Work With Me -Bruno Buccellati x Reader-

20- Home

Giorno's home sits on the edge of the sea. It rests passively, overlooking the dark yet silent ocean, its waves barely splashing against the land the house sits on. You step out of the car and look up at the vast building, piled up in an almost wild manner, but the mansion is almost homely, lacking in the plain squareness that makes a place feel artificial and fake. You cast your eyes down, past the windows, past the balconies, to the large front door that Mista is approaching. The stone pathway leading up to it curves slightly, and you feel like you're entering a wonderland. Ivy climbs the walls, and almost every window is accompanied by a window box growing a multitude of beautiful flowers, splayed out and hanging over the edge of their enclosures as if they want to escape and grow along the house's very walls. The air is perfumed as you take a few uncertain steps in the building's direction. Crickets call from within the lawns spreading around the side and the back of the house, small lawns, but ones full of shrubbery and yet more flowers. You look to Giorno, who has already reached the now open front door and is waiting for you to follow. You do, praying that your knees last long enough to let you reach it. 

You're exhausted, and Giorno notes that the tour could wait until tomorrow. Narancia shows you to your room, and you watch how Mista follows Giorno, turning on all the lights to the rooms before allowing Giorno to enter. Narancia leads you up the stairs that lay opposite the front door, dark oaken ones with a swirling rail that's both intricate and remarkably plain. 

The house is full of a similar colour scheme, dark browns and golds with occasional bursts of rich and satisfying jewel tones- blues and purples accompany you along the landing, gold shines in the low lights that are almost identical oil lamps burning in colour and intensity. You feel warm, though the cold air is still present in the house. It feels worn in and comforting, and yet you feel as if you're intruding in on something rather than being welcomed.

Narancia pushes open the door to your bedroom. It's a spacious room, with two double beds either side, decorated it throws, knit blankets and a variety of decorative pillows. The room is softer on the eyes compared the shaded, dark tones of the rest of the building. Cream walls make the colours pop against them, an oak dresser sits against the opposite wall, a wardrobe lays in the corner, facing outwards at a diagonal, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror atop the dresser. As you enter the room, your feet step from oak flooring to a plush, shaggy carpet and you can't help but feel relaxed. Narancia bids you goodnight, and you back up to flick on the overhead light, the switch behind you beside the door. 

A click, and the room brightens, again the light is orange, but it helps soothe you. You don't have any bags, but you do kick off your shoes before climbing atop the bed to the left. Its soft, and you collapse against the perfectly arranged pillows and blankets, messing them up, several falling off either side of the bed. You sigh, and within moments you're asleep.

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Morning comes, the thin, almost sheer curtains do nothing to keep out the impending sunlight, but you don't mind. You stir, rubbing your eyes, forcing yourself to sit up despite how much you've sunken into the bed. Someone must have come in during the night, because the light has been turned off, even though you remember leaving it on. Getting up, you head to the window above the dresser, catching a quick look of yourself in the mirror once more. It's a strange sight, seeing yourself, especially after a good night's sleep, but you don't mind it for once.

The view outside makes you stop. The ocean is stirring with the sun, the waves playfully cascading down on the beach that you spot in the distance, a short walk from the house. Birds fly above, beating their wings against the morning breezes, hovering for a moment where the wind catches them before breaking free of its grasp. The sun is golden, but still low, and you catch glints of it on the water, reflecting back, covering the world in its glitter. Opening the window, the air is fresh, the spray from the water making it damp as it flows through the window, provoking goosebumps on your skin. 

What a world Giorno lives in, to awake to this every morning. Does he do what you do now? Stand and watch as the universe wakes with you? Does he still wake every day, astounded by the beauty of the morning, the glory of the sun, the glamour of the summer? You let the refreshing air fill your lungs, let the stuffiness of your place in Rome and your worries in the car leave you. The beauty, it calms you, as if you're staring at a Renaissance painting, the waves are the strokes upon the canvas, the birds are really blotches of thick and plenty colours, smeared and spread with such elegance. It calms you, lets you forget just how new this all is, because this place it feels like home, even if its your first time seeing such a sight.

Had you been to that beach before? Was it the same one that Bruno had taken you to? You couldn't remember, but maybe it was. How long ago was that now? You didn't count the days anymore, just let them pass with the knowledge that tomorrow would be no different. Bruno felt an age away, and the beach you see outside the window could not be the same one. Even if it was, the sand would be anew somewhat, you theorised, the water had dragged that sand away and heaved new grains upon the shore. This was not Bruno's beach, and you were not Bruno's anymore. 

The thoughts you had in the car, you forgot them at once. You did not love him, you couldn't anymore, for like the beach you had been replaced. The person who once stood in the sands, who once was hold by that man, it was not you. You were who you were right then, the person standing by the window, looking out at the world. The past was not you, the future was yet to be you. You were in the present, basking in the beautiful morning, and you were happy to be there.