PSEUMINO, VENTO AUREO.

B. BUCCIARATI

═ ☆. I HAVE GOOD NEWS and bad news," Bruno said, joining you at the railing. "Which would you like to hear first?"

You were watching the rowdy soccer game unfolding in the courtyard. A line of chalk marked out the soccer goal, and the scuffed ball was so old, you could hardly see the black-and-white pattern. The children were playing over old, uneven cobblestone, so it couldn't have been easy to score. The game echoed off the buildings surrounding them, and then out to the sea that sparkled at your back. Occasionally, the children's parents would glance up from the nearby tables of a restaurant, grinning over sandwiches and glasses of white wine.

"Bad news," you said.

"The yacht I was going to rent out is being repaired at the moment, and there won't be another one for at least two hours."

"I don't mind." The two of you weren't on a schedule. Today was meant to be pleasant, relaxing. The sun beamed sweetly in the sky, making it just warm enough for short sleeves and shorts. The breeze lifting off the sea smelled fresh, and lightly teased the ends of Bruno's hair.

"Neither do I," admitted Bruno. "It's such a gorgeous day."

"Well, the bad news wasn't so bad. What's your good news?"

"The gelato stall was having a sale, so here's two scoops of your favourite flavour."

You accepted the cup of gelato that Bruno extended to you.

"You always spoil me whenever we go out," you said, eating a small spoonful. "I'm gonna have to pay you back sometime."

"Your delightful company is worth more than anything you could pay me."

"Alright, Signor Cheesy."

Bruno laughed. His stylish ensemble today was made up of a silk short-sleeve shirt and dark bermuda shorts. The black bandanna motif on his shirt was echoed by the handkerchief knotted at his throat, and there was something about that you found satisfying. A pair of sophisticated Dior sunglasses completed the look, lifted into his hair so you could see his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

You blinked, wondering why Bruno was putting your spoon back into your gelato cup.

"Did you just steal some of my gelato?"

"If I did, it's your fault for letting me do it. You were staring at me so hard you barely noticed."

"I was not staring, egomaniac."

Bruno had the audacity to take another bite.

"I'm not going to deny it. My ego isn't getting any smaller with all of your staring. It's the bandanna, isn't it? I thought you would like it."

You snorted, batting his hand away. "I'm not going to encourage you. Now, let me eat! Did you get two scoops for me or for yourself?"

Bruno held the spoon over his head, goading you. You didn't give him the satisfaction of reaching for it, only jabbing him in the ribs and snatching the spoon when he yelped.

"I'm glad to see you're mostly back to your usual self," Bruno said, rubbing his side.

"Mostly," you echoed. "Physically, I'm probably at 90 percent. But Stand-wise?" You trailed off, pursing your lips.

"Still no luck with White Satin?"

"Depends on what you mean by luck."

Your Stand was still there; you were still able to see other Stands. You could call on it, if only to summon a few weakly strands that were barely strong enough for you to weave around your fingers. You weren't sure what was wrong with it—what was wrong with you. You wanted to be optimistic, but it was hard to be, when your Stand was a whisper of its former self.