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Where Bucciarati has a problem

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It was no secret to Bruno Bucciarati that he had a number of admirers. He was the highest esteemed educator of Passione Academy and was devoted to inspiring all students to achieve their best. He respected and was respectful to others and knew the difference between right and wrong, and always reminded students to follow by example.

That said, he knew he was attractive and being single for so long can take its toll and unfortunately, as his eyes rested on one particular blond at their desk, he was more than painfully aware that there was someone who could easily have him wrapped around their pretty little finger but there was no way he was going to let a SIXTEEN-year-old ruin his reputation...

Sure, the student was much more intelligent than average; being moved two grades up by proving that, and there was something about them that Bucciarati found... interesting.  But for them to be sixteen AND a student? He constantly found himself faltering into dangerous territory. 

The student looked up, as if feeling his gaze, and their eyes met. To Bucciarati, it felt like an eternity and the air grew thicker. 

Giorno Giovanna would be the death of him. 

Quickly, he shifted his sights on a student behind Giorno and found an escape, "Narancia, stop drawing and pay attention to your work." 
He then looked down at the book in front of him, feeling foolish but sighing in relief as he heard a faint “how did he know? ” from that direction. 

It only took a few minutes, re-reading the same sentence over and over when his mind drifted to Giorno again.

He didn’t know much about him, really. Giorno was normally quiet, only raising his hand if no one knew the answer and being that he was the youngest in the class, Bucciarati was almost certain he didn't have many friends if at all. During breaks he was often outside alone, reading or writing. Moving gracefully with ease, hair always in perfect shape with beautiful posture and lovely skin- Bucciarati stopped. In all honesty, Giorno would make such an exquisite painting. 

Bucciarati wondered helplessly how deep he’s fallen. How effortlessly Giorno left him shaken to his core. How his instincts weakened so freely. How soft Giorno’s lips were and how he still remembered the taste and feel of the warm breath between them.

He lifted a hand to his own lips, biting weakly at his thumbnail.
He promised he wasn’t going to think about that again. 

Giorno was unpredictable. 

He wasn't a troubled child, but his atmosphere showed strong resilience. He hadn’t heard a bad word about him. The only rumour he knew was another student, Luca, well-known for being intimidating, had approached him one afternoon but had since never gone near him again. Giorno didn’t say much about it when Bucciarati questioned him. Bullying was not tolerated, but, couldn't help believing him when he said nothing happened and left it at that.

Maybe Giorno preferred being alone but he found it unsettling. 
An alone Giorno means the impulse could take over again and maybe this time, he won’t be able to stop.

He scanned the room and stopped between his three other best students. Maybe introducing Giorno to Narancia, Fuga and Mista might be a simple solution to everything. Well, his own solution that is. 

At the sound of the bell, he reminded the room that the paper was due tomorrow and left. He attempted to convince himself that he was a very busy man but really, he didn’t want to chance if Giorno would approach him to talk about that thing they’re not meant to talk about.   

Yes, he was most definitely running away.  
Even though he hadn’t reached the age of thirty, he felt childish and could only blame himself as being the adult, supposedly, in this mess. 

He made his way into another empty classroom, spotting Abbacchio by the open window with a cigarette between his fingers, looking agitated - so nothing unusual there.  Bucciarati closed the door behind him and took a seat by the desk, feeling weary. 
Abbacchio, who thankfully didn’t comment on his current state, began rubbing his own temple with a huff, "I think if there was a way I could rewind time, I'd tell myself not to become a teacher."  

"I’m almost certain you’ve said this before,” he laughed, alleviated to listen to someone else’s dilemma than think about his own.  

Putting out the cigarette against the frame of the window, Abbacchio shrugged, “you’re the only one with a real brain here to listen to me,” he said, walking over to slouch on a chair.

After a discussion later, Bucciarati found himself asking, "how's Giorno in class?" 

Abbacchio huffed in response, "he's a brat that's for sure. There's something about him that irritates me."

"He challenges you, that’s probably why," he snickered as Abbacchio clucked his tongue. "I think you don't mind it as much as you say you do."
He continued on, ignoring the other's start of a protest, "do you think he'll get along with Narancia and the others?"  

After sighing, Abbacchio rested a hand under his chin to lean on it, "yeah, that's what I need, more brats together."  

"I think it'll do him good. I might put them together on a project-"  

"If they want him in, that is," Abbacchio interrupted with a sly smirk, "You know if I was around his age and he came into my group, I'd make him drink my own piss from a cup,  like an initiation."  

Bucciarati grimaced, "why are you a teacher again?"
Abbacchio laughed hard to himself. 


A week went by and Bucciarati knew he couldn't avoid his problem forever but didn’t give Giorno enough credit after introducing him to the others. He assumed the blond would have his hands full with Narancia, Mista and Fuga to want to approach him about the thing

When Giorno walked in alone, his body went rigid.
It was now or never.

“Can I talk to you?” Giorno asked with a soft voice, looking at him with concern.

After a hard swallow, Bucciarati adjusted himself on the seat to appear more composed though his heart pounded loud in his chest, “of course, Giorno.”

“I just wanted to apologize for the kiss. It was inappropriate of me.”
Bucciarati hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was sweating.

“I know you didn’t want me to mention it again but I can’t get it out of my head,” as Giorno took a step closer, Bucciarati caught sight of the flush sweeping across the cheeks. “Bucciarati…”
Hearing his name from those lips made him take a quick intake of breath as he met the other's eyes, unsure if he could continue keeping his mouth zipped shut.

“I like you a lot.”
He was almost sure his heart was about to burst.

“I know you see me as some kid but I can’t help how I feel,” Giorno wrung his hands together, nervously, “I really respect you and I’ll ask to be transferred to another class. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable around me. I’m sorry.”

As the blond began to step away, Bucciarati stood up from his chair, “wait, Giorno.”
He moved to stand in front of him, finding the strength within himself. “It’s me that should apologize, I kissed you after all so it’s me that was inappropriate. I took advantage of you, and I’m your teacher-”

Giorno interrupted him and grabbed at his sleeve, “But I liked it.”

Bucciarati grasped at his wrist on him in a panic, “You’re my student and sixteen, Giorno. We, we can’t…” he didn’t know what else he could say at that moment.
The silence was LOUD and Bucciarati let Giorno’s hand slide from his grip until their fingers loosely held together.

“You like me too,” Giorno whispered and Bucciarati felt powerless.

“I like you,” he sighed, weakly, “but we can’t. It’s not right.”

Giorno shuffled closer, very close, and Bucciarati for once wanted to let it happen. He murmured the other’s name before Giorno’s lips brushed against his, very soft, and Bucciarati could see how long his eyelashes were. He didn’t even realize his other hand had held Giorno’s chin, desperately wanting to be close again. Almost letting their lips touch once more.

If it was wrong, why did it feel so damn right? 

He quickly bit his bottom lip as a reminder of where he was and pulled away but Giorno gripped their other hands tighter which Bucciarati didn’t realize were still clasped. 

“Giorno,” Bucciarati let himself feel selfish and brought their hands to his chest, “if we’re both still feeling this way when you’re older and I’m no longer your teacher…” he let his words sit and placed a tender kiss on the hand he held, “we’ll try, okay?”

Bucciarati felt thankful at witnessing such a pretty smile grace the other’s face, and he couldn’t help the teasing truth from his own mouth, “I’ll have you and I’ll spoil you.”  

A weight lifted off him and Bucciarati couldn’t hold back his laugh as Giorno’s mouth dropped, he couldn’t let Giorno be the only unpredictable one.