[ it's a complete non-sequitur. If Bruno didn't know any better, he'd almost think Fugo is the one who walked in to check on him. He raises an eyebrow just slightly, but says nothing. He's used to this kind of thing from him. Easier to worry about someone else than oneself - he should know.
Between the two of them, they manage to take care of each other. Usually. That's how it used to work. ]
I ate breakfast. [ and he's probably had lot of coffee, which counts as food. Maybe. ] Have you?
[It's a non-sequitur. It's a reflex. Between the two of them, they have had to get into this habit. Have you eaten? Have you slept? How long has it been since you got up? How does your wound feel? Both of them are terrible at attending to their own needs, but are sensitive to each other's.
As for Bruno's question, Fugo turns it over in his mind. He doesn't have an appetite. But how long ago was it that he ate? He raises one hand and holds it over his mouth and tries not to think about it, or the man who became his meal. At least that appetite has been taken care of.]
... I should probably eat. [He reaches up again to try and rub the grit out of his eyes.] Something light, though. I don't trust my stomach.
[ the reaction is cause for some concern, but he has a feeling he knows the cause for it. The less said about that new and disgusting facet of their lives, the better. He won't make Fugo relive it. There's a vast difference between killing some piece of shit for their job and killing one with the intention of eating them. Bruno feels like it almost puts him on the same level as those men they met in Rome - Cioccolata and Secco - and is grimly grateful that Fugo can't make the same association. ]
Then I'll bring you something. [ he tilts his head. ] Sit back down. I know you've been running all over.
[ tidying up Giorno's affairs, no doubt. Bruno would be proud of him for being so dutiful if it weren't for the circumstances. ]
[Fugo nods. Normally, he might argue that he can at least make it up to the kitchen-- if not help Bucciarati with the task. But he really is very tired. His body is heavy; a dull headache pounds between his temples. The thought of dragging himself and all of his limbs up to the top floor, honestly, sounds exhausting.]
Okay. I'll leave the door open for you. [His hand falls back down to the side and he turns back into his room.] Thanks, Bucciarati.
[ a single nod; then he's vanished from the doorway again to procure some food.
In truth, it's a relief to be able to do something, even as minor as this. He's been utterly helpless in a way he's not used to this month. Bucciarati is a man of action, but all he can do for Giorno and Trish is wait and pray. At least he can get Fugo some damn food.
Not much later, he returns again with a simple plate, as requested - some cheesy and crusty bread, a light Italian breakfast. By now, it seems he's gotten quite good at manipulating things with his claws; where he might have struggled with something like a plate before, he's now comfortable enough to hold it one hand while he gently closes the door behind him with the other. ]
[Fugo sits down at his desk. And he waits. For once, he doesn't think of much; he doesn't try to get anything done. A pen finds its way out of its place in an organizer to the face of desk. He idly rolls it underneath his palm, up and down, until he can feel Bruno's footsteps approach the door again.]
Yes, I'm awake. [He plucks the pen off the desk and neatly returns it to its proper place. He shifts in place to face Bruno.] Thanks.
[When Bruno approaches, he holds up his hands to receive the plate. He sets it down on the desk in a typically particular Fugo way: perfectly centered, nudging it forward to be a certain distance from the edge of the desk.]
You've gotten better with manipulating objects. [With his claws and paws. Not too long ago, Bucciarati would not have been able to manage this on his own.]
[ he hums in response. It's not exactly something he's proud of; then again, he's not exactly sure Fugo was trying to pay him a compliment, either. It's something to comment on that isn't the two elephants in the room. ]
I had to adapt. This is no time to be a burden. [ if there's another seat for him to take, he'll do so, setting himself down primly; if there isn't, he's fine making himself comfortable leaning his back against the wall. ] My hair is the only thing I still can't do properly.
[Mechanically, Fugo brings the toast to his mouth. Bites, chews, swallows. Distantly, he knows that the food is probably good. It doesn't taste like much of anything today, though.]
Each individual transformation comes with its own struggles. It's a testament to your strength of will that you have been able to overcome this.
[This is a very Fugo sort of thing to say. Although phrased a statement of fact, because that is how he sees it, it's a disarmingly sincere compliment. Fugo, who mistrusts people on principle, has an unshakable faith in Bruno Bucciarati's ability to survive and do good.]
I probably wouldn't be very good at it to begin with. But if you're willing to put up with my learning curve, I'd be happy to help you with your hair when our schedules match up.
No, you have enough to do. I can handle it. [ a beat. ] Consider it a matter of pride.
[ he knows Fugo would do it, just like he knows Fugo means that compliment so wholeheartedly that he didn't even intend for it to be a compliment in the first place. He takes it to heart. It's exactly why he has to look out for him - because Fugo would use up everything he has looking out for the others if no one is there to stop him. Bucciarati is glad he's eating something. Glad, too, that Fugo's faith in him is great enough that he'll allow Bucciarati to take care of him.
He's quiet for a few moments before he speaks again. ]
Tragedy seems to visit us all at once.
[ this isn't the first time they've had a catastrophe like this - even if Bruno wasn't alive to see the full effects of the last one. ]
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no subject
Between the two of them, they manage to take care of each other. Usually. That's how it used to work. ]
I ate breakfast. [ and he's probably had lot of coffee, which counts as food. Maybe. ] Have you?
cw: cannibalism, implied nausea
As for Bruno's question, Fugo turns it over in his mind. He doesn't have an appetite. But how long ago was it that he ate? He raises one hand and holds it over his mouth and tries not to think about it, or the man who became his meal. At least that appetite has been taken care of.]
... I should probably eat. [He reaches up again to try and rub the grit out of his eyes.] Something light, though. I don't trust my stomach.
no subject
Then I'll bring you something. [ he tilts his head. ] Sit back down. I know you've been running all over.
[ tidying up Giorno's affairs, no doubt. Bruno would be proud of him for being so dutiful if it weren't for the circumstances. ]
no subject
Okay. I'll leave the door open for you. [His hand falls back down to the side and he turns back into his room.] Thanks, Bucciarati.
no subject
In truth, it's a relief to be able to do something, even as minor as this. He's been utterly helpless in a way he's not used to this month. Bucciarati is a man of action, but all he can do for Giorno and Trish is wait and pray. At least he can get Fugo some damn food.
Not much later, he returns again with a simple plate, as requested - some cheesy and crusty bread, a light Italian breakfast. By now, it seems he's gotten quite good at manipulating things with his claws; where he might have struggled with something like a plate before, he's now comfortable enough to hold it one hand while he gently closes the door behind him with the other. ]
Still awake?
no subject
Yes, I'm awake. [He plucks the pen off the desk and neatly returns it to its proper place. He shifts in place to face Bruno.] Thanks.
[When Bruno approaches, he holds up his hands to receive the plate. He sets it down on the desk in a typically particular Fugo way: perfectly centered, nudging it forward to be a certain distance from the edge of the desk.]
You've gotten better with manipulating objects. [With his claws and paws. Not too long ago, Bucciarati would not have been able to manage this on his own.]
no subject
I had to adapt. This is no time to be a burden. [ if there's another seat for him to take, he'll do so, setting himself down primly; if there isn't, he's fine making himself comfortable leaning his back against the wall. ] My hair is the only thing I still can't do properly.
[ much to his dismay. ]
I'm envious of you, in some ways.
no subject
Each individual transformation comes with its own struggles. It's a testament to your strength of will that you have been able to overcome this.
[This is a very Fugo sort of thing to say. Although phrased a statement of fact, because that is how he sees it, it's a disarmingly sincere compliment. Fugo, who mistrusts people on principle, has an unshakable faith in Bruno Bucciarati's ability to survive and do good.]
I probably wouldn't be very good at it to begin with. But if you're willing to put up with my learning curve, I'd be happy to help you with your hair when our schedules match up.
no subject
No, you have enough to do. I can handle it. [ a beat. ] Consider it a matter of pride.
[ he knows Fugo would do it, just like he knows Fugo means that compliment so wholeheartedly that he didn't even intend for it to be a compliment in the first place. He takes it to heart. It's exactly why he has to look out for him - because Fugo would use up everything he has looking out for the others if no one is there to stop him. Bucciarati is glad he's eating something. Glad, too, that Fugo's faith in him is great enough that he'll allow Bucciarati to take care of him.
He's quiet for a few moments before he speaks again. ]
Tragedy seems to visit us all at once.
[ this isn't the first time they've had a catastrophe like this - even if Bruno wasn't alive to see the full effects of the last one. ]