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lucid dreams

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Funny how he hadn't noticed until Giorno touched his wrist.

Bruno stared at the small puddle in the bottom of the boat. Blood — his own — right next to his shoe. He hadn't noticed — no one had. The drip-drip had been lost amongst the sound of the engine or the drip and splash of water around them.

Drip, drip.

It had almost stopped now. It shouldn't have, given the wound went all the way through his hand. Bruno hadn't even noticed. Hadn't felt something pierce through the base of his palm and through the other side, or the steady trickle of blood down his wrist. A drip, drip — not the gush it should have been.

No one had noticed.

"Buccellati, we're ready to move out."

Bruno peered up. Giorno.

That was right. Giorno had noticed; Giorno had been giving him subtle, worried glances since they had boarded the boat and fled the Boss.

"Right. Thank you, Giorno."

Giorno had offered his hand, but Bruno disembarked on his own. He hadn't noticed until Giorno had touched him before: only a small drip of blood, and no thump of his pulse against Giorno's skin. It wasn't like him to avoid a difficult topic, but Bruno still found it disturbing. He'd thought he felt cold because of the shock and fear of fighting the Boss alone and coming so close to losing everything.

Apparently, he had already lost his life.


Bruno looked down again into Giorno's face — his features were typically so subtle in expression, but away from the others he gazed up at Bruno with open concern and — regret? Guilt?

Bruno offered him a smile and clasped his shoulder with his non-injured hand. Perhaps through the fabric his skin didn't feel too cold yet. Only Giorno had noticed... and now he apparently felt responsible. "I think I forgot to thank you," Bruno said. "You saved me back there, Giorno. I'm grateful."

A question burned behind Giorno's eyes, but his lips were still, and eventually it slid away. Bruno felt his still heart move, if only figuratively — perhaps Giorno didn't want to think about the disturbing truth either, for now. "Any time, Buccellati," he finally murmured.

Bruno squeezed his shoulder and finally let go. And as they caught up with the rest of the team, it was easy to ignore his other hand. The drip-drip had stopped completely.