[ As disappointing as their last interaction was, realizing now it was their last, it's in fact a testament to how close they were — to how reliable a figure Bruno had become in Alberto's life. Alberto assumed he'd have the chance to call him back. He expected Bruno to be there still, like he's always been. But it's far beyond him to find that silver lining in this yet. Instead, the fact that he put off calling Bruno is all too easy to weaponize against himself. And, unfortunately, bleeds right into his old ingrained narrative that he's a bad son — a narrative he'd thought he'd retired along with "Silenzio, Bruno." He doesn't even have that small comfort anymore; he never did rename that voice... Without a name, he doesn't have a good way to shut it up like he so often needed to back home; thankfully, for so long here, with a much better Bruno to bolster him, he hasn't needed to. But without a doubt now, that Bruno's bound to stick around, whatever his name is now.
Alberto's scowl deepens, jaw clenched hard, not saying anything. This place is so unfair. It's infuriating. He grips the phone tighter as his gaze lingers on the screen. He keeps it open to his chat log with Bruno, and starts idly scrolling backwards; at first he actually does read some of their old texts, but after a short moment, he starts skimming as his eyes glaze over with tears, eventually scrolling too fast to even read anything. He catches a glimpse of some random texts in Itañol from early October, accidentally landing on a simple "Buonanoches" from Bruno, followed by a "Buenos giornos" from Alberto the next morning — another regular, mundane exchange he'd taken for granted. That's what does it. His hands barely begin shaking as the first tear falls. But there's no biting them back anymore. When his tears well up so much it blinds him from continuing to read, the tidal wave swelling in him finally breaks... Overwhelmed, he sniffles and swallows a sob — then launches his phone across the room. It bounces off the bathroom door with a loud bang, the corner of the phone hitting it just so, with enough mindless force, that the screen shatters and glitches, before going half-black. Alberto doesn't watch it after he's thrown it, though. He just hugs himself, fingertips digging into his arms, and turns away to hide his face from Luca as the tears keep flowing. ]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2022-12-08 08:39 pm (UTC)Alberto's scowl deepens, jaw clenched hard, not saying anything. This place is so unfair. It's infuriating. He grips the phone tighter as his gaze lingers on the screen. He keeps it open to his chat log with Bruno, and starts idly scrolling backwards; at first he actually does read some of their old texts, but after a short moment, he starts skimming as his eyes glaze over with tears, eventually scrolling too fast to even read anything. He catches a glimpse of some random texts in Itañol from early October, accidentally landing on a simple "Buonanoches" from Bruno, followed by a "Buenos giornos" from Alberto the next morning — another regular, mundane exchange he'd taken for granted. That's what does it. His hands barely begin shaking as the first tear falls. But there's no biting them back anymore. When his tears well up so much it blinds him from continuing to read, the tidal wave swelling in him finally breaks... Overwhelmed, he sniffles and swallows a sob — then launches his phone across the room. It bounces off the bathroom door with a loud bang, the corner of the phone hitting it just so, with enough mindless force, that the screen shatters and glitches, before going half-black. Alberto doesn't watch it after he's thrown it, though. He just hugs himself, fingertips digging into his arms, and turns away to hide his face from Luca as the tears keep flowing. ]