Work With Me -Bruno Buccellati x Reader-

19- Contemplation

Giorno was a silent, contemplative person. He didn't speak for the rest of the journey, but when you caught his eye in the mirror, you saw he wasn't sleeping. Mista only made general comments, about the road, the other drivers, or the remainder of your trip. Narancia made noise, but really it was just the blaring noise of his music leaking through his headphones. He didn't talk, nodding his head along to the music, tapping his knees to the beat. You tried to sleep, but it came in short bursts, leaving you more tired each time you awoke. 

Eventually, you resigned yourself to staring out of the window, not wanting to break the somewhat silence between the four of you. You knew this was strictly business, and you felt similar to how you did on your train journey to Bruno's villa. It was like a chapter was ending in your life and the new one was beginning, but you couldn't quite place how you felt about it. You were never one for change, and yet you wondered if this change would truly be for the better. Working for the Don, it was a privilege and an honour, but did you want such honour? Before, with Bruno, you had long harboured feelings towards him- did you feel anything for the Don?

Darkness covered the land just outside the glass, leaves dancing with the delicate breeze, lamps illuminating spots of the world in a pale glow. You rested your face against the window, the glass cold, your breathe steaming the window, fogging the world. You were relatively lost in thought, barely conscious to reality, dozing, eyelids fluttering but never quite closing. It was peaceful somewhat, aside from the flurry of thoughts rushing through your mind. Scenarios played out, many involving Bruno and how the two of you would act if you ever met again. Would he be happy to see you? Run into your arms and beg for you to come back? Would he fight you? Angered by the lies you had spread for so long? 

You weren't sure what you wanted, but you knew you didn't deserve his forgiveness. You had lied, depicted him as a horrible person, pretended for years that you wholly believed he had killed all of your teammates. When you suffered through the anniversary of that dreadful night, you weren't even sure if you felt remorse for your team, more the guilt of what you had done. So you continued to lie, the truth catching on your lips, burning your throat with its sin. 

Really, you had still hated Bruno. You hated how he didn't argue back, not in the way you wanted. If he yelled, if he swung for you, if he manifested his stand- it would be so much easier to despise him. But he never did. When he met you in the sodden, soaking alley, his hand offering you a lifetime of peace- you felt sick. Nauseated by yourself, for what you had done. That day, you saw in his eyes a plethora of things- hope, peace, forgiveness-

-you saw the redness of someone who had been crying for so long. 

Why couldn't he be more like you? More unpleasant? More rude? More disgusting and downright horrible? You hated him because he made himself so difficult to hate. You had hurt him, you saw that clear as day, but yet aside from petty arguments he had been nothing but kind to you. He had provided you with a home, a job, somebody to turn to and hold whenever you needed him.

Your heart ached. Your throat tightened.

You loved him. And he, in some way, had always loved you.