[ he's never seen Fugo cry; he supposes he still hasn't, technically, with how Fugo's fighting for his life to keep those tears in. The signs are there, though, and that's enough. Bucciarati's expression softens further, despite the fact that Fugo most certainly doesn't want his sympathy. Sometimes, there's no helping these things. He's never been able to stop himself from caring. ]

I told you - I blame you for nothing.

[ Bruno can't say exactly what Fugo is thinking. For all their similarities, their minds work in very different ways. He doesn't doubt that Fugo hears what he's saying, though, and maybe that's where the problem lies - his desire to listen conflicting with this obvious guilt he's still wrestling with. (That, Bruno understands. Surviving isn't easy; those feelings won't go away in one night.)

For now, being heard - not being pushed further away - is enough. This is not his team, and it's not his future. It's Giorno's, and it's Fugo's, too, and he will have to learn to let them go on without him one day. But that day hasn't come yet, and when it does, he'll be able to bid Fugo farewell properly. As a friend, not a traitor. ]

I don't want your apologies... but I will take your best efforts. [ though one hand is still at his mug, he leans over the table just slightly, extending his other towards Fugo, open and waiting. It would be patronizing to pat him on the head or rub his shoulder - or, rather, Bruno knows Fugo would take it that way. A handshake, though - that should be acceptably mature. ] To moving forward. I'll walk with you while I still can.