Work With Me -Bruno Buccellati x Reader-

8- Did something happen?

Morning light fought to pass through the thin white curtains of your bedroom. When you opened your eyes, you flinched. The light may only be mellow, but it burned your eyes nonetheless. You forced yourself upright, the pounding in your head was unbearable and your stomach lurched with each movement. What time did you get to bed last night? You rubbed your eyes and looked around. Your bedroom was... clean? You couldn't remember any of last night, what happened to you? Slowly, you forced yourself out of bed and down the corridor into the bathroom.

When you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you weren't exactly surprised. Dark circles hung under your eyes, which you could barely keep open. It was the standard hangover look, and you had sported it often. As yous stood at the sink, trying to wake yourself up with cold water, there was a knock at the door.

"Y/N?"

Buccellati. Your memory started coming back. You had ruined his alcohol collection, then you had been kicked out. Was he angry at you? Did he hate you? Was he going to kick you out again? 

"Yeah?" You answered, turning off the tap, 

"May I come in?" He asked, 

"Uh- sure." You unlocked the door, Bruno looked you over,

"Are you feeling alright?" He lifted your chin gently, examining your face,

"No worse than usual." You narrowed your eyes, "Why?"

He tilted his head, but didn't answer you for a moment. He let go of your face and you scowled.

"I'm making breakfast, come down when you're ready." He left, you heard his footsteps on the stair. 

Looking back in the mirror, you wondered to yourself. Bruno was acting oddly friendly for someone who had kicked you out and shouted at you. Granted, you deserved it for ruining his collection, but still- shouldn't he be angry right now? You pictured his hands on you, turning your head left and right while he looked you over like a concerned mother. This wasn't normal, even for him. You got closer to the mirror, touching over the skin he himself had touched. His hands had been warm, and reassuring. You wanted to feel them again, but he was already downstairs. Had something happened last night? Something you didn't remember? 

You ignored it, leaving the bathroom and going to change out of your pyjamas. You rarely wore them, why had you chosen to put them on last night? You took them off and stared at them, you had no recollection of fishing though your stuff to find them, but you must have done. Shrugging, you threw to them the floor and put on the first thing you found. All of your dirty clothes had been removed, but again you can't remember doing it. It was strange, when you looked at your bed, you almost remember a pair of hands helping you into it, fussing over you duvet and pillows. They must have been your own hands, maybe you made your bed before you climbed in last night. Drunk you was never normally this productive, but you had probably felt guilty for what you had done.

Descending the stairs, you caught the sight of Bruno in the kitchen, serving up your breakfast. You saw the door to the storage room and your heart dropped. He hadn't mentioned it yet, but you don't remember apologising to him. You ought to, you thought, sitting down. He set your plate before you and you looked up at him.

"Buccellati, I- about last night-"

"Don't worry about it," he replied, taking his seat next to you. 

You smiled at him, but your stomach was in knots. He should be angry, he had every right to be angry. Why wasn't he angry? And why were you no longer angry at him? Why did the smile no longer annoy you? Why did his voice no longer sound as grating as it once did? You looked down at your food as you ate, trying to ignore him, trying not to look at him, because doing so only made you question yourself more. 

"I was thinking today, maybe we could go out together?"

"Into the city?" You asked, still not looking at him,

"Yes, I thought we could go shopping."

"Oh, but I don't have much money left," you explained, "I think I spent most of it last night-"

"What this money? I found the envelope on the counter, here." Bruno passed it to you, it felt heavy in your hands.

Opening it, you counted what you had. You knew you had used some to pay for your drinks last night, but counting it out, you still had your entire wages in there.

"That can't be right, I used this money- I know I did." You finally met his gaze, he was smiling down at you like he this was some sort of joke. "Buccellati, I don't think this is mine." 

"It is, who's else would it be?"

He was right, it had to be yours. But how was that possible? He was still grinning at you, but you couldn't bring yourself to return it.

"Y/N, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm just a little confused. My brains a little foggy, I can't remember anything about last night."

Bruno's smile disappeared almost instantly. "You don't remember anything?"

You shook your head, "I remember getting to a bar, and buying drinks, that's how I know I should have less money than this. But I don't remember getting home at all." 

"But- that can't be right." Bruno looked to your hair, "You don't remember?"

"What is it? Did something happen?"

Bruno looked away, silencing himself with his coffee. You didn't remember what he had done for you, and while he had kept the money as a surprise, he at least expected you to remember him. He felt wrong, knowing about it on his own, but he wasn't sure whether or not to tell you. It wasn't like it was anything serious, but he wish you knew. Maybe you would like it, the way he had acted with you. He liked looking after you, but you didn't seem like the type to want to be looked after. You would probably get angry at him, accuse him of trying something on you, which he hadn't. It had been nice, though, fussing over you. He wished he could touch you again, his hands on your bare skin, in your hair, leaning over you in the dark as he made sure you were comfortable in bed. But you couldn't remember any of it.

"Don't worry," he said, "Nothing happened."