Work Text:
“Can I go home now?”
“Scemo, you are home—”
“Oh, goddamn it!” Leone protested, almost crying.
Leone had agreed to a small birthday gathering, and to being part of it for a maximum of an hour—but the hour dragged on for much longer, as many people wanted to greet the diligent but usually reserved soldato.
Bruno examined the crowd and grimaced. “Hmm, there really are more people than we’d anticipated. Do go to bed, tesoro; I’ll deal with this. And lift your pillow for a little extra gift.”
“Huh?”
Two printouts with the words Met Opera awaited him.
“BRUNO?!”