Archive of Our Own

Leone stood at the shore's edge, feeling emptiness swirl in his mind. He felt trapped by everything that had come before, by his past and the mistakes he had made. He was consumed by darkness, and he knew it. He turned to face the sea, the salty breeze blowing through his long white hair, and for a brief moment, there was no more darkness, emptiness, or hate. Only Bruno. Leone closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the sea air, savouring every moment of this rare moment of peace in a troubled life. The sea was a place that Bruno loved, so it created the false sense that he was beside him. It was a tragedy. Leone would give anything to simply have Bruno even give him a hundredth of the love Leone would give him. If he watched the sea much longer, maybe he could make it out that Bruno was next to him, his short black hair blowing in the wind, his zipper pulls chiming as they hit the metal of the slider.
“Abbacchio, you okay there?” A short, black-haired boy in orange headband and black clothing asked, tapping the effeminate goth’s shoulder.
He flinched, reality crashed down on him, the weight of his numbness plunged back into his mind, the warm feeling in his chest being replaced by the void he usually had in his heart. Bruno didn’t love him. Bruno wasn’t there.
“I’m fine Narancia,” Leone responded to the 17-year-old without turning to look at him.
“You’re staring out at the sea again. You always do this.” Narancia stated, sitting down next to Abbacchio. “Come on, join me.” He commanded; a bright grin plastered across his face.
“I don’t like sand. It gets everywhere.” Leone stared out at the ocean waves, the bright orange buoys standing out across the vast stretch of blue.
“Suit yourself, emo.” Narancia grinned up at him.

Leone never understood why Narancia was like this, why Narancia insisted on being beside him. Bruno was a better role model and always would be, so why was this kid looking up to him? It was a simple answer, one Leone never understood, Narancia just looked up to him.
“So… What’s wrong? Run out of your favourite lipstick? Mista said one too many annoying stories? Just feeling sad? Come on, tell me, maybe I can help?” Narancia looked up at him with violet eyes, staring into Leone’s soul.
“… Is love supposed to hurt this much?” Leone found himself asking the 17-year-old. He didn’t know why he asked this, why would he ask this to a child?
“Well… if the love hurts… then maybe she’s not for you?”

“That’s not- No I meant that uh… that… well that it hurts when I don’t think of how much I love them…” Leone’s tone was sombre as he spoke, “And It hurts because I know I’m not good enough for them…”
“Abbacchio… Don’t say that. You know how much Bucciarati hates when you talk down to yourself.” Narancia glared at Leone, his facial expression morphing into one not dissimilar to when a small child tries to be intimidating. The void in Abbacchio’s chest lessened as he processed that information. Bruno cared for him. Even if it was just platonic, did Bruno really care for someone like him? His gaze softened as he turned to Narancia.
“I- yeah… sorry…” Leone apologised.
“Damn, you’re a lot more agreeable when you’re talking about love, we should talk about it more often.” Narancia grinned. “It’s weird. But it’s nice, for once you aren’t rolling your eyes at me or yelling at me.”

“Why are you here? I was alright on my own.” Abbacchio harshened his tone in an attempt to fix his weakened appearance in front of Narancia.
“Oh uh… Fugo was having a fit so I decided to come out here and I saw you, so I decided to join you.”

“Oh… right… well, maybe you should go back…” Leone suggested, keeping his harsh tone up in yet another fruitless attempt to seek loneliness

“You’ve seen how Fugo gets when he’s mad. I ain’t going back until he cools his head.” Narancia

“What?” Leone responded, genuinely confused. “I don’t get what you’re saying Narancia.”

“I’m saying, I ain’t going back into the restaurant until Fugo calms down,” Narancia explained in the very slow-paced voice he always used when explaining his slang that sounded almost condescending. “You know, when he gets so mad that he switches to English just so he can use the most vulgar language he knows, while not getting told off by Bucciarati for swearing in front of kids? Yeah, it’s that. It’s kind of funny that he does a British accent when he does that, right?” Narancia explained.
“Oh, so he’s furious then,” Leone stated, knowing Narancia’s tendency to over-explain things and didn’t question it.
There was an awkward silence between the two.
“You shouldn’t keep hating yourself Abbacchio.” Narancia looked up at Leone. His voice was quiet, it was unusual for Narancia so Leone could tell he meant it. “Whoever it is that you love, they’re lucky to have you… Just because you were a dirty cop, that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person now, does it? You wouldn’t hate Fugo just because he killed a man with an Encyclopedia, would you? You wouldn’t talk down to Mista just because he’s killed 3 men before he was in Passione, would you? You won’t hate me because I was a pickpocket, won’t you?”

Narancia had made a good point, one Leone couldn’t accept as the truth. Leone despised himself, but Narancia had missed out on all the details which had convinced him that he was awful. Fugo had killed his professor in self-defence after being sexually assaulted, Mista had killed those three men to save a woman who was being raped, and Narancia had become a pickpocket out of necessity. What excuse did Leone have? He was greedy, and taking that bribe cost an innocent his life… a friend’s life. Abbacchio couldn’t forgive himself.
“You’re right.” Leone lied through his teeth, not believing a word the violet-eyed teen told him.
“See! You’re great!” That wasn’t the truth.
The silence expanded, and the numb feeling in Leone’s psyche grew.
“Abbacchio, before I met you guys, I had nowhere I felt at ease. when I'm with you all, I feel like I can relax and be myself… That’s why I look up to you… This group feels like a family. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Narancia continued, “The person you love… she could never be undeserving of your love, nor are you undeserving of her love. And whoever it is… You are good enough for her.”
“… You want something, don’t you?” Leone stated harshly, suspecting something.
“You mean like a break from Fugo?” Narancia laughed, it was an ugly laugh, not as bad as Mista’s but it was enough to make a stranger stare and awkwardly look away.

“No. What do you want?” Leone didn’t care, he knew Narancia wanted something.

“I don’t- I mean I want a lot of things, but not right now. You just seemed sad.” He stood up and looked up at Leone from the 22.5 cm difference between them.
“I’m not taking you to a goth rave Narancia.” Abbacchio sighed.
“What!? Oh, come on! I didn’t even ask yet! And I wasn’t even going to this moment!” Narancia argued.
Abbacchio sighed and looked down at him, the ombre eyes softened. The sun cast its soft light over the sand on the beach, the sounds of the waves sloshing into each other, the peaceful demeanour of the coast allowing Leone to feel more at ease.
Narancia looked out to the sea, brushing the sand off the fabric attached to his belt.
“I care about you, Abbacchio.”
“I know.” The blank response made Narancia feel the need to follow up.
“You’re like a father to me, you and Bucciarati both.”
“I’m 3 years older than you.” He flatly responded to Narancia’s comment.
“Yeah, but you’re a lot more parental than my dad was to me. And you act older than you are.”
“Are you calling me old punk?” Leone let out a little chuckle.
“So… are you feeling better now?” The teen asked his elder. A toothy grin plastered on his face.
“I don’t know how you do it Narancia…” Narancia chuckled at this.
“Alright then. I’m going to see if the cheese man has blown off some steam now.” Narancia walked off back towards the restaurant, a jump in his step as was usual for the teen.
Leone sighed, his delusion of self-loathing lessened slightly, he still knew he wasn’t deserving of Bruno’s love; however, he knew Bruno still cared for him, and that lessened the chasm in his heart.
The sea’s wind blew through his long, white hair. His breathing slowed as he pictured Bruno standing next to him, he would talk to Leone, his voice soft and comforting. “Y’know… I’ve always loved the sea.” The voice of Bruno told him in his head.
Leone smiled, something rare for the goth. “I know… Ti amo.” He muttered.
He pulled the tight fabric of his coat up, reaching in through the space that showed off his chest, he took an MP3 player out of an inside pocket and plugged in his wired headphones which he kept in the same pocket. They weren’t as good as his overhead headphones, but they would do. He then put his hands into his pockets before walking towards the restaurant that his team had been hanging around in.
He was met by friendly faces and a pissed-off Fugo. Narancia and Mista were giggling over something in the corner, Fugo was strumming his fingers on the table, breathing heavily, and staring at a piece of paper, a pen in the other hand tapping against his temple. You could hear the rage in his breath. And then there was Bruno, he took a small glance at Leone but looked away as soon as he realised Leone was looking at him.
“If it ain’t Signore Leone Matteo Abbacchio himself,” Mista announced when he saw Leone.
“Oi, Mista, call me by my full name again and I will punch you. Also, it’s ‘isn’t’ not ‘ain’t’. You and Narancia could learn something from that.”
“You’re going to punch me? Wouldn’t that be against your religion since it’s violent?” Mista chuckled.
“I’m in the goddamn Italian mafia Mista. I’m living by as many rules as I can, violence is unfortunately not one I follow because of my job, I think I can forgive myself for that. I know I’m going to hell either way.” Leone explained.
“Yeah yeah, anyway, we’ve been disregarded again. Polpo sent his mission to la squadra di recupero instead of us. So, we’ve got a free day.”
Leone nodded at the 18-year-old's statement. "So, is there anything you want to do? These three don't have any ideas since Fugo is still calming down and these two are being childish?" Bruno suddenly spoke up, leaning closer to Leone as he sat down next to Bruno. Leone shook his head, Bruno was close to him, there was only around 10 inches between the two of them. Leone was glad that he was wearing a hell of a lot of foundation otherwise his flushed face would be noticed and made fun of by either Narancia or Mista. The image of Bruno making out with him as he's pressed against the wall, an intrusive thought, not an unwelcome one, but it certainly did not help the situation. Leone sat up straighter to get a little bit more distance between them. He was entranced by the blue-eyed mafioso's beauty, they gazed into each other's eyes, but while Leone stared with love, he was sure that Bruno was staring because he was staring at him, with no ulterior motive. And to be fair, Leone had technically started it. "Would you two stop having a staring contest? This is boring! The cheese man isn't even angry enough to be entertaining." Narancia blurted out in a whiny tone. "Excuse you?! Entertaining?! You think my mental issues are entertaining Ghirga?!" Fugo yelled out, his being practically bursting as clicked his pen and went to jab it at Narancia. "Oi! Both of you quit it. Narancia watch your tongue, Fugo, stop immediately jabbing people." Bruno yelled right before the pen reached Narancia’s eye. Fugo stopped and put the pen down. "I- sorry." Fugo apologised. Narancia was also startled as Fugo had aimed at Narancia's left eye, the same one he almost lost due to infection, the same one he almost died from. Leone glared at the two of them. Shifting his body weight to his left leg so his hips were tilted and folding his arms. "You two both have issues y'know, Narancia you could do with being a lot more sensitive to this shit. And Fugo stop using fucking violence for everything, your stand is already violent enough, we don't need you to be just as violent," He continued from Bruno. "See what I mean about parental, Abbacchio?" Narancia muttered. Leone rolled his eyes. He felt light as if the void was filling up with overwhelming emotions, but he couldn't show that, not to the people he trusted this much. Not like this. For once he felt like he could forget his unrequited love and just be present. Just the 5 of them. Like a family. It was late at night when Leone felt the worst, lying awake in his twin bed, barely clothed. His curtains were open, allowing moonlight to spill into the sad sight of the 20-year-old's emptiness. Torn drawings were scattered on the floor, and makeup palettes and lipstick tubes were messily scattered on a table. Leone was too stuck in his head to care about this, the brief moment of joy he had experienced earlier that day, with taking to Narancia on the beach or just being with the team had caused him to drastically drop as soon as he was alone. Memories of his past flooded his head in reverse chronological order. When he met Bucciarati in the rain, getting drunk for the first time out of despair, his discharge from the police force, his partner's death, taking the bribe, getting hired for the police force, the pressure his parents gave him to follow a law-related job, his father's words of distaste towards him for his 'sinful' way of living... the first time his mother hit him. It reminded Leone that he lived a pathetic life. The gothic alcoholic closed his eyes and took shallow breaths, the abyssal cavern of melancholy he felt at that moment was crushing. His world was in black and white, and he was on the evil side. He prayed. Prayed that even though G-d may not forgive him, for him to be merciful and give him a chance to be happy, to have remorse and give him chances to redeem himself, to finally be forgiven.
Leone rolled over to his side, imagining the figure of Bruno lying beside him, running his hand through Leone’s long hair, and kissing his cheek. This interpretation of the mafioso spoke softly and assured Leone that it was alright. This was his escape. His distraction from his troubled life.
His life had been miserable since he was a kid. It was the 23rd of August 1986. Leone had recently become fixated on drawing. He drew anything and everything his 6-year-old mind could think of. He was alright, he was happy... that was until he had decided to show his father some of his drawings. "Leone, I don't care about your silly doodles. Yes, I get they're fun, but I don't need you shoving them down my throat." He looked down at the small child. He then glanced at the drawing before rolling g his eyes and snatching it from Leone’s hands. "Fine then. Since you're so desperate for attention," He snapped. His eyes widened when he saw the picture, Leone, as the naïve child he was, thought this was a good thing. He couldn't be further from the truth. "What in the name of the Lord himself is this?!" He pointed to the men on the drawing. It was just some childishly drawn stick figures of Leone's best friend at the time, Chiara, and her dads. Leone’s father looked like he was about to burst a vein in anger. The next thing Leone knew was that he was engulfed in his father's inferno. The yelling stuck in his head, burning away at all his receptors, he needed to cover his ears, to stop it from charring everything else. The noise around him got louder and the world got brighter. He sat down and curled up. It was pointless to fight fire with fists. "You're friends with f[REDACTED] are you?! It says right in Leviticus 18:22! I knew you were r[REDACTED] but not this much!" Leone’s father yelled at him until his mother came in and calmed him down. She looked down at the sight of her son, crying, curled up on the floor. She adjusted her wig slightly and kneeled next to him. "Leone. What you did was wrong so we're going to fix that, okay? Your father just got a bit worked up over this. Whoever this girl is, I want you to stop talking to her since she is sinning. And you know our lord wouldn't want that." She told him in a soft tone full of passive aggressiveness. The 6-year-old nodded, eyes puffy and face tearstained. He was silent, why was his dad so mad at him, he didn't want his parents to be mad at him. He didn't want Chiara to be mad at him either. The world was so bright. He closed his eyes tightly, so he didn't have to see it. His polo shirt rubbed at his skin, making him wince. He didn't want his mother to notice so he stifled his breathing in place for shallow, less noisy breaths. It was March 28th, 1994. The recently turned 14-year-old had started to create his own outlook on life, his parents were wrong. Leviticus 18:22 references pedophilia, not homosexuality. That's what he believed anyway with reading the words 'Man must not sleep with boy' or even so, it was just about sex. His parents were wrong, Eve was made as a guide for him, not to serve him, Lilith did not want equality, she wanted control and was too egoistic to admit that. The list went on. And as he had learned to accept that, he became firmer in what he believed. He started to rebel against his parents. Leone had started dating a guy. He was a goth in the same Italian literary class as him, with short black hair, and lots of eyeliner, although he was constantly getting in trouble for that since it didn't fit the dress code. Leone loved him. He always had a thing for black hair it seemed. "Leo... you doing alright?" Emil asked him, he was lying down, head on Emil's lap as he stroked a hand through Leone's hair, which at the time was as long as the nape of his neck. "You think my parents would be mad if I started dressing like you?" The 14-year-old asked, looking up at his boyfriend's bluish-green eyes. "Hella." Emil chuckled. "Tesoro... you know not to say that around me. I may be rebelling against my parents but I'm still religious and don't say that stuff." "Alright alright, sorry anyway, yes they would be mad, I mean if the teachers get mad at me, then your parents will." He grinned up at Emil. "Great. Can I have one of your eyeliners? Or eyeshadow pallets with black in 'em then?" Leone asked, beaming up at his boyfriend. Emil nodded and planted a kiss on Leone's forehead. "Tu sei devvero carino mio amore." This interaction was the beginning of the worst, the worst of Leone's childhood anyway. He was slapped to the ground, the door slammed behind them. "ALL THIS TIME LEONE! I, YOUR MOTHER, HAVE LOVED YOU UNCONDITIONALLY, I HAVE STOOD UP FOR YOU AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?! YOU'RE A BOY, SOON TO BE A MAN! YOU SHOULDN'T BE LIKE THIS! YOU SHOULDN'T BE FEMININE! WHY THE HELL ARE YOU WEARING EYELINER? THAT'S MAKEUP!" She ranted as her eyes almost popped out of her sockets in rage. "Who is teaching you this shit, Leone?!" "A friend let me borrow it! I'm sorry, I just-" "A friend?! From where?!" "School..." "I'm going to be homeschooling you from now on. There is no excuse to be like this... you're acting like a f[REDACTED]," She snipped at him. She turned away leaned her head against the door and sighed. "Where did I go wrong as a mother?" She covered her face to stop herself from crying. "Forgive me, lord G-d," She stated before taking a deep breath and turning to look at her son, a practiced smile plastered on her face. "Leone, mi dispiace, I shouldn't have snapped. It's not your fault that you have been tempted by evil. Now talk to me. What else has the serpent tempted you with?" She asked, keeping the same eerie smile on her face. The next bad decision was opening up to his mother, who clearly had mental issues of her own. The next week, Leone had gotten a call from Emil, He had not been at normal school and had just been cooped up in his room, forced to study everything, only wearing long-sleeved button-ups and shorts. He didn't feel like himself. "Hey, can I speak to Leone Abbacchio?" Emil asked as Leone picked up the landline phone. "Emil?" Leone asked flatly. "Leo! You, okay? I haven't heard from you in days!" "I'm being homeschooled now. I- look, we can't see each other anymore. You're my best friend Emil, but... I just can't do this anymore. I want us to end on good terms though." Leone recited his rehearsed paragraph, the one his mother had made him. There was silence on the other line. "What?" Emil stated in a hurt but questioning way. "Mi dispiace..." Leone stifled a sniff to hide a sob. And that was how he ended the call.
1995 was not a good year for Leone Matteo Abbacchio. His life was a prison. He had to do everything his parents asked of him. 2-kilometre runs at 6 in the morning every day except Saturdays as he was made to pray at that time, He was no longer allowed to see friends as they were a bad influence on him, He was no longer allowed to share opinions. He was no longer allowed to stray from his parents’ interpretations of the Torah. Leone still had his own opinions, of course, but he was repressed from that.
Leone was 17 when he started training to be in the police force. It was a nice change of pace from his normal bland life. He needed his parent’s approval, he needed to be perfect for them to forgive his sins. He was their son, so he needed to fit their standards.
Leone was 20 when he remembered all these events, lying awake as he regretted everything. He believed he was simply a freak who, even while partially believing everything he believed at 14, Leone still hated himself, hated himself for being in love, hated himself for being too sensitive, hated himself for being an alcoholic, hated himself… just for being him.
Days went by as the 20-year-old sunk deeper into his misery, allowing the abyss to swallow him whole. Leone indeed had moments of happiness when with Bruno or the rest of the group, but the more the void healed, the more it would eat away at his very soul the moment he was alone. Leone hated to be alone, his thoughts consumed every waking moment when he was, and he couldn't not blame himself. As the world moved on, he was stuck in his delusions and grief. His only escapes being delusions of Bruno or alcohol. It was Monday again. Monday the 18th of February. But it was all the same to Leone. Waking up, goes on his morning run at 6 am, having breakfast, showering, and doing his makeup for the day. He did all this before everyone, except Fugo, got up at 8. Leone sat there in the living room of the 3-bedroom flat that was given to them as a safehouse by Passione. "Narancia Ghirga! Clean your side of the damn room!" Fugo yelled at the boy. It was a casual day, not that Leone dressed any less slutty, so nobody actually dressed themselves for business. Nor did anyone use professional language. "And what if I don't wanna!" Narancia yelled back. "Then I'm erasing your save data from Pokémon Emerald!" Fugo retorted in total seriousness. "Don't you dare touch my Joltion!" Narancia got up and glared at the 15-year-old. It was loud. Too loud for Leone. But he didn't want to be alone, he knew what that did to him. He got up and went to get his headphones, not caring that the vermillion and verdant shades did not match his gothic attire. He closed his eyes and let Monteverdi's composition take over his brain as the teenagers argued near him. He didn't want to think, he just wanted to hear something and not be alone. He sighed and looked back at the scene. Narancia had stormed off to clean his side of the room, Mista was still sleeping and Bruno... Bruno was sitting next to him. His heart skipped a beat; he jumped. "You okay there Abbacchio?" Bruno asked, chuckling slightly. Leone nodded nervously, but he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of Bruno glancing at his lips, he was probably wrong though. "So, 2001... such a weird thing to think about, even though it’s already been an entire month and a bit" Bruno awkwardly started, "To think that everyone's worry about Y2K has been over for an entire year." "Yeah... Dios mio, I was 19 then, that's weird to think about isn't it." "Not as weird to think about that you'll be officially an adult everywhere in just a few months. Speaking of which... is there anything you want for your birthday? I know it's a month and a few days away, but if you want anything I need to plan for, it's nice to know in advance." Leone’s honest answer would be something along the lines of a kiss, a date with him, for him to be his boyfriend, and for the government to approve gay marriage so he could have his hand as soon as possible. He couldn't live without him; he wanted Bruno to be his. but Leone didn't answer that. "Uh... I'd be fine with just a cake," Leone responded sheepishly. "Are you sure? I could book for us to go to an art gallery. Just the two of us, I know those two wouldn't be sensible there, so Fugo could watch them?" Bruno offered. Leone was surprised that Bruno had remembered that about him, his sapphire eyes gleaming under the light. "That would be... Nice." Leone responded, having nothing else to say. Bruno smiled and leaned closer. "I know it's a bit early to plan this stuff, but you know how much I like planning things. Leone took his headphones off and looked down at the shorter man, if only Bruno knew how much he wanted to kiss him, how much he wanted to run his fingers through Bruno’s hair. It was all Leone could think about. How did he get so lucky to meet Bruno? Leone felt whole, he was by Bruno, and he was close enough to be able to hold his hand. He had to restrain himself. "Hey Abba. Can I ask you something from yesterday?" Narancia had turned around from his math homework set by Fugo and gave another smile, "I would've asked yesterday but you seemed kinda depressed so I didn't." "Huh? " Leone snapped out of his trance. "So that girl you're in love with, mind giving me a name?" Narancia asked, grinning like a madman. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bucciarati flinch, he probably poked himself, nothing more. "Yes, I do mind actually, Narancia. You aren't getting a name." Leone scoffed as if Narancia had any right to know that he was in love with Bruno. "Come on Abbacchio!! Why not!" "Do you need to know?" Leone rolled his eyes and folded his arms, looking down at Narancia. Narancia folded his arms and tried to replicate the intimidating look that Leone was giving him, however, the fact that, in Fugo's words, Narancia looked like a 10-year-old who was in a 17-year-old's body and the face of a baby made his attempt flawed. "What? It's my business Narancia." Leone said firmly. Narancia sulked and just turned back around to do his maths. An awkward silence rose in the room, so what else could Leone do besides put his headphones back on?
Leone liked escapism. If he didn’t find an escape, his life would be empty. Music was an escape, and so were missions… and the largest escape was the thoughts, or just being in the vicinity, of Bruno.
It was the 12th of March. It was just him and Bruno… alone… in a room together.
“So uh, how are you, Leone?” Bruno said awkwardly as if he was building up to another question.
“I’m alright.” He wasn’t.
“Uh… so a few Sundays ago… you Narancia asked you something…”
“I know. It isn’t uh… he’s got it into his head that I like a girl when I don’t… I don’t know how but he has…” Leone explained; Bruno sighed but Leone couldn’t tell in what context it was.
“That makes more sense… why were you playing along with him then?”
“Because I didn’t want to openly say that I’m- never mind.” Leone held his tongue, not wanting to admit his homosexuality to the one he loved so dearly.
Despite him still mostly believing what he did when he was 13, he was still scarred from his mother’s reaction to when he dated Emil. He didn’t want anyone else to be grossed out by him for something he couldn’t control.
Bruno leaned closer, folding his arms on the table, and resting his head in his arms.
“Oh, come on, I won’t tell anyone. I swear.” Bruno put his hand on Leone’s, flushing his face under his heavy foundation.
“I- I’m just not in love with a girl.” He adverted his gaze quickly away from Bruno’s azure eyes. Butterflies of both anxiety and love rose in his stomach, making him want to both throw up and bring the two of them closer.
Bruno sighed and sat up, sliding his hand off of Leone’s.
“Alright then. So, uh… 8 days until you’re 21.”
“And only 6 years, 8 days until I’m permissible to join the 27-club.” Leone joked darkly.
“Huh?”
“Forget it.”
The conversation ended with smiles, something rare for the goth. He was grateful, grateful that Bruno even kept him around.
March 20th came around quicker than Leone had expected. It was the first time he didn’t go on his morning run since he was sober. He went to the bathroom to put the makeup on, not realising it was his birthday in the slightest. He was tired, he hadn’t slept as he had been experiencing the memories of his childhood again, training to be a police officer for his parents, especially his mother. He could still remember her mouth and its red lipstick as she called him slurs simply for being him, could still remember the force she put into hitting him. He was too tired to put on as much makeup as normal. He decided to at least make himself look human. Covering his white lashes in dark mascara, not caring for a clump or two, putting eyebrow gel on so Narancia didn’t make fun of him for having no eyebrows, and not to forget the lipstick, a signature of Leone.
He sighed and went downstairs to see a small gift bag on the table, it wasn’t early, but he didn’t expect someone to wake up before 7 just to place a gift bag on his placemat. He took a peek at the label, ‘Abbacchio’ was written in messy handwriting. He would have guessed it was from Narancia, however he knew Narancia had worse. He looked inside to see a purple lipstick and an eyeshadow palette, the lipstick wasn’t the most expensive, mostly because purple lipsticks were mainly cheap, but the eyeshadow palette was Dior. Leone never thought that he would be holding something so expensive and as a gift? Just for him? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. The only note was ‘Happy Birthday’.
He smiled slightly and turned the note over to see ‘σ'αγαπώ, είσαι τα πάντα μου’ written in Greek. He didn’t know what it meant but he knew at once that it was Bruno, his mother was Greek after all.
Bruno came down the stairs, he looked presentable. Something you’d expect to go out on a mission or a date rather than a casual outing to an art gallery with a friend.
“Oh, you’re up?” Bruno asked rhetorically.
“No shit Sherlock,” Leone responded. “Thanks for the palette. That shit costs more than I make in a week.”
“You knew it was me?” Bruno raised an eyebrow.
“Who else has shitty handwriting and can speak Greek?” Leone rolled his eyes.
“I suppose that was an obvious giveaway, wasn’t it?”
“What does it even mean anyway.”
“That’s a surprise for later.” Bruno chuckled. “It’s something my mother taught me to say, I mean I can’t speak it fluently, but I at least know that.” He laughed.
It all came so naturally when speaking to Bruno, Leone was still playing a dangerous game today, not wearing foundation was something that would surely get him caught blushing by the 20-year-old’s antics.
“So, uh… you want to go then?” Bruno asked.
“Sure, I mean it’s not like I’m not dressing how I want right now.” Leone shrugged and his jacket with a rib cage on it fell off one of his shoulders, showing off a black tank top.
“You’re going to be freezing, it’s 8 degrees (Celsius).” Bruno pointed out.
“It’s the end of March, I’ll be fine.” Leone grinned down at the dark-haired man.
The two walk down to the gallery, noticing and appreciating the small things such as the birds flying overhead. As the two came to the gallery, they realised that it was a paid fair to enter.
“Wanna break in? I don’t have my wallet on me.” Bruno asked, smirking up at the 21-year-old.
“Hmm?” Leone smiled back at him, “Sure.”
Bruno grabbed his wrist and dragged him around the side of the gallery, he then brought Sticky Fingers out, and there was a loud noise as Bruno unzipped the wall. He looked through to see an empty room in the gallery, the two quickly stepped inside and zipped the wall back up, a successful break-in.
It was quiet. The only sounds were each other breathing and the faint sound of other people’s footsteps. Leone found himself staring at a painting of a boat in the middle of the sea. It reminded him of Bruno, imagining the scent of seawater, something he always related to the half-Greek.
Bruno nudged him slightly.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Bruno beamed up at him. Oh, how Leone could get lost in those eyes.
“Yeah…” It was only then that Leone noticed that Bruno had put his arm around Leone’s waist. Leone flushed bright red; this time visible as he wasn’t wearing foundation.
“Σ'αγαπώ, είσαι το παν μου ((pronounced: S'agapó, eísai to pan mou)).” Bruno muttered, looking away from Leone.
“What?”
“It’s nothing,” Bruno said, blushing slightly.
“No, you wrote in Greek on the note too! Tell me Bucciarati!”
“This isn’t work, just call me Bruno, Leone.”
“Fine… tell me, Bruno.” Leone stared at him in an intimidation tactic.
There was silence as Bruno turned to look at a painting of a ballroom, two figures dancing in the centre, groom, and bride in a wedding.
“I love you, Leone,” Bruno blurted out, his face bright red as he took his arm away from Leone’s waist, “You’re my everything. That’s what ‘Σ'αγαπώ, είσαι το παν μου’ means.”
Leone stopped dead in his tracks, barely breathing. He must have misheard him; Bruno couldn’t love him back. How could Bruno have loved someone like him?
“Sorry uh-” Leone started.
“It’s fine if it’s unrequited,” Bruno quickly spoke.
“No, I was going to say uh… can you repeat that?” Leone asked, looking at the black-haired man in disbelief.
“Huh? I said… I love you.”
“Why?” Leone asked, trying not to let his self-loathing slip through the carefully put together mask he made over countless years.
“Wha-? Do I need a reason to be in love with someone like you?” Bruno answered the question with another.
“… Why me? What do I have that someone else doesn’t?”
“You’re seriously asking why I love you, Leone? It’s not about what you have that others don’t, I love you as you are! You aren’t perfect, nobody is. Hell, I’ve got a kill count in the 30s now! Even still, what do you see in yourself that makes you unworthy of love? I’ve seen how you interact with Narancia, and you’re a damn good person Leone. Please… just… put some damn respect on your name.” Bruno ranted at him.
Leone was silent. He didn’t believe it himself, but he knew that if Bruno believed it, he would let him.
The rest of the visit was in silence, the occasional noise of approval when a nice painting was in front of them breaking it. When they had toured the entire building, Bruno checked that the fee woman wasn’t there anymore, in place for a man who had just taken a shift, they simply walked out of the gallery.
Finding a park bench, the two men sat next to each other in awkward silence before Bruno broke it.
“So, uh… what do you think?” Bruno asked him.
“Should I just say it all?” Leone looked down at his hand, finding eye contact too much in this moment, his thoughts cluttered and the only thing he wanted to do was to explain everything, for him and Bruno to finally be requited.
“If you want to.” Bruno softly gazed into Leone’s eyes which did not meet.
“I love you… You’re my escape… Bucciarati…” He paused. “But being together would cause problems in Passione.”
“We could keep a promise that we won’t put each other above work?”
“That won’t be true, would it though?”
“Right…” Bruno affirmed, looking away and moving his hair over his ear, his zipper-pull earring jangling in the soft breeze.
“Fuck it. Just kiss me, Bruno, per favore.” Leone blurted out, still not making eye contact but facing his superior.
Bruno moved closer to him, wrapping his arms around Leone’s neck, and pulling himself up slightly on the bench to bring them closer, their lips met in a soft and tender kiss, and Leone allowed his worries to melt away, letting his mind overwhelm with emotions of just Bruno. He didn’t want it to end, but like all good things, it had to.
“We can’t do this Leone.”
“Can’t we just be casual at least? Nobody has to know. We don’t have to act any differently except behind closed doors. Please.” Bruno begged him, gazing into Leone’s eyes.
“Yeah… just between us.”
One thing led to another and the next thing they knew they were in Bruno’s room. Leone hadn’t expected his hands to be so gentle as he was pushed against the bed, He felt vulnerable both emotionally and physically, it wasn’t a bad thing though. He trusted Bruno with his life.
Laying in bed next to his partner in silence was a new level of escape for Leone. His makeup had stained one side of Bruno’s pillow, yes, his hair was tangled, yes, but Bruno was there, Bruno was his.
Laying in bed next to his partner in silence was a great feeling for Bruno. The one he loved for so long was beside him, his pretty face in his room, acknowledging them as together. A simple hookup may have been a beginning, but Bruno loved him enough to want to spend the rest of his life with Leone. And he would do.
It was 3 days after La Squadra Guardie delle corpo, otherwise nicknamed ‘Team Bucciarati’, had gone on a mission against a man whose stand was named ‘Rolling Stones’. The team, having recently been evicted from the 3-bedroom flat, were residing in a restaurant. Bruno had gone out on important business for the team. He had returned with a blonde boy, no older than 16. As the crew looked up at him, blood dripping from Narancia’s cheek due to the violent mishaps of Pannacotta Fugo, he introduced himself politely.
“I’m Giorno Giovanna, Pleasure to meet you all.” He blandly said with a small bow of respect.
Leone, seeing the demeanour of the kid, had memories of himself posing himself in the same way. He despised it. He didn’t like how similar this kid was to him, more to the point he seemed like someone he should stay away from.
Leone may have started to have a perfect life, but something about Giorno made him uneasy, as if he was the beginning of Leone’s end…