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"...Were you ever planning on telling us?"
"I was," Bruno murmured as he flicked the turn signal, tapping his finger on the steering wheel out of pure habit and receiving no sensory feedback. "When the time was right."
"And when would that be?"
"When it's over."
Every second of silence felt like an eternity. Bruno changed lanes to avoid ramming into a broken down car, and a short stretch down the road, blew past its stranded, hitchhiking driver. Maybe someone else would stop to pick her up, but they hadn't the time to save her from the encroaching mold. Though Bruno would have made that same decision when he was alive-- hell, so would Giorno had he been behind the wheel-- it still felt heartless. But maybe, a measure of heartlessness was necessary.
Giorno understood that there was no time for tearful goodbyes. Still, though, it felt to him like some fucked-up form of speed dating-- he had met his very own soulmate, a man with his same spirit, same drive, same vision, only for him to pass through a revolving door when he'd barely begun to know him. But what did Giorno's little feelings matter, in the end? He was only losing a friend. All the rest were losing a brother.
"...The others are going to miss you, you know."
"I know, but… I don't want to be a distraction," Bruno shook his head, careful to animate himself in little ways so that for a moment, Giorno might forget he was speaking to a corpse. "But God , it's good to get all this off my chest," he sighed. "I'm glad it was you who figured me out, Giorno. You're strong. I know you can keep your head."
Giorno crossed his arms, ran his tongue over his teeth, and looked out the window as the world rushed past. Buccellati was right about him. He was never much of a crier, but the expectation of strength and resilience made him livid. What if, just this once, he wanted to mourn? What if he wanted to take his sweet time stumbling through all five stages of grief? The cruelest thing was, he knew it wasn't Bruno's fault it had to be this way. It was the world that had done this to them, the enemy that demanded inhuman composure and maturity, and still, he couldn't think of a kind word to say to him.
"You must have a million questions," Bruno tried to break the silence before it could fester. "Fire away. It's not rude."
Giorno scoffed. For days, Buccellati had been dead, walking alongside everyone through sheer force of will. After telling Giorno all that, then making him promise to keep it a secret, he seemed too content to move on to the Q&A section. Even so, he was two for two. Giorno did have questions. Burning ones.
"...What's it like? Being undead?"
"It's--" Bruno's voice suddenly became gravelly. He frowned, tried to gently clear his throat, then put a hand over his mouth and hacked up a writhing glob of white. Giorno was appalled.
"Well, you saw what just happened, so I can't really lie and say it's all milk and honey," Bruno sighed, rolling down the window and shaking his hand clean. "I know it can seem nasty at times, but it's a small price to pay for a second chance. Thus far, I've lost the ability to feel hunger, to feel pain, and to feel the little critters colonizing my guts. My mind and body feel worlds apart, and in a situation like this? It's all I ever could've asked for," he shrugged. "Honestly, it's not that different from when I was alive."
Bruno waited a moment for Giorno to ask another question, hoping he hadn't accidentally traumatized him with that answer. After a few more seconds of silence, he had to say something. "Anything else you need to get off your mind?"
Giorno pursed his lips. "...That's all."
Bruno didn't believe a word out of his mouth. "You have a long life of communicating with people ahead of you," he said over his shoulder. "Don't try to manicure your words. Just say it. I don't care how it sounds."
"...I feel like I'm the one who got you killed," Giorno murmured weakly.
Bruno sat with the weight of that sentence, looking out at the road ahead. He so desperately wanted to absolve him of all his guilt and be done with it, but knew that even the smallest lie would prevent Giorno from taking his consolation to heart. "...Well, if it helps at all, I forgive you."
Giorno crumpled into himself and locked his fingers in his hair.
"Oh God, I was just fucking with you!" Bruno repeatedly thumped the shoulder of the passenger's side seat to get his attention. "You didn't kill me-- in fact, I'd say I've been dead for years. You brought me back to life. Give yourself some credit, Giogio."
Giorno straightened up, only to recoil. "Giogio? "
"C'mon. I'm dying," Bruno chuckled. "Grant me this."
There was a hint of pink in his cheeks. "Well, it's just a little infantilizing, don't you think?"
"Then how about Don Giogio?" Bruno corrected himself.
Giorno let out a little squawk of a laugh before remembering that Mista was asleep in the seat over and quieting down. He didn't want to wake him by accident, but if Mista had really slept through all of that, it didn't seem there was much chance of him rousing for anything besides a punch to the gut.
Bruno smiled, glad that he managed to make Giorno laugh, but knowing it wouldn't last. Nervously, he licked chapped lips with a dry tongue.
"...I know I'm not really in a position to be making demands, but I can… I can sense my time ticking down. It's one of the few things I actually can feel," Bruno let out a wistful, empty laugh. "I need a favor from you, Giorno. Several favors, actually. Big ones."
"Anything." His tone was reverent.
"I need-- I need you to understand that I did the best I could with what I had," Bruno choked out, sounding at once a million miles away and more present than ever. "I don't want any more kids to grow up like I did. When you become the boss, I need you to take some of that money and invest it in a shelter. And… and you have to fire Narancia. I don't care how much he complains, you do that for me, okay?"
"...You're just saying that because you won't be around to deal with the tantrum he'll throw," Giorno replied, trying to keep the light tone from before. Physically, he may not have been able to feel pain, but spiritually, he could tell Bruno was in agony.
"Exactly," Bruno nodded, taking Giorno's silent invitation to compose himself. "Oh, and, if you ever find Fugo again, he's fired too. He should be cracking cold fusion, not balancing our books."
Giorno nodded, keeping meticulous mental notes. "What about Mista?"
"Mista's not a kid anymore. He can make his own decisions." Bruno's eyes came up to the rearview mirror to watch him sleep. He hadn't moved an inch, chest rising and falling in silence. "Just don't let him bowl you over, okay? He's a strong personality, and his tastes are a bit… 'nouveau riche'? When he comes into money, he'll probably want to buy some garish sports car, or, god forbid, a motorcycle ," Bruno winced. "Say no."
Giorno smirked. "I thought he was old enough to make his own decisions?"
"Well, he makes a lot of bad ones. Someone's going to have to hold him down, and until he finds a woman willing to put up with him, that's you," he concluded. "Oh, and as for Trish…" Two fingers briefly broke from the steering wheel, then came back down. "I have a house near the coast. If I don't get the opportunity, I need you to tell her that it's hers. Uh, who else…?"
As usual, Bruno was thinking about everyone but himself. Giorno was sure that the others would, eventually, be fine after he left, and wanted to help him address more personal matters.
"Do you need me to discard any…" Giorno hesitated. "Any 'private material' you don't want people to find, after you pass?"
"What, are you talking about porn?" Bruno guffawed, saying the naughty word aloud. "Why would I ask you to throw that away? Give it to Mista-- I'm sure he'll appreciate it."
Giorno laughed again, not bothering to keep quiet this time. It was the kind of laughter borne not of humor, but of a pent up, delirious frustration that would have brought with it a few tears had his ducts not shriveled up years ago.
"Woah now, my quip wasn't that funny."
"I mean, it's just ironic, isn't it?"
"What is?"
"That you're the beating heart of this outfit, yet your heart doesn't beat."
"Well, what does that matter?" Bruno pouted. "I've been dead for days already. I'll be just as dead in a month."
"I don't know," Giorno muttered to himself. "Maybe I could craft some homunculus for you to reside in, once your body falls apart."
"And turn me into a stark-raving-mad ghost? You know better than to mess with that stuff, Giogio." Bruno squeezed the shoulder of the passenger seat as a surrogate for Giorno's, not wanting to reach back and touch him with his cold, rotting hand. "I'll always be by your side in spirit."
"But I don't want you here 'in spirit'," Giorno softened. "I want you to live."
Bruno smiled and turned his attention back to the road. "Hey, if you keep your promises, I'll live forever."