#bruuno

He smiles, somewhat confused as you gesture for him to sit. His mouth opens with questions but you cut him short, “It’s fuckin’ stupid t’ think you could go talk to Leo wit’out me hearin’ about it.” You close the textbook with the pen marking your last page and push it aside. The older troll takes a seat, folding his coat over his lap carefully. 

“So, y’think you c’n go around and…what?” You sit upright, “Pick up th’ pieces? Puttin’ bandaids on the cuts left by ole Dickbite? You got Leo feelin’ all fluttery inside, so I guess you did somethin’ right by him. I ain’t ever met the fucker. He never did shit t’ me. Not sure why you’re here, Mr. ‘nnililation.”

He laughs, soft and light. It sparks a fluttery feeling in your chest. You almost laugh as well. 

“My, straight to the point then, hm?” His smile is…something. You’re not sure what. “I’ve looked for you for a while. Searched high and low…always blocked, always cut off. Missed in the knick of time. And I’ll admit I don’t know much about you, dear Bruuno.”

“I have a Wiki page.” 

“Yes, you do.” He nods, “It tells me you’re eight-foot-four, that you’ve played guitar and saxophone your whole life. It told me the sweep you lost your arm, the hiatus because of it, and even included an incredibly long list of your accomplishments. And my, aren’t you accomplished!” He pauses, thinking, “But, Bruuno, I couldn’t find anything else.” 

You narrow your eyes. You preferred it that way, after all. 

“Bruuno Monark never existed on paper. Only Bruuno Sinopa. I thought that to be strange…after all, looking at you, my dear…it’s like looking in a mirror! But no matter how hard I tried, I kept getting blocked. Told to drop it. Leave it be. Usually the Empire keeps very close tabs on its musicians, and a man of my position should be allowed access to whatever information I may need…but not your’s.” 

“Good.” Your response is curt, to the point. 

“Someone must really love you, to keep you so safe.” There was a disgusting look of hope in his eyes. You scoff. 

“Love ain’t it.” 

“Then why? Who is holding you so close to their hearts, to keep you so safe from the grasp of the Fleet?” 

“Is that why you’re here?” You pick up your mug to keep from being overexaggerated with your hand gestures, “Information? Unlock secrets? Find out what fucked up shit I ain’t tell the world yet? You fuckin’ Fleet trolls are all the fuckin’ same- diggin’ up shit t’ use against people. Idiotic-” 

“No, you misunderstood me.” His voice raises slightly. Not out of frustration, but simply to get you to shut up. It works. Was it the audacity, or were you actually intimidated? “I can’t imagine someone going to such lengths to keep someone they don’t love so safe. But clearly, love isn’t what happened. I can’t fathom the hurt, the trauma-” 

“Aye, I ain’t fuckin’ traumatized.” It was your turn to raise your voice, setting your mug down with an angry thud. Flecks of cold black coffee decorate the textbook you had been working so hard on. 

“Bruuno, look at yourself.” His exasperated tone takes you by surprise. The ancestor reaches across the table to grab your robotic arm, holding it in front of you, “This arm wasn’t your choice. Your leg either, right?” Shaken, you pull your arm free from his grasp, shooting a look to kill as he continues without missing a beat. “Son, you look like you haven’t slept in at least three days. You smell like a smoke shop, and look like you crawled out from the depths of one too. There isn’t a single used dish here beyond your coffee mug- have you eaten recently? Cigarettes don’t count.” 

“The hell’re you goin’ for old man?” 

“If you aren’t traumatized, then who are you trying so hard to impress, by working yourself to the bone?”

Now, unlike the ones who share your blood, you did not freeze, you were not overcome with a revelation, you did not look into his warm eyes and feel love. You felt rage. After all, you had been trained to react defensively. 

“Now why the fuck would you of all fuckin’ trolls give a damn who I’m tryna impress?” You sneer, “You come int’ my damn hive ‘n start accusin’ me of this shit? Look at you! All fuckin’ high ‘n mighty, thinkin’ yer so much better than everyone else for figurin’ this shit out. You fuckin’ Fleet assholes are all the same. Tryna dig up dirt t’ use it against me.” You do little to hide your scoff. You wanted to tell him to leave. But, for some odd reason, you didn’t. You let silence fall. Though it didn’t last very long. 

The older troll leans back in his seat, looking stumped, tired, somber. A deep sigh leaves his shoulders slumped, “Oh, Bruuno…can it not just be that I care?” 

You scoff in disbelief, looking off to the side. You run your tongue over your teeth, shooting daggers at the ground now. 

“I want to know why you’re so difficult to reach- if not out of protection, out of love, then I fear what it really is. And I can’t imagine the kind of hurt that’s given you. I’m not here to find out who it was or to force you with me. Had that been the case, we would’ve been gone by now. I’m here because I care. Genuinely, I do. Just as I do with Leonra, with Jawska.” 

“How can you care ‘bout someone you ain’t ever met before?” You finally look back to him cautiously, as if expecting to see malice. 

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” His voice is soft and genuine. There is no malice. 

You look down again. Silently, he extends a hand across the table, holding it out to you. You eye it suspiciously. The scars decorating his palm reminded you of the symbols you once carved into your own, now lost to abuse and time. After several beats of stock-still silence, you finally rest your hand on his. 

“Talk to me, Bruuno.” His gaze is so soft, so warm. It reminds you of your lusus, CatMom, who raised you when Boe failed to. Her memory causes you to get momentarily choked up. 

“....I don’t know how.” Your voice isn’t your own. It felt far too small, far too childish. You were a kid under his loving eyes. So small in his company. 

“Try for me,” His head tilts slightly, “I believe in you.”

“Why?” 

“Because, despite your name, you’re a Monark. The blood in your veins isn’t the curse you were told it was. You’re a fine example of how strong and resilient we can be. And you deserve to be happy. To let some of your burden go. You deserve to heal, and grow, move on and be happy.” 

You stare at him silently. 

“Do you need help getting started?” His words aren’t patronizing, they aren’t sarcastic. It takes you a moment to realize that. You nod softly. 

“How about we start with who you’re working so hard to impress? Does that sound good?”