Work With Me -Bruno Buccellati x Reader-

17- Destiny

Bruno opened his eyes. They were heavy and his vision was slow to adjust to the world.

Had he dreamt it all?

No, when he turned his head, looking to the space beside him in his bed- you weren't there.

It wasn't a dream. He knew that, as he got up and wandered the silent house, there was no memory of you. Everything was coated in the shadows of night, indigo and navy shades casted across the hallway, growing and festering in the corners of his home. His heart felt sore, his hands slow and clumsy as he poured himself a glass of something dark and smooth. 

He felt useless. Incompetent. It had been how long now? Three days? He had spent the first day angry, frustrated at the world. The second day he awaited your return almost patiently, believing you would return. The third day he cried, drinking to stop his desperate sobs and begs from slipping between his lips.

Today, he decided to do nothing. By nothing, he meant nothing. Wallowing in his pity as he sips from a constantly topped-up glass.  His eyes gaze over the white walls of the villa, searching and seeking for any remaining sign of you. He is slow, deliberate in his movements, like a sloth climbing from tree branch to tree branch. He moves with no urgency because he has none, something about the missing of you has removed the motivation from his heart. 

He thinks it will be some time before he feels the need to move again.

Abbacchio visits often. He brings wine and takeout from Libeccio's, setting them before Bruno and placing a hand on his shoulder,

"How do you feel?" He asks, sitting down beside him

"I don't know," Bruno replies, opening the container of food and sighing. 

Abbacchio shrugs, "It's not like the two of you knew each other for very long, why are you so upset?"

"I- I'm not sure. They were different, I thought she was different." 

There's silence for a moment. Abbacchio doesn't know what to say. He knew it was his fault, really, but he couldn't allow Bruno to keep living the lie that he was. The truth hurts, but it would be for the best in the end. He watched his friend, downtrodden as he picks at his food and sips at his wine. Bruno had helped him for so long, ever since he appeared before him in the rain that night, he had been there for him. Abbacchio wanted to do the same, but he didn't know how. All the things Bruno did for him, the encouraging words he had said, it was like Abbacchio had forgotten them all. He didn't know what to say, so he sat there in silence and let the air grow thicker with each second. 

Bruno laid his head on the table, burying his hands into his hair, blocking out the world. 

"Why am I so upset?" he mumbles, "I've turned into a wreck, and for what?"

"I know it's hard, Buccellati, but I don't know what to do."

"Neither do I... Help me Abbacchio."

"I'm here. What do you need?"

~~~~~~~~

Abbacchio cleans the house. The sound of movement and life stirs Bruno slightly, who spends a while sitting in the bath and letting his brain unwind. He's so tense, so uptight with thinking, but the hot water relaxes his muscles and the aching in his head starts to ease up over time. When he emerges from the bathroom, dressed in fresh clothes, he sees Abbacchio, dusting off the bookshelves on the landing, 

"Thank you," He says, smiling,

"It's nothing Buccellati, how are you feeling?"

"A bit better, I should probably go and check the office phone- I haven't answered it in so long."

Bruno enters his office. The window is open, letting in a pleasant breeze, but the mess of the papers scattered around the room is painful. He sits down, picking up the phone and going through his messages. There are a lot, but falling back into the swing of work is nice, it feels like he's back to being Bruno- before you, with a messy office but a fierce determination to do his job the best that he can. It's not easy, but soon he's back to writing and talking, making calls and sorting out all that he can. Nobody asks where he's been, and he's grateful for that, it's almost like he was never gone at all.

Abbacchio stands in the doorway of his office, watching him with some strange pride. He feels at fault, but he doesn't regret what he had done. Bruno was better off without you around, lying and deceiving him- he had to save Bruno from that false happiness, even if it hurt him in the process. Bruno would recover, things would get better. He might not realise is, but it was better with you out of the picture. 

~~~~~~~~

You rolled out of bed, actually rolled. The thud of collapsing onto your bedroom floor barely registered in your brain, but eventually you found the effort to groan. You felt sick, having drank far too much the night before. Your head was pounding, and you stumbled to the bathroom. 

Kneeling before the toilet, you tried your best not to throw up your entire stomach. It had been a long night, all the nights since you left Napoli had been long. It had been a tiresome, painful few days, but you hadn't learned. No matter how much the day after hurt, you still drank through the night, trying to keep your mind off of Bruno.

Bruno. You thought he was special, somebody you could finally have forever. Maybe Fate had decided love wasn't for you, that Bruno- no matter how amazing he was- just couldn't be yours. He had said he loved you, but life had torn you apart anyway. It wasn't fair. You groaned, heaving again, but nothing came up. It pained you to think about it, it stung in the very centre of your body- aching, spreading throughout your entire body. Bruno, why had destiny decided to keep you away from him?