Archive of Our Own

Sunsets over the ocean always felt like home. The salty wind muttered snippets of conversation lost so many years ago. As the sky threw her cloak of midnight over the city, two men stood side by side on the beach. 

They'd been silent for an hour, passing a bottle of some pricey wine back and forth as they watched the light sink below the horizon. 

"Mind if I smoke?" 

Leone Abbacchio raised a pale brow at Bruno, smirking. 

"Bruno Bucciarati, a smoker?" He snorted, clearly more than a little tipsy. "You know that stuff'll kill ya." 

Bruno shrugged and pulled a pack from one of his endless zippers. 

"I'll die young anyway, right?" The younger man mused as Abbacchio watched him stick a cigarette between his pretty plump lips, unable to disagree. "I don't think one vice will make much of a difference, frankly." 

Abbacchio opened his mouth to give a cheeky response, but the weight of the nearly empty bottle in his hand kept him silent. He knew he had no place to judge. Instead, he produced a lighter from the inside of his own jacket, a remnant of his own smoking habit. 

When the flame flickered to life, that was the moment. 

There are many "sparks" throughout one's life. Little flames that warm the soul, ignite the heart. As the shifting glow illuminated the gentle features of Bruno's face, Leone's heart burst into a raging inferno. 

Beautiful. That was the word that sat on his tongue, that weighed down his words. He watched those perfect lips mutter a thank-you and puff the end of the cigarette to life. 

"Moody Blues, pause right there."

The image of Bruno froze, cigarette burning steadily between two fingers, lips parted to breathe a plume of smoke. His eyelids had fluttered half closed as he studied something far away out to sea. Perhaps there had been a fishing boat or something on the water still that night? Leone could no longer remember anymore. 

He glanced down at his own hand, empty. No bottle to pass back and forth now. Not for many years. He had a new vice now. A much slower suicide. 

Bruno shifted again, the green timer on his forehead skipping numbers as it transformed back into Abbacchio's Stand once again. 

It was only a moment later that Bruno appeared once more, sitting in the sand. His hair was loose, free of braid and golden clips, messy, with a slight curl at the ends. He wore an open shirt, jeans rolled up at the hem. Casual and comfortable. Leone remembered this day by heart. The first time he ever saw Bruno the young man, not Bucciarati the Mafioso. 

Leone took the spot next to "him" and let himself fall back in time again. 

"Thanks for coming out here," Bruno sighed, idly digging his bare feet in the sand. "I know it's probably a waste of your time, but I..." 

Leone kicked his shoes off as well, toes buried in an instant. 

"It's fine." He shrugged. "I was just going to get drunk alone at home." 

"Oh?" Perfect lips twitched up into a sly smile. "And now?" 

"Now..." He reached for the leather messenger bag he had brought along with a chuckle. "Now I'm still getting drunk, but I won't do it alone." 

When he pulled out the bottle, Bruno's laugh hit him straight through the heart like an arrow. It was a sound he came to associate with these nights. It carried the taste of wine and cigarette smoke on the breeze, smooth and warm and so perfectly infectious. 

Leone found himself laughing with him as he worked on opening the bottle. When the laughter died at last and they had both taken a sip of wine, Leone spoke up once again. 

"Why did you ask me to come out here?" 

Bruno took a long swig from the bottle, staring thoughtfully out at the horizon. When he lowered the bottle again, Leone noticed how his hand tightened around it like a hug. 

"If I told you I was lonely, would you think I was pathetic?" 

Leone Abbacchio was many things throughout his life, and he had many talents. Captain of his debate team, an honors student, first chair violin in orchestra, gold medal winner three years straight for running track in Highschool... the point was, Mama Abbacchio had a lot to be proud of when he was growing up. But one thing he never had was what his therapist called "social intelligence." 

He sat there, blinking at the brunette as if he had just announced that he was an alien invader wearing a human skin. 

"Ah..." Bruno murmured after a tense silence, "Apologies. I won't inconvenience you further-" 

As he began to rise to his feet, Leone's hand shot out to grip his wrist. 

"No." His voice came out much harsher than he'd intended and he took a deep breath to steady himself. "No. Stay. Talk. I was... lonely too." 

At the time, Leone had looked away, pink spreading across his face like a blooming rose. But now, in replay, Leone could see what he had missed the first time. He could see the way Bruno's eyes had glistened, his smile trembling. Then he passed the bottle to Leone again and they spent the next hour simply drinking in silence. 

After that night, Leone forgot what it felt like to be lonely.

Bruno walked along the shore now, shaking hands pushing through his bangs. The timer on his forehead made Leone frown. It was hard to pretend when his bangs were out of place, but there wasn't much he could do. 

"You're late," he heard his own voice playfully tease as Bruno approached their usual spot. "Was starting to think..." 

When Bruno brought his gaze to the spot Leone had occupied, his eyes overflowed and he let out a deep shuddering sob. Leone remembered this clearly. He'd jumped to his feet and ran to meet him, scared shitless. He'd known Bruno for a year already and he'd never seen him shed a single tear. 

"Fuck, are you okay?" The panic was impossible to hide. He gingerly grabbed Bruno by his shoulders, studying him like a crime scene. Bruno was an ugly crier. Fat tears and dripping nose, quivering lip and knitted brow. It didn't make the flame in Abbacchio's heart flicker even for an instant. 

"L-Leo..." Bruno sniffled and choked out another series of shaking sobs. Poor Leone did the only logical thing he could think of. He pulled him in, let him wipe tears and snot all over his new shirt. He held him close and tight until the trembling stopped, until the waves started to wash over his shoes, soaking the pricy leather. He held him until his tears slowed to a trickle, instead of a torrent. He held him until Bruno, finally, pulled himself away with a muttered apology. 

"O-oh, your shoes. Leone, I'm sorry..." 

"I don't give a shit about my shoes." He reached down to pull them off his feet and carelessly tossed them away somewhere on the beach. "Fuck my shoes! Tell me what happened." 

They sat together, closer than they ever had before. Leone draped an arm over his shoulder and Bruno leaned on him, silently nursing a bottle of strong whiskey. Abbacchio, for once, had not supplied the alcohol. 

"Passione," he whispered at long last, "they're... selling drugs." 

Leone bit his tongue. He knew that already. Of course he knew. His time on the police force showed him that reality already. So why did Bruno sound so hurt by it? 

The answer came in a fresh rush of tears. 

"M-my Father was shot by their drug dealers. He died b-because of it and I... I..." 

Leone pulled him closer, running his hand through his hair, gently pushing the strands away as he wept. 

The mystery was solved. Now he understood why this hurt, why Bruno had always been so vicious when he found rival gang dealers in their territory. His pain made sense now. He just found out that he'd sold his soul to the very group that took his father, that took his childhood. 

"I'm the worst," he sniffed, pressing his face into Abbacchio's chest. 

"No." 

"Yes." Bruno pulled back suddenly, face close, too close. He could see every wet eyelash, every scar and imperfection, freckles, the patches of green in his sea blue eyes. "My Dad would be so disappointed in me now. H-he is probably looking down at me from Heaven, regretting my very existence-" 

"Bruno-" 

"And I'll never see him again because I'm going to Hell, I just know it-" 

"Bruno-!" 

"And I des-deserve to burn for what I did. I- I-" Bruno let out a choked sob. "Oh, God. What I did..." 

"Bruno, stop. Listen to me." Leone tried to keep his voice calm, gentle, just like he would when interviewing a victim when he was an officer. "None of this is your fault. How could you have known?" 

"I should have figured it out," Bruno insisted, "and he was only out there so he could pay for my schooling. If I'd never been born-"

Leone paused Moody Blues here as he watched the ghost of Bruno stare up at nothing, pressed into the space he had occupied years ago. He could still feel him if he thought back hard enough. His gentle weight against his chest, his tears soaking his shirt, the scent of salt and liquor, cigarettes and cologne. 

Leone closed his eyes and let the scene play again. 

"-Then my dad would still be here and maybe my parents wouldn't have divorced and-" 

"BRUNO!" He was not proud of raising his voice, but it was effective. The younger man quieted down, blinking up at him as he squeezed his shoulders. "Shut up. Just... just shut up." 

He pulled him in again, arms wrapping him in a warm embrace. The smaller body in his arms went slack and the nearly empty bottle in his hands rolled away, forgotten. 

"If I ever hear you say that shit again, I'll kick your ass," Leone whispered against the top of his head. "That's my best friend you're talking about." 

"I...I'm your best friend?" The hesitation in the question irritated the older man more than it should have. He let out a deep, rumbling sigh. 

"Isn't it obvious?" 

Leone paused again, studying Bucciarati's face in that moment. The hope, warmth and... disappointment mixed in as well. He was so blind before, too caught up in hating himself to see what was right in front of him. He wasn't the only one who had fallen in love. 

When Moody Blues took Bruno's form next, it was from a moment one year later. Not much had changed on the outside between them, not to the rest of the gang, anyway. But here on this beach, in their private spot along the shore, they got to know each other more than they sometimes knew themselves. 

Bruno told him about his family, the divorce, his first months in the gang, his father's death. Leone told him about his school days, his childhood- Bruno was especially interested in his academic achievements, not being able to finish his education himself. Leone didn't mind. He told him everything, personal, intimate details. Whatever he wanted to know. He was an open book. 
Bruno was more reluctant, but with time, he allowed Abbacchio to turn the pages of his life and read on as well. 

When the topic of their love lives came up, they were both too far gone to hold back. Between them sat two empty bottles of wine while they passed a third back and fourth. Each swig made the space between them grow smaller and their words, bolder. 

"-Then there was this fellow, I think his name was Luigi? Doesn't matter. Anyway," Bruno waved his hand impatiently while he slurred about his latest hook up, "he had a tiny prick and an ugly piercing, but the things he could do with his mouth-" 

"Where was the piercing?" Leone found himself asking against his better judgement, if only to keep the jealousy at bay. 

In response, Bruno bit his lip, eyes flickering down. 

"No," Leone gasped, "down there?" 

Bruno nodded, then burst into laughter, snorting in a way that Leone found absolutely irresistible. When the laughter died down again, Bruno wiped his lash line and shot him a michevious grin. 

"Do you have any piercings, Leone?" 

He'd been mid sip when he asked and it made him choke. 

"W-what?!" He sputtered, unsure if his blush was from the drinking or from the way Bruno was looking at him. Either way, he felt like he was about to pass out. 

"I asked," Bruno breathed, eyes wandering over the expanse of his body shamelessly, "if you have any fun piercings." 

"N-no. Do you?" He found himself asking immediately, earning a sly grin from Bucciarati. "Wait- where?" 

"You really wanna know?" He asked, raising a brow, clearly amused at how flustered he'd managed to make him. "Alright. I'll tell you, if you can keep a secret." 

Numbly, he nodded, swallowing hard as Bruno leaned in to whisper, lips ghosting his skin. 

"It's right here." 

Before Leone could question it, something wet and cold slid down the shell of his ear, earning a rather embarrassing moan. He clamped his hand over his mouth, far too late. When he looked up, Bruno was grinning in victory, sticking his tongue out to show off the little golden barbell on the slick muscle. 

"You gotta stop licking people," Leone muttered, trying to shake off his embarrassment. 

"I haven't had anyone complain so far," Bruno snickered, raising the bottle to his lips again.  

"Freak." 

"Pervert." 

"I am not!" Leone insisted, taking the bottle back when it was offered. 

"Oh no?" Bruno was leaning in again and Leone set the bottle down in the sand. "Your trousers suggest otherwise." 

Leone followed his gaze down his chest to his crotch. He let out a low curse and attempted to cover himself with his hands, hissing at his body's betrayal. 

"It's- it's not like that!" He insisted, "anyone would be- when you're there." 

Bruno blinked and Leone rushed to correct himself. 

"I- I just meant, uh, when you licked me. Felt nice. So." 

Factual, but not what he had meant to say. He blinked again, cursing the alcohol slowing his mind. He was socially inept on the best of days. This was a nightmare. 

"No, no, I mean-" 

"Leone." He finally dared to look up and meet his eyes. Hungry. He looked positively ravenous.  For so long, this tension had built, and now it was set to snap in an instant. 

"...Bruno?" 

"You can kiss me. I mean, if you want."

Leone paused here again. "Bruno" had a hand raised, eyes half lidded, mouth parted expectantly. He was beautiful. This was the image Leone had kept in his heart through the years. This was the Bruno he remembered. Not the one bleeding out on the colosseum floor, not the one in the casket, the one six feet below, but this one right here. Alive, drunk and happy. 

He glanced around once more to make sure he was alone before sitting in the sand next to the only Bruno he would ever have again. He wasn't proud of this, but it was hardly the first time and he knew it wasn't likely to be the last. Eyes closed, he pressed his cheek into the open palm, shuddering at the warmth. His Stand could even mimic his pulse at the time, his breath, each individual eyelash. The replay began again. 

And then their lips met. 

Leone remembered this kiss, despite how incredibly inebriated they both were. All tongue and teeth. Sloppy and desperate. He tasted Brunos tongue piercing and it sent him to heaven. 

He also remembered what happened next. His back hit the sand and he felt the comforting weight of Bruno on top of him, straddling his hips, hands resting on either side of his head. Leone trailed his hands up his thighs until they were resting against narrow hips, pressing, perhaps, just a little too hard, possessive and needy. 

This was meant to be, he knew it. Fate. He was hopelessly enraptured. In love. He was in love with his best friend and he could finally admit it to himself.
He almost admitted it to Bucciarati, too, in the second between kisses. Almost. Too close. He bit his tongue at the last second, fighting a deep groan as the slim man above him pressed his hips against his. 

Their kisses slowly grew tamer, more precise, calculated, intentional. Abbacchio trailed dark lipstick down his neck, basking in the sweet moans that spilled from his companion's lips. A sound he would have gladly listened to every night for the rest of his life. 

Unfortunately, it was only this once, and it was over too soon. 

Abruptly, Bruno rolled off of him to lay in the sand at his side. The only sound now was heavy breathing and crashing waves as they studied the clear night sky overhead, pinkies hooked together like a promise. 

What had happened after was a blur. Bruno had fallen asleep next to him in the sand. He recalled the moment his breathing slowed. His face was beautiful when sleeping, like a painting, a fairy tale prince. Long dark lashes brushed his cheek, pretty mouth parted just slightly. The harsh worry lines that Leone had grown so used to, had finally softened and he was suddenly reminded that Bruno was only twenty. So young. 

He should have been in college or working. He should have been curled in bed next to someone prettier than him, or out drinking with friends, or studying. His days should have been easy, simple, boring even. 

Leone would have given anything for him to have an easy, simple, boring life. 

At one point, he'd managed to get Bruno back to his house. He'd been in Bruno's childhood home many times; after all, it was a twenty minute walk away from their special spot. He'd lost count of how many times they'd stayed up until dawn talking at his kitchen table. 

As he tucked Bruno in bed and prepared to call for a cab, a hand shot out and grabbed his. 

"Can we talk?" Bruno had slurred, heavy eyelids closing again, "About tonight? Not now. Too... tired. But soon?" 

They never did, though. For months, Leone just assumed he had forgotten about the whole thing. The next day, Bruno acted as if nothing had happened. There was no tension on his end. No awkwardness.  Not a single hint to Leone that he even knew what they'd done last night. 

And so, Leone forced himself to forget too. 

Until the plane ride to Sardinia. 

Leone didn't need Moody Blues to recall the exact moment. Bruno held the turtle on his lap, quiet for so long. It was no wonder. The losses they'd suffered were heavy. Most of the team was out of commission and their only healer was less than useless now. 

Leone had been surprisingly upset when he heard about Giorno. It was never that he hated the kid. Sure, he didn't trust him for a while, and perhaps he was a little jealous of the attention Bucciarati had been giving him. But more than anything, he just reminded him too much of himself at that age. Idealistic, naive. He knew now, years later, that he'd been doing everything he could to keep him away, to not get attached. He wanted to frighten him back to school before it was too late and he ended up just like him. 

It didn't work. Giorno, now 21 years old, was just as bitter, angry and tired as he had been at that age. Another regret to add to his list.

"Abbacchio- no. Leone." 

Their eyes met and he finally stopped pretending to concentrate on the plane. This had been the first time his Capo had used his first name since the start of this mission. 

"Bruno?" He cautiously asked, "what do you need?" 

"I need to talk to you about that night." 

It had taken Leone longer than he would have liked to realize what he'd meant. 

"...Oh." 

"Yes." Bruno took a deep breath, never once letting his eyes wander. "I should have told you sooner and for that I apologize. I was cowardly and let the alcohol get to me. I-" 

"Bucciarati, stop." Leone closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. "I'm sorry too. It wasn't your fault. We were drunk. It happens. I should have stopped it." 

"That's not what I'm apologizing for." 

He'd stood up at last, setting the turtle down on his seat and when Leone opened his eyes again, he was standing only inches away. 

"I'm not sorry it happened. I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner."

Leone recalled his Stand, sighing. Laying on the beach, staring up at the stars he used to share with Bruno, he wished so many things. He wished he'd admitted his feelings sooner. He wished they could have kissed again. He wished he'd met Bruno under different circumstances. He wished that Bruno hadn't died. He wished that they had the opportunity to have that conversation in full. He wished that, before Leone could respond, before he could close the inches between them, the plane had not started to go down. 

It was the last moment alone they'd ever had. Everything after came too fast. Many near death experiences, so many regrets, so much pain, loss. 

The last thing they ever said to each other was when Leone stupidly asked him to meet him at the beach when it was over. Bruno's sad smile had meant something different at the time. He'd read it as nervous. How was he supposed to know that Bruno wasn't going to be coming back? How was he supposed to know that he was already-

"Abbacchio?" 

Fugo stood over him when he finally came back to the present, blocking out the stars above. 

"What do you want? Can't you see I'm-?" 

"You're... what? Abbacchio, what are you doing out here?" 

The question sounded more concerned than annoyed, which, Leone supposed, was a vast improvement. Over the years, Fugo had mellowed. Well, losing Narancia as well had been sobering for everyone. 

"...Just star gazing," Abbacchio lied closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the disappointment in Fugo's eyes. He'd been Abbacchio's shoulder to cry on and vice versa. Their pain was similar, and Fugo had known Bucciarati the longest of any of them. 

He heard the younger man sigh and settle down in the sand next to him, where Bruno had once sat. 

"You're using Moody Blues again, aren't you?"
His rather direct way of speaking to him was welcome. Abbacchio had always been a man who liked to get to the heart of the matter, find the truth in everything. It was what had made him a good cop... back when he still believed good cops existed. 

He shrugged.
"I just... miss him." 

"Me too," Fugo admitted, picking up a handful of sand and letting it fall through his fingers. It reminded him of the way sand would fall through an hourglass. "You know, he took me here too sometimes. When I was still living with him." 

Abbacchio pushed himself up to his elbows to get a better view of the other man. In the moonlight, it was hard to make out his face, but when he really focused, he caught the ghost of a smile. 

"...Yeah? 

"Yeah," Fugo sighed. "I had a really hard time sleeping when I first joined. Panic attacks, short fuse. Unstable. So on nights that I couldn't sleep, Bucci- Bruno, he would take me out here and we'd just sit until I either got tired, or the sun came up. He never complained about the missed sleep." 

"No, he wouldn't." Leone smiled fondly at the shoreline. "He loved it out here." 

"You know, when I watch sunrises, sometimes it almost feels like..." 

"Like he's still there?" Leone guessed, sitting up straight again. "I know what you mean." 

"It's like- I can pretend I'm back here with him and I've fallen asleep on the beach and I'll wake up and all of it will just be a bad dream. I'll open my eyes and he'll be watching the sunrise and we'll talk about breakfast and walk back home and everything will just be okay again." 
It was said in such a rush that Leone almost didn't catch it all. But he did and he also caught the way Fugo's voice cracked. 
"It's been 6 years and I haven't even been able to bring myself to visit his grave. Isn't that fucked up?" 

"No," Leone shook his head, "you just know there's no point. His body is there, but that's not him. It's why I come out here, you know?" 

Next to him, the younger man sniffed and Leone knew he was fighting back a sob. How long had he been fighting it? He'd cried in front of Leone when it happened, of course. When they came back and he heard the news. They'd shared drinks and cried together for many months. But that was years ago. 

"There's... there's so much I never got to say," Fugo stumbled, biting back the pain. 

"Me too," Abbacchio admitted, "I keep coming out here to relive old memories, but I'd give anything to just be able to say..." 

"You never told him how you feel," Fugo guessed softly, "Did you?" 

"No," he whispered, looking up at the stars again, "biggest regret of my life." 

"But he knew. You know he knew, don't you?" 

Abbacchio smiled at the brightest star, blinking a sudden surge of emotion away before it could collect on his lashes. 

"Yeah. I know." 

"You meant a lot to him." 

"So did you," Abbacchio assured him, moving just a little closer to place a brotherly hand on his slim shoulder. 

"I wish..." but Fugo let his wish die on the wind. It was alright. Abbacchio heard it anyway. 

"...Do you want to see him again?"

Pale golden rays flashed over the horizon, pushing the purple curtain of night back until the sky was the color of forget-me-nots. One by one, the stars blinked out of existence, making way for the dawn. The birth of a new day was a powerful thing, but personally, Leone thought that this one in particular was possibly the most beautiful sunrise he'd ever seen. 

Sitting in the sand between them, Bruno Bucciarati smiled. For six long years, they had missed him. Now here he was, pulled from a time long ago. 

He said nothing. For hours, he simply sat, watching the horizon. But now as the day moved to kill the night, he rose to his feet. 

"You know, when I stop and think about it, the fact that we're seeing this is nothing short of a miracle," he muttered. "A billion years, this planet has been turning, and yet, somehow..."
He raised a hand with an easy grin, and the rising sun appeared to fit in his palm perfectly. "Somehow, you and I are here, right now, together." 

He closed his eyes, inhaling the salty sea air. 

"I am glad I got to see this sunrise with you." 

He lowered his hand again and took a deep breath as the new morning washed the world clean. 

"It's going to be a beautiful day."