw to click shut again before he turns on his heel. There’s no arguing with the truth. Or Bruno.
Bruno, who knows he’s won this battle when a minute later, Leone returns with a bunch of freshly picked, high-quality grapes. And with the stem clenched between his teeth, Leone too climbs his way up to join his partner on the sturdy branch.
There’s another beat of silence then, comfortable now that the chaos has dissipated. Just them, thigh-to-thigh up in an old oak tree, sharing a bunch of grapes with a view to die for. And it hits Bruno then and there, that this is the most normal he has felt in a long while.
Albeit somewhat saddening in nature, Bruno takes comfort in that realisation, for he’d feared a lifetime of chasing a feeling he may never get to experience again.
Yet here he is, on a vacation , god forbid, with the love of his life, having an absolute blast against all odds and his worries now long forgotten.
Bruno reaches out for Leone’s hand, palms pressed together and head leaning against a sturdy shoulder, fuzzy with a feeling he knows he’ll be craving for years to come. Only difference being that from now on, it no longer has to remain a fantasy.
The sun dips, legs swinging, sweet nothings lost in the gentle evening breeze when Bruno turns to his love, a twinkle in his eyes,
“Where shall we go next year?”