Work Text:
In the months after Bruno got to the top of the organization, things had to be changed.
Bruno built a new chain of command. There were goals Bruno wanted to accomplish but pushed back in time as he couldn't make it obvious he was an imposter. None of those people knew what Diavolo looked like, but they knew what he acted like.
It was a fragile predicament.
With the Boss being so secluded and mysterious, plus the short timeframe between Buccellati's team betrayal and the defeat of the old Boss, Bruno had little to no issues taking over his "life". At least so far.
Fugo had returned to the team, but the dynamic had been strange since.
He was given the entire truth, per Bruno's request, but there was mistrust since Fugo had split off, believing that continuing to protect Trish would be suicide. If not for Giorno obtaining powers he couldn't understand at all, they would have died.
Most of them.
All of them, perhaps.
Certainly, he, Leone, and Narancia would.
Mista’s demeanor was different around Fugo. All that happy-go-lucky went to tense silence around one another, which neither wanted to break. So Fugo would usually leave Mista be.
Giorno had been cordial, and Narancia was hesitant, but it seemed more on Fugo's behalf than any grievance they had.
Trish seemed to actually reach out and go out of her way to talk with Fugo. They didn't know each other almost at all, but now they spent the most time together, despite Fugo's visible reluctance. Or was it him being shy around a girl?
Bruno himself couldn’t be around Fugo. He’d known the kid since he was thirteen, so close to Bruno’s own age when he joined the mafia. Bruno wasn’t doing it out of feeling betrayed or hurt, which sometimes he did, but he loved that kid like a brother. It was because of the guilty, frightened look Fugo gave to him. Specifically him.
The only person to have an undamaged relationship with Fugo was Leone. She understood and was the one to convince them all that Fugo had his reasons. It wasn't a question of where Fugo's loyalty lay, but how far he was willing to go. It wasn't something to ask of a sixteen-year-old kid that wanted nothing but to live.
She said, "Self-perseverance isn't stupid. It's logical, most logical."
If anything, she implied all of them to be stupid and Fugo to be the only smart one.
Bruno would never say this, but he had come across them before he made the decision to accept Fugo on the team, to fully trust him. Fugo had come forward of his own volition as he didn't believe that their team would choose compliance after Buccellati's death.
Bruno had heard Leone reassuring Fugo he wasn't wrong for choosing not to betray Passione, and Fugo cried as freely as Bruno had ever seen him cry. This boy had been through such awful things in life, and Bruno couldn't remember the last time he had seen him break down as when he was offered forgiveness.
Giorno and Trish took Narancia with them back to highschool.
Neither Bruno nor Leone, who became his advisor, had a problem with those three going back to school. All three would still show up to loiter around in the restaurant for dinner that came from Bruno’s wallet.
Leone would never admit it; she was happy to see them.
It hurts to see someone you love waver so much.
In one week, everything changed. On a whim of fate, Bruno’s body changed so much, and he could not get used to it all at once, and that's what he was forced to do.
Leone could see him scowling at the face in the mirror that was unlike his old one. Somewhat she understood what he could be feeling. With one deep breath, Leone could feel the skin on her chest pull at the edges of the scar on her ribs. There were nights when she couldn't breathe because she felt anxious it would fall apart. That her body would split open into gore and everything would spill out.
She was painfully aware of the scar’s presence whenever Bruno flinched upon touching or seeing it. As if he blamed himself.
He probably had.
Leone’s dead body had apparently turned to flowers for a few days before she was brought back to life. It was not a piece of knowledge she enjoyed. She got her share of plant-related night terrors and avoided her favorite lavender-scented perfumes after. The nightmares mixed with phantom pains in the months following her recovery.
She got better. She got used to the scar. She forgot it was there sometimes. It blended in with the others, however horrific it looked.
Bruno didn’t get that. His soul was locked into a different body.
All that was familiar got ripped away from him. He joked, saying he was used to it, but he was suffering every day.
Leone wished it would be just a different body if only so Bruno didn’t suffer so much, but it had been Diavolo’s once, that man who had “hurting other people” as a main descriptor in his CV. It was as if a man who never felt guilty left behind a conscience that Bruno picked up.
She was glad that Diavolo had nothing to live for and that Bruno could easily take over his life and direct it elsewhere.
Bruno had to think Leone couldn’t see it - that she couldn’t see him when he was tugging at the pink strands; that he closed his eyes, perhaps trying to imagine himself as he once were; that she wouldn't notice the bags under his eyes, heavy, likely from little to no sleep; his body dressed in long sleeves and gloves, covering tattoos, and the freckled pale limbs to distance himself from the strangeness of it. Something that had to feel unreal.
And that was the same Bruno who kicked off the covers every night because he was hot; who sported the boldest choices of clothes, and smiled readily.
Leone couldn't hope to understand what Bruno was going through, but damn, she wished she could make it better.
Bruno was not in his body. They both were trans and from a certain angle, the feeling shouldn't be too foreign. Of course, that is the optimistic outlook on the situation.
Bruno was left depressed in the aftermath of his death and the loss of his original body. It was the only thing that made sense about the transition from their "normal" to the "present".
Bruno had not changed on the inside. He was the same generous, kind man. She saw it in his eyes - it was so easy to see the same man behind those eyes. That surface stuff was just a part of the big mess, but it didn't affect her love.
She wished she could make Bruno unconcerned. To make him ignorant of the flinches that still happened whenever the teens heard his voice or saw him.
By now, he accepted the body, disgusted and reluctant as he was.
They moved away from that old, shared apartment and lived in the house at the edge of Napoli. Bruno let the “Bruno Buccellati” die. He kept the same name but adopted a different last name.
Every old lady he had befriended years ago, he befriended again, so he was clearly getting used to it.
Past the one year mark, his touch no longer felt shaky and scared. Like by touching Leone’s skin he was committing sins - not against God, but against Leone. He didn’t avoid Leone’s gaze or shriek away from it. When Leone held him, he didn't pull away or make excuses. He relaxed and sagged into it.
Bruno didn’t act like he didn’t belong anymore. Still, he was awkward, withdrawn, despondent .
He would recover - he was recovering.
Leone had to believe that with time, reassurance, and good memories, things would get… as normal as they could.
Bruno rolled on his side, stretching to find a new position to fall back asleep in.
He was not granted this luxury, feeling a finger trace his cheek and tuck away his hair behind an ear to place a kiss there.
A sweet melody played into his ears, “Morning, Bruno.”
Displeased, regardless of how adorable Leone was, Bruno only grunted in response. A moment afterward, he was the recipient of more kisses to his face. On his cheek, on his temple, on his brow.
Leone nudged him, “Come on, get up. We’re going out today.”
As his awareness of the morning world grew, Bruno’s face relaxed, and he leaned up from his pillow to kiss Leone on her face.
His eyes opened briefly to close again as his lips were caught in sweet contact with his lover’s, and he breathed in Leone’s scent like he breathed in smoke from cigarettes.
Pulling away, Bruno smiled, his hand pressed to Leone’s cheek. Her wet, long strands of wavy pale hair brushed against his hand. He opened his eyes, looking at the beautiful woman sitting on the bed, pushing him to get up and not stay the whole day in bed.
He knew he would be able to do that without her insistence. He would wake up and get out of bed every day, if only just to see Leone.
There was roundness under the dampened bathrobe, and Bruno forced away a smirk, not wanting to be caught checking out his girlfriend. It’s been a year, and her hormone therapy was showing, and Leone was as proud of it as she was prettier for the happiness that softened her angular face.
Bruno’s eyes darted over to… not his hand.
He never had a scar like that on his left hand.
Wide awake at last, his expression fell.
Leone leaned in and kissed him again. Bruno squeezed his eyes shut and tried to forget the knife twisting in his gut.
Breakfast finished. It was delicious and Bruno felt full.
He tried not to look at his hands the entire time. Past few months he wore gloves to stop them from distracting him, but it was summer. It would be odd to wear gloves.
Bruno sat waiting by the table. He could look out the window and see the world outside. The weather was beautiful. The sun shone brightly, and the water of the Mediterranean Sea glittered invitingly. If Bruno craned his neck, he suspected he would see people flocking to the beach.
Leone chuckled, looking down at her phone. She stood by the kettle, her robe too short as it barely covered her upper thigh and her drying hair puffing as if inflating. She looked cute and inviting.
“What’s up?” Bruno asked, cheek resting on his palm. He avoided looking at any part of himself because it always hit him the same, even after a year and some months.
Leone looked at Bruno, her eyes crinkled and glinting with warmth. “Narancia and Mista are going to couple counseling. They want to see how long it will take the therapist to realize they are just friends.” She could barely contain her laughter and smiled brightly.
Surprised, but intrigued, Bruno’s eyebrows drew together, “A…are they not…?”
She put away her phone, pouring hot water into two mugs, tea bags infusing the water, wisps of color showing they were releasing the flavor.
“Exactly my reaction." Leone moved towards Bruno across the kitchen.
Bruno smiled at her, letting the porcelain warm his hands as he accepted the drink from Leone, “Thank you.” The morning was going to be the only cool part of this summer day, so what if he wished to enjoy a sip of hot tea with his wife?
"On the other hand, that is one way to kill boredom," Leone shrugged to herself and then said, "Long live idiots to lovers. They will figure it out someday.”
"Hopefully," Bruno said, then he couldn't help but snort. "I mean, we did. What's stopping them?"
Narancia and Mista were pretty much inseparable even before everything. It seemed to have gotten stronger recently. Bruno didn’t want to pry, but he couldn’t help but suspect them to be closer than friends. They didn’t seem the type, but he hadn’t seen either of them chase after girls or mention any, and they were always so eager to talk. Especially Mista.
"Is that how it is? We're the actual pair of idiots?" Leone asked, smirking.
Bruno couldn't help the joy that warmed in his chest at the memories of the first few awkward dates. "I did not say that." They were definitely not the most elegant or clever couple out there.
"You insinuated it." Leone pointed at him in an accusatory manner with a teaspoon.
"You're putting words in my mouth," Bruno said, leaning back in his chair. He saw the mischief in Leone's expression and rolled his eyes for the theatrics of it. "Go on, say it."
"Not the only thing I am putting in your mouth-" Leone could no longer keep a straight face and burst into giggles.
"That was terrible!" He told her.
"Why are you laughing then?" She grinned back at him as he hid his mouth behind his palm, trying to deny the truth.
Bruno froze in the doorway, eyes glued to the yard. “Leone, dear, since when do we have a full-grown apple tree?”
Leone hummed, not at all looking surprised as she locked the front door. “Since you pissed off Giorno the other day.”
So that’s why it was an apple tree. It almost amused Bruno. Instead, he shook his head. “Okay, you don’t have to sound so smug about it.”
“Smug? Me?” Leone echoed indignantly. “How can you accuse me of such?” Her pastel blue, button-up summer dress swayed in what little breeze was left from the chilly morning. Today was going to be best spent indoors.
“I told him my decision was final,” Bruno sighed, shuffling past the tree to the car. Giorno had been denied a very tedious mission which got handed off to one of Leone’s recruits to test their capability. It was some anxious nineteen-year-old with excellent driving skills and previous charges officially titled as joyriding, but in truth, they got caught moving Passione's people or objects safely. They kept their mouth shut and Passione paid for a lawyer.
Was Giorno seriously so…
“And that’s where the apple tree comes from,” Leone interrupted his line of thought, following after him. She opened the door of the car and leaned on the roof, “I told you he is too proud. Giorno is sixteen years old , and all he sees is a slight. I know you think Giorno is more mature than that, but he is all about shallow pride sometimes. I won’t deny he’s clever, but he’s bored at best and angsty and rebellious at worst.” Then she jumped in.
Bruno thought back to his petty acts of revenge at that age.
He came to the conclusion that he would do something like that too. His memories of the time were vague, but he had to have been worse than Giorno. An apple tree wasn’t threatening, it was malicious and an inconvenience at best.
That boy’s silence was often mistaken for timidness or worse. Those older and more experienced thought him naive and swayable, to their detriment. Giorno's resolve was strong enough to break the laws of nature and bring not one but three people back from the dead.
Bruno sighed. He guessed that he could see the problem now. After such a feat, the kid must expect more excitement from life.
“Can I count on you?” Bruno asked, turning on the key in the ignition, and Leone smiled at him.
“Always,” she promised.
It made Bruno's heart beat harder in fondness.
That’s when he continued the sentence, “To talk Giorno out of further turning our garden into an apple orchard? And removing that one as well?”
“Ah… We’ll see.” Her expression fell, though the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement, likely at the thought of Bruno being surrounded by trees bearing fruits he hated so much. “I don’t know what you expect me to do that is supposed to calm a teenager’s pride.”
She is a prideful woman herself, she should know best… Bruno thought but didn’t say that. “I know that if anyone, you can, dear.”
“Don’t "dear" me when you’re making me deal with capricious teenagers,” Leone spoke in a convincing annoyed tone to which Bruno had one defense.
“I love you?”
“I love you too,” she answered with a huff as she almost laughed and definitely smiled. No matter how quickly she turned her face away.
Pleasant music played from the store's speakers. The peculiar scent of rubber wafted from the entrance of the store. It got more intense as Leone and Bruno went through the different clothing racks.
This store was relatively expensive with quality goods, and he had been here previously. He tried not to go to exclusively men's fashion stores because, in his opinion, they were repetitive and unimaginative. Bruno preferred to go through the sections for men and women alike, picking things that fit him and his tastes.
Bruno needed his entire wardrobe replaced. It still felt empty after all this time. He missed his stupid oversized clothes that never fit and then became too small.
The first few days after his body changed, he wore Leone’s clothes, but he was taller and thinner than Leone (he’s pretty sure he lost more weight because of all the moping), so he needed to leave behind his old preferences for fashion.
This man he had become wasn't bad-looking.
Yet Bruno was still repulsed by himself, even as his face became something he expected to see in the changing room’s mirror when he tried on clothes. His actual face became something distant over time.
Bruno squinted, straining to read a label, trying to see what size and material was the casual suit he was looking at.
“You need to get glasses,” Leone remarked, her hand touching his elbow, a causal comforting touch he adored her for. She took the suit jacket from him and flipped the label herself.
“I’m fine. I didn’t need them before.” Apparently, he was far-sighted now. Not that he wanted to admit it out loud. Every time he conceded that his body was different than he was used to, it felt like making it more real.
“You do now. It’s normal,” she said, looking up at him, a small smile playing on her dark-painted lips. “You’d look cute in glasses.” It wasn't pity making her say that she was just fooling around. Leone turned out to be really corny once she got over the tough facade.
“Leone…” Bruno rolled his eyes.
“You would,” she insisted, her smile widening at the reactions she was getting out of him.
“I don’t care how I would look in glasses.” Bruno tried to play it off, going through the rack, not daring to glance in her direction.
As if that would stop Leone Abbacchio.
“Oh, you do. And I would like it.” A hand ran up his chest, sliding over the material of a thin long-sleeved shirt. Fingers hooked into his collar, and Leone tugged on it, bringing lips closer to his ear. “Especially if it helps you from not squinting like an old man at the big, bold letters," she teased.
Bruno shook his head, pushing her lightly, and she laughed in reply, bouncing back on her feet. He felt warm in his cheeks.
Bruno left Leone alone, chuckling to herself. He went into the changing room.
He had grabbed shirts at random as he went along.
When inside, taking a closer look, he realized they were the unfunny kind, "I hate my wife" and "I like beer" for middle-aged men that never outgrew high school. No wonder Leone was pushing for the glasses. He put them away immediately.
The suit he was trying on was nice. It didn't fit him in width, but that could be fixed with another visit to the tailor. The height and length were usually the problem, especially when something caught his eye in the women's section.
Of course, he had a tall girlfriend. He could steal her clothes, but Leone didn't appreciate that most of the time.
He picked up two plain shirts that would go well with the color of the suit, and he went to find Leone before he went to the register.
He found Leone in the aisle with a lot of dresses. He also saw some bodysuits.
It was rare that Leone found something for herself in stores rather than having something made with her particularly in mind, but she was fondling a yellow dress. She typically didn't wear vibrant colors, but she turned to Bruno with an unyielding smile.
“It has pockets. I need it.”
“You’d think they would fix this problem.” Bruno used to think that Leone played up her behavior for him because it baffled him how she could go from aloof to giddy. But she was genuine, and she was happy around him.
"Oh please, they need to keep the purse business going. Obviously."
They were getting clothes for him, but of course, they couldn’t leave without something for Leone herself. It seemed like a point of pride for Leone to get herself stuff with pockets. She took it hard, the loss of the privilege to have pockets.
Well, each gender comes with perks and drawbacks people don't talk about.
After shopping, they strayed from the path home.
Not that Bruno was all that keen on leaving the air-conditioned, if overcrowded, mall to go out into the sweltering heat of Italian summer afternoon. They walked at ease as ever, holding hands, wandering through the crowd, pointing out curiosities to one another.
They went around the gallery with bags in hand, watching the displays of the jewelry shops, watch stores and some more clothing shops. There were also stores with imported goods, high-priced but unique. Sweets that Leone recalled through the fog of childhood memories.
Leone refused to eat at any of the restaurants inside the shopping center, quoting the last time they both got food poisoning.
There was also a music store Leone seemed to fight with all her might not to approach. When they went past a shop with fishing supplies, Leone told Bruno “not to even think about it”.
And they wound up in the bowling alley, only for Bruno to find out that Leone actually had made a reservation earlier that week.
Bruno couldn't help but smile, even if the rented shoes were gross, but it was a requirement.
The employee showed them to the empty bowling alley. Leone and Bruno typed their names into the machine, and the employee set the timer up for two hours. Leone smiled brightly, proud of her surprise, turning an outing into something akin to a date. Bruno didn't mind the slight trickery.
Bruno wasn't the best at bowling, definitely never going to be a world champion, but he wasn't missing any of his throws. Or whatever it's called when they toss the ball at the pins.
Bruno stood, watching Leone pick out her ball after he struck only two points. Leone's long, curly hair bounced in the ponytail, and Bruno watched her sure step, her back curving and the arm flexing.
He looked at "his own" hands, pondering which one was the dominant one. All his life, it was as sure as day that it was his right. Now he looked at the left one, scarred what seemed like ages ago. He had to pick or get used to being clumsy with both.
He avoided writing as much as he could, his handwriting had never been neat, but it was truly illegible and scratchy now.
“Suck it!” Leone cheered, striking eight pins. Her hands propped up on her hips, and her chest puffed out.
Bruno almost jumped, pulled out of his thoughts in such a way. Then he almost laughed at Leone’s expression.
“Sheesh, you’re so competitive, for what?” Bruno asked, getting off the couch and walking over to pick up a ball. Leone rounded him, and her face neared him, shifting her weight onto her toes. Her nose brushed Bruno's, and her eyes squinted as she smirked.
“Cause it feels good to tramp a loser.”
“Uh-huh, bet you can’t get that last one,” Bruno said, passing her a ball, watching her lose a few inches of height as the balls of her heels hit the floor with a squeak.
Leone’s eyes narrowed at him, then she laughed, “Probably.” And she went to the alley, approaching the black line, measuring the force and trajectory of the throw.
The ball missed its target. Bruno grinned at her. Leone pursed her lips, turning to face him with a blush on her face.
Then she poked out her tongue at him. Bruno was tempted to do the same… or more.
“What was that about tramping a loser?” Bruno preened, having beaten Leone 125 points to 72. He won by a landslide.
Leone raised her eyebrow at Bruno's smug face and then rolled her eyes, a soft twinkle in them.
“Fine, have your winner’s kiss!” Leone smiled and it was beautiful.
As she grabbed Bruno’s face and stood on her toes to level with him, Bruno leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips as Leone couldn’t reach him. Her eyes opened and she scowled.
“Brunooooo…”
He laughed in response, feeling the half-hearted slap on his chest.
It felt good to laugh.
"What is it, sweetheart?" He teased, grabbing Leone's wrists, lifting her hands off his chest.
Hands fall clasped, mismatched as always, and the hold feels no different as their fingers intertwine. Bruno didn’t mind for once how odd it looked. This wasn't his body, but it was his heart beating twice as hard as he held Leone close.
He leaned toward Leone, knocking gently his forehead into hers, watching her furrowed brow ease. She looked up at him, inquiring with a raised eyebrow, before her nose brushed Bruno’s, leaving a small gap for him to close.
Leone tasted sweet.
As always.
"I'm hungry. Let's go home."
The day was winding down, coming to a close. A warm breeze blew through the trees, swaying the branches and rustling their leaves.
In the dimming sunshine, if Bruno approached the window, he could see the apple tree that bore sweet yet sour fruits which fell and rolled in the grass.
But he didn't care about a sunset when he could gaze into his wife's eyes at all times of the day and night.
With rubber gloves and a pungent smell, Bruno threaded his fingers through Leone’s thick hair, coating it in strong-smelling dye. Leone laid back with her eyes closed and relaxed. A throwaway cloth provided comfort and support for her neck as it lay on the edge of the bathtub.
Bruno tried to avoid making a mess, but he wasn’t proficient yet at hair dyeing. He tried to be thorough with her hair, but he was getting the impression that much of the dye ended up on the inside of the tub.
Leone would have to deal with him.
“It’s blue?” He asked unsure. The color between his gloved fingers looked nothing like the one on the box Leone had handed to him hours ago, asking for help.
“It’s going to turn blue,” she reassured.
“Hm… you sure?”
“That is what it says on the packaging, if it’s not then…” Leone paused, then shrugged.
It was silent for a few heartbeats. Both Bruno and Leone basked in the tender moment. Domestic and casual, just focused on touch and being near each other. It made Bruno's chest seize up with emotion, and he only held himself from kissing Leone's temple because there was dye everywhere and it smelled bad.
There was magic in the silence of the moment that Bruno was scared to break.
Softly, he murmured he was done.
He covered Leone's hair in foil. Then he helped her wrap her naked shoulders. The woman sat up, her body languid, lifting herself from the uncomfortable position unhurriedly, and she opened her eyes, smiling.
Now they were waiting for the dye to set in.
Bruno threw away the rubber gloves, dragging a stool over to sit beside her.
Bruno admired her face; a large nose, prone to glaring daggers eyes hooded by thick pale lashes, a mouth with lips thinner than most people thought because of the lipstick she always wore, high cheekbones with freckles usually covered by a thick foundation; several times pierced ears, her bottom lip cut in half by a silver ring-like piercing. And when she slouched, also tired from the calm day, he could see a peek of her back tattoo.
He sat opposite her and held hands with her. Smooth, with nails painted black to match his. Leone's eyes were half-lidded as she watched Bruno's thumb trace every inch of her palm.
All he wanted to do was sink into her arms and sleep. Her presence was infinitely warm, safe, and good.
Leone was the first to break the silence.
Her voice didn't feel invasive, though. It was soothing. As if it were possible to make Bruno even more inclined to forget the world beyond the threshold of the room where they sat together.
“They also had black hair dye in stock. If you want to use it, I don’t care. If you don’t, I’ll use it eventually,” her tone was casual, but the message was clear.
She understood better than Bruno thought to ask of her. She let him adjust at his own pace. At the same time, Leone did those little things, striving to help him get used to it. She never came off as overbearing or asking too much. Especially on the days when he truly wasn't himself. The days when he was not Bruno, but someone who had no name, someone who had killed Bruno Buccellati.
It was suffocating.
And Leone was kind as much as she was patient.
"I love you." He smiled.
It was completely silent for a few seconds.
Both gazed at each other with fondness.
"I know," Leone answered, lips curling up, in an expression of joy that almost took away Bruno's breath.
"We can worry about my hair later," Bruno told her, palms sliding over her soft skin, feeling a familiar path as they squeezed her biceps. "Lean back Leone. It's time to rinse out."
Leone let Bruno guide her, trusting his hands.
The hair took on a shade of blue slightly different from the one on the box, but it was still a pretty one. Bruno worked a shower head around Leone's head, fingers massaging her scalp, getting the blue dye out of the hair, and he watched that water drain until the stream turned clear.
The blue dye stuck to his fingers, and he tried to wash it off, most came off immediately.
"Next time, I am taking you to the skating rink." One of Leone’s eyes cracked open as Bruno carefully toweled her hair.
"You want me to break my legs?" He asked, amused, leaning in to kiss the crook of her nose. The unpleasant scent of the dye still hung in the air, but at least he was in no danger of more of his skin going blue.
Leone threw her arms around Bruno, not letting him up once he got too close. She embraced him like a Venus trap, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"You're not going to break anything," she said, nuzzling her nose with Bruno's as he closed his eyes as well. "I will be there to catch you, dear."
"Okay, I have full confidence in you."
She kissed him and the world was alright.
"What's with you and all this trying out stuff anyway?" Bruno asked, hesitantly touching a curling lock of Leone's hair to tuck it out of view of her face. Well, his hands were already blue. It couldn't get worse. Besides, it would come off in a few days. That's a good excuse to wear his gloves again if he were to have a sudden meeting.
"Well, we've got time and money." Leone shrugged her shoulders, foil rustling as she did. Then she took it off her shoulders. She sat in orange shorts and a black top, leaning into Bruno, her eyes cast down as she flushed in the face, a smile curving her face fondly. "I just want to spend time with you."
That's when Bruno understood Leone.
He kissed her forehead, nose, and brow, and eyelid- and he didn't care where else he was placing the kisses because he was trying to stifle the tears. He loved her. So much.
She was the entire world and everything that was good in it.
He was grateful. Grateful even for this body he despised because he could still be here. Be with Leone, with his beautiful Leone with the most captivating eyes, wonderful laugh, and kindest heart.
He was thankful for everything he did right in his life to find Leone and be with her. He is overwhelmed and so, so thankful for her.
Their time on this Earth, even without a violent end, would be all too brief. It's best they just stick together.