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Fugo pays Bruno no attention when he enters the living room, and only glances at him when he sits down on the couch beside him. His eyes flit across paper after paper, and his hands work to deftly switch them around.
Bruno has come to find that Fugo is an irritable young man, and one of the only times he can settle is when he’s working. For Fugo, focusing on one task is grounding.
Bruno often amicably hands over most of his paperwork to Fugo, exclusively hanging onto the ones only he can complete, in hopes he can help Fugo find some semblance of peace.
Besides, he knows Fugo completes these kinds of things much quicker than he himself can ever hope to.
Fugo relishes the silence these times bring him, and Bruno relishes Fugo’s happiness. Sadly, even this work can become taxing for Fugo.
When Bruno rests his hand atop Fugo’s head, Fugo jolts with surprise. Bruno doesn’t make any move to retract it, though. He just allows Fugo to turn and stare up at him with large, bewildered ruby eyes and (probably) racing thoughts.
“Are you tired?” He asks Fugo. Fugo seems lost for words. He looks at the papers littering the coffee table that he had been sorting, and then back to Bruno, as if implying it doesn’t matter when he still has so much to do. Bruno ignores this, and waits patiently for a real answer.
Eventually, Fugo relents. “Only a little. I still have to-”
“Maybe you should go to sleep early.” Bruno interrupts, gently carding his fingers through Fugo’s pale hair. Fugo shivers, and Bruno knows it’s because he’s not used to being touched in a way that isn’t lustful.
Of course, Fugo finds a way to take these words wrong. “Did… did I do something wrong?” He asks meekly, looking small sitting under Bruno’s palm with such an expression, wondering if Bruno wants to be rid of him.
“No, of course not. You know I’d tell you if I thought you made an error.” He brushes Fugo’s hair away from his face and watches more disbelief mix into his features. “I just think you should get more sleep.”
“… what about you?” When Fugo asks this, quiet and worried, Bruno feels his heart melt. He has never asked Fugo to look after him, has told him quite the opposite really, but Fugo never gives up. It’s only fair, he says. That they both take care of each other, especially since it’s only them in this quiet apartment.
“I’ll be right behind you, don’t worry.” He begins shuffling the piles of paper into one, and turns to give Fugo another smile. “It’d be hypocritical if I don’t get myself to bed as well, right?”
Fugo nods, searching Bruno’s face for something he apparently doesn’t find. Eventually, he stands from the couch and makes his way to the hall.
“Good night, Fugo.” Bruno calls behind him. “Love you.”
Fugo trips over nothing and barely manages to catch himself against the wall. His head whips around to face Bruno.
“I- uh- what? What.. did you say? I.. I missed it.” He mumbles. Bruno has never seen someone look scared and hopeful at the same time, not the way Fugo does when he receives genuine kindness.
He knows Fugo heard him well enough, but he repeats himself with a warm smile. “I love you, Fugo.”
Fugo stares at him like he can’t believe it but desperately wants to.
“Yeah..” He whispers after a quiet moment. “Me too.”