Prompt 45: "I hate you more than you'll ever know."

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure (sorry I've been writing a lot for JJBA recently ToT but there are still a bunch of prompts left so don't worry my dudes)

Pairing(s): BruAbba (Bruno Bucciarati/Leone Abbacchio)

Tags & warnings: hurt/comfort, insecurity, fluff, a bit of humor ig

Do I like this? Not really.

Is the overall tone inconsistent as hell? Yes.

Am I publishing it anyway? Yep.

Is this sad or sexc? Yes.

Actually I made a meme ⬇️

I legit could not decide fam. But it's done now so I don't gotta think abt it anymore 🤪🤪

Enjoy ^^

✁ — — —

"Bruno."

"Hmm?"

"Do you like me?"

It almost sounded like a joke, when Bucciarati first heard it. A trick question, something to prompt one sweet nothing or another. He didn't peg Abbacchio as the needy type, so the query genuinely puzzled him. Swallowing his mouthful of pasta, he looked over to the taller man:

"What kind of question is that? Would I be dating you if I don't?"

Abbacchio forked a piece of tuna. The grunt he made sounded vaguely like an agreement, so Bucciarati continued with his lunch. Maybe it was a new-relationship thing? Flavorful squid distracted him from his train of thought; by the end of the afternoon, he had forgotten this exchange happened.

——

"Hey, Bruno."

"What?"

"Do you like me?"

Bucciarati blinked. He remembered having been asked this before, but not when or why. Glancing up from his paperwork, he made eye contact with Abbacchio from across the table. Today's morning seemed to be moving incredibly slow, with all the end-of-month reports flooding in at the same time. Bucciarati felt a small urge to get up and open a window to let some fresh air in.

"No." He answered, smirking in the process — a smirk that Abbacchio mirrored. Looking back down at the documents, Bucciarati thought for a second before reaching over underneath the table. His foot brushed up against the side of Abbacchio's leg, and he held back a smile as he felt the other man look up and over to him, eyebrows probably furrowed in one shade of exasperation or another. Would that have been considered an appropriate answer to his question? Bucciarati wasn't sure, but at least now he would definitely have something to remember it by.

——

"Bruno."

"Yeah?"

"Do you like me?"

Bucciarati turned to the left, beer in hand. He watched Abbacchio take a swig from his own bottle, lips slightly parted, half-lidded eyes never leaving his face even as he tilted his head back to swallow. Heat prickled underneath Bucciarati's skin as he put his drink down and leant over, sliding a hand into Abbacchio's curtain of hair:

"I hate you more than you'll ever know."

They kissed. Again. Then again. His boyfriend tasted like sweat, lipstick and alcohol — but strangely, Bucciarati didn't hate it. What he did hate, though, was how he could not, for the life of him, figure out what that question was supposed to mean. Maybe Abbacchio was the needy type after all. Maybe Bucciarati was reading too much into this. Maybe they were both drunk. Fuck, he knew he was.

Drinking always put Bucciarati in such a weird mood. He wondered if that was the reason he was lying awake now — dead tired but still awake — next to Abbacchio, who thankfully managed to clean them up before falling asleep. Do you like me. What a strange question. What does he mean? Of course I like him. I love him. He's my boyfriend for heaven's sake. Does he not think I love him? No way. No fucking way, right? Does he not love me? No, that's bullshit. We literally just had sex. We love each other. We're in this relationship together. Right? Oh man, that sounded so bad. What if we actually just had sex? No, I can't go down this road. But what if we did? No, stop it. But what if we did only just have sex?

"Hey, Leone."

"Mmn?"

"Do you like me?"

Bucciarati let out the loudest internal groan. Did he actually just wake Abbacchio up to ask that stupid question? Of course he would say yes. Of course he liked him. Bucciarati knew that. But... damn it, he felt like he could never be too sure until he'd heard it from Abbacchio's mouth itself.

Oh, shit.

This is what he means.

"What?" Abbacchio murmured, but Bucciarati could tell he was awake, judging from the way he was turning over on the bed to face him. "Of course. Why?"

"No reason." He couldn't possibly tell Abbacchio that he was lying there making up scenarios about how they were just fuck-buddies (yes, it was that stupid in retrospect), so Bucciarati opted for the easy way out. Abbacchio was so quiet for a moment he thought he had fallen asleep, until Bucciarati felt an arm drape over his torso, pulling him close:

"Don't ask dumb questions. I love you."

You're the one who always asks dumb questions, Bucciarati wanted to say. But as he snuggled closer into Abbacchio's embrace, a sort of giddy reassurance filling up his insides, Bucciarati realized that perhaps it was not such a dumb question after all.

——

"Bruno."

"Hmm?"

"Do you like me?"

"Yes, I do."

They were back at Libeccio. Bucciarati set his teacup down onto its saucer, quietly smiling as he watched Abbacchio freeze. "And I don't just like you, Leo. I love you. I love you a lot."

"Okay, enough." The wind scattered Abbacchio's hair across his face, but Bucciarati could definitely see a blush. He pushed on, throwing a hand up for dramatics:

"What? You asked. Don't you want to hear my answer? My honest, truthful, straight-from-the-bottom-of-my-heart answer?"

"Bruno, stop."

"I would, but I keep getting the feeling you don't understand. So I'm gonna say it until you get it. I love you, Leone. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love—"

"Bruno, shut up." Abbacchio hissed, but it was pretty hard to sound serious when he was grinning so widely. "You love me. Okay. I get it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" His boyfriend's chuckle was as warm as the sunlight, and the way his nose scrunched up made Bucciarati want to grab his face and kiss the hell out of it. "So shut up before you make a scene, idiot."

"Okay, fine." He sat back and reached for his teacup again, shrugging in mock nonchalance. "But don't blame me for not replying the next time you ask."

At this, Abbacchio just laughed. Sipping on his tea, Bucciarati felt a smile tugging at his lips as well. What he said was a lie. Of course he would reply, even if it was a dumb question. Of course he would reply, even if they both knew the answer already. He would reply, because if Abbacchio asked, it meant he needed to hear it — and there was no way Bucciarati would let him off without making sure he knew what the answer was, and always would be, first.

✁ — — —

Yaaahh I'm sorry that was a lame ending x'D For some reason it was SOOOOO hard for me to figure out an ending for this one?? But like I said, it's finished so I don't have to worry abt it anymore :P

Now for a shameless PR: if y'all are interested in JotaKak (and AvPol), check out my new fic "message received"!! <333