Work With Me -Bruno Buccellati x Reader-

22- Peace? I hate the word

"It's been a while," Bruno says, almost relaxed.

You don't reply, just stare at him. In all honesty, you're not sure why you came downstairs, just to see him? You had no words rehearsed, nothing to say, and you could just about stomach the sight of Bruno. Guilt twisted in your stomach, and there was sickness rising in your throat, tight and scratchy. 

Bruno approaches you,  and it's remarkably like how it was in that ally, such an uncanny resemblance in his face, his slow, careful movements like you are some sort of untameable beast that he is trying to feed. You glare. This is not a new beginning, this is the end of the two of you. You accepted this, that no matter how civil you pretended to be that you could never truly go back to what you were. 

There's silence, the sticky Italian heat makes you sweat, bead forming on your brow as you breathe, watching Bruno's eyes lose their hopeful glimmer.

"I see you aren't willing to speak to me, honestly I'm not sure why I'm willing to talk to you." He runs a hand through his hair, combing out imaginary knots with his fingers. "You are the one who hurt me after all."

You still don't say anything, your fingers are beginning to itch for a fight. This wasn't pretend, how could he be so nonchalant? You're not even sure why're you're angry, maybe it was because he wasn't. You felt stupid, immature, like Bruno is smiling at you, knowing he is superior in each and every way. The heat inside of you, bubbling with the rising sun, and you wipe your forehead, drying the dampened hand on your clothes. Bruno shakes his head with a smug laugh.

"Are you going to hit me? I understand. Go ahead, see what happens." Sticky Fingers emerges behind him, and the air feels thick, a strange energy is in the air, like electricity before lighting strikes. You had not seen the stand before, not in person, but you had heard about it. The seemingly stupid ability was fatal in the hands of such a capable user, and it was not a stand to sniff at or underestimate. You cross your arms. Bruno watches you carefully. 

Your own stand was dying to get out, and you let an arm emerge, coating your own. Bruno raises a single eyebrow, almost daring you to attack. You do, a hard punch aimed at his face, one that is quickly deflected. He retaliates, and you let the force send you back, feet sliding on the floor, almost falling to one knee but you keep upright. You grunt, but when you look up, Bruno is gone. Did he leave the room? You can feel his stand, the sheer power of it ripples through the air. You turn around, not wanting to be caught by surprise. You can feel a pair of eyes on you, but it's too late. You hear a zipper from above, but when you look up Bruno is already falling towards you, Sticky Fingers just ahead, fist ready to strike. 

You don't block in time, and the hit lands directly on your face, shattering your nose. Blood gushes out, and you cough up more, it dribbles down your chin and onto the floor. When you wipe your face, your hand is soaked in the stuff. The pain comes a second later, after the shock wears off and you fall to your knees, hissing, gritting your teeth, the bitter metallic taste of metal on your tongue is disgusting and you spit out as much as you can.

Bruno is by your side not a moment later, crouched beside you, extending a hand to help you up. You push him away, forcing yourself to stand on your own. He looks worried, and he tries to pry your hand away from your face so he can see the damage. Hot, angry tears are welling in your eyes, but you try to not let it show. You hang your head, forcing your way out of the room. Bruno is a couple steps behind, you think he's saying something but you can't hear him properly. The throbbing in your nose is loud in your ears, and your vision is blurred by tears. 

The walk to the bathroom is long and strenuous, you find yourself stopping to lean against the wall, gathering the corner of your shirt to spit blood into, trying to keep yourself on your feet because you can't show to Bruno how much he hurt you. He's always there, waiting when you stop, following when you walk and you have half a mind to turn around and send him flying down the hallway. You don't though, because you can't find the strength, and because for the past minute tears have been rolling down your cheeks and if you turn around Bruno will see. 

~~~~~~~~

You hunch over the sink, shoulders raised like a wolf over prey, as you gather water in your hands and wipe the blood from your skin, which is drying and staining you red. You let the cold water soothe the irritated skin, puffy from crying, swollen around the eyes- which are bloodshot. Your nose hurts, but your ego has suffered more, so when Bruno places a hand on your shoulder, you bristle and shrug him off.

"I'm sorry, here- let me..." He tries again, lifting your chin, forcing you to face him. You can't stop the single tear that escapes, but Bruno doesn't mention it. A single brush of the back of his hand and it's gone- forgotten. 

You groan when Bruno's hand just grazes your nose. He scrunches his nose,

"I really did a number on you, not that you don't deserve it," He chuckles, "Nevermind, I'll get you patched up."

You don't get it. Is he angry? He laughs like this is some inside joke between old friends, but he shattered your nose! He made you bleed and cry and- god it hurts- you just don't get him. His eyes glint as he retrieves the med kit from the bathroom cupboard. A split, some medical tape, and some cotton wool stuffed up there, "for good measure" as Bruno said. You can't breathe properly through it, and you're aware your voice now sounds slightly strange, but you manage a small smile. 

Bruno pauses for a moment. During your treatment, he moved you to sit on the edge of the bath, where you are now. Bruno stands before you, not moving or talking. He cups your face with his hand, and you think he's just examining his handiwork but then he leans in and presses a tender kiss to your forehead. It's calming, and your skin burns under his touch, it's familiar yet new and you freeze where you're sat. Bruno steps back, like he's just remembered himself.

"I shouldn't have done that. I- That was wrong of me, I should-" He turns and leaves, before you can stop him. The bathroom door swings shut, and you sit there- mouth agape with wonder and surprise. You press a hand to your forehead, which is slick with sweat, before grabbing a towel and wiping it away.