Chapter Text
Luigi liked watching things, had done so his whole life.
He was good at it, watching others.
His mama had told him so even back when he and his brother were still little bambinos, barely reaching two feet tall- and that was with their caps on their heads. (Yeah, they had always been kind of short.)
He’d liked to watch the playgrounds when they visited, categorizing each corner and making sure he knew exactly where he was and where everyone else around him and his brother were.
He liked to watch other kids play, rarely one to go up to them and ask if he could join. Mario was the one that did things like that. Not Luigi.
And as they grew up, watching his surroundings became like second nature to him, more out of necessity than actual enjoyment, but still. He had to look out for bullies, for meanies, Spike.. And well, sometimes Mario, to make sure he wasn’t close by when whoever got their hands on Luigi pushed him into the lockers or emptied their soda bottle over his head. He didn’t need to know about everything- he knew about way too much already, and Luigi imagined it wasn’t easy being the twin brother of one of the most unpopular guys in school.
Not that Mario would ever say something about it to him.
But Luigi was smart- more so than he let people know- and he was quiet as a mouse when he wanted, could disappear without being noticed, hide in cupboards or behind furniture, and listen to Mario and his parents talk when they thought he wasn’t around. And Luigi remembered things- and even years later, he could still hear Mario’s voice in his head sometimes, calling him a coward.
But it didn’t happen often- would’ve been impossible to happen often, actually, with a family as big as theirs, with parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles and whatnot all living together under one (admittedly rather large) roof.
Family, the most important thing to an Italian.
For Luigi, it was another crowd to get lost in, between all the heads and the excited yells and laughter that came with so many people.
It was easy to stay on the sidelines and poke your head through the upstairs banister while your brother and cousins raced each other or played tag or held a video game competition.
(Apparently, it was also just as easy to forget to ask your brother to join in, but Luigi understood. It was fine, really.)
It wasn’t like Mario and him never did anything together. They had been glued to the hip, especially when they were children. He could understand his brother wanting to play with other kids.
Wasn’t Mario’s fault that Luigi only had him to play, was it?
And then they had grown older, young adults now, working under Spike, and things had never quite changed completely.
It was Mario who got them the gig, after Luigi told him about the talk he had overheard between the ‘real’ adults, about the money that was spent quicker than it was earned, and all the other things the barely twenty-year-olds had no idea about.
And for a while it felt like back in High School, with Luigi ducking around every corner, trying to stay out of the way, make himself small, keep his head tucked in, watching his surroundings closely.
Spike once tripped him, and he nearly fell into some machine or another. He’d learned after that.
But every time he thought about quitting, he remembered his mama’s look, and his papa’s hushed words, and he pushed through- until Mario came to him, one evening, absolutely livid after Spike had ‘forgotten’ to wait for them to finish their work before packing up and driving back to Brooklyn and they’d been forced to walk home for almost two hours because they didn’t have money for the subway.
“Let’s be our own boss.”, he’d said, and well, Luigi would follow his brother to the end of the world, so really, what kind of question even was that?
It didn’t last long though, and suddenly everything Luigi knew had been thrown on its head.
Suddenly, turtles talked and were big and scary, and skeletons could walk and they were living between sentient mushroom people that called themselves Toads and his brother was head over heels in love with their princess and well.. it was a lot.
But it was also one of the more peaceful times in their lives.
And time, Luigi had. A lot of it, even, with Mario’s ongoing crush and the Toads (frankly a little weird) obsession with his brother.
The time he spent in the Dark Lands, as the place was called that the weird pipe had thrown him into, had been dark and depressing, but Luigi would’ve been lying if he said he hadn’t been intrigued- at least a teeny tiny bit.
The Mushroom Kingdom let it pale in comparison though.
There was so much to learn, so much to see and observe, taste and try and watch, and Luigi found that he couldn’t get enough of it, of watching the Toads go about their way, seeing goombas and koopas and yoshies and so- so many different things that he had never seen before.
Most times, when he wasn’t out working with Mario (because they still did that, even if it was a different world) or on an adventure with his brother, Luigi could be found in little cafés or restaurants, on benches at the park or strolling through the city- even if the noise got to him sometimes, and the questions and the Toads, who were as curious about humans as he was about them.
He was a curious one, after all, always had been.
And maybe that was the reason he was the first one to notice how things changed and how quickly enemies could become friends, but maybe it was because he was the only one willing to see the change in the first place.
..
His mama had called him observant, told him he had keen eyes and a sharp mind.
Mario called him a dreamer, with a shake of his head, and an amused little smile, told him he only saw the good in people, that he only saw what he wanted to see, even if it never existed in the first place.
Maybe that was why it was so easy for one of the brothers to see the change in Bowser, while the other refused to acknowledge anything different at all.
Then again, Luigi couldn’t really blame Mario for not seeing it, considering the most he’d spent together with the koopa were about fifteen minutes of them just arguing or ignoring each other. Compared to the hours and hours that Luigi had spent with him so far?
There was good in Bowser. He knew it. He’d seen it.
Which was kind of funny, if you thought about it. Because all of that had started with Luigi wanting to get some kind of closure after countless nights of laying awake in bed and feeling lava eat away at his clothes and a cage dig into his bones.
He’d walked up to the room the miniature copy of Bowser’s castle was stored in, knees shaking, hands twisting and thumbing the fabric of his shirt, nervous, but resolute.. and without any kind of plan.
Even now he could remember standing there, in the doorway, looking down at the castle and feeling a jolt of something run down his back.
He saw Bowser sitting on his balcony, skin paler than he remembered, eyes drooping. He’d turned his head lazily and waved the plumber off without so much as a word.
And Luigi made the first one of many, many mistakes, when he entered the room and closed the door behind him instead of turning around and running away.
..
Awkward wasn’t enough to describe that first meeting. But it wasn’t hostile either.
Bowser had lifted his head and gave him a curious one-over, before he let it thump against the floor again.
Luigi had taken that as his cue to come closer.
“Open the window if you wanna stay.”, Bowser grumbled, his voice a tad higher than Luigi remembered from the short conversation they’d held when he almost ripped off half of his mustache.
The italian raised an eyebrow at the commanding tone, even though he knew Bowser couldn’t see it, but he opened the curtains, let the sun into the room, warm the air around them.
When he turned back around to Bowser, the koopa was glaring at him under heavy brows.
“You can go now.”
And Luigi did so without another word.
..
And then he’d come back.
And then he’d come back again after that. And after that and- and so on.
He wasn’t really sure why, couldn’t for the life of him understand why he bothered, at least in the beginning, when Bowser was still nothing more than a bad-mannered, foul-mouthed royal pain the ass. But Luigi could never really shake the image of that first day, of Bowser lying half conscious on the castle floor, air around him cold and dark.
Bowser had never really confirmed his suspicions that koopas needed the warmth to survive, but he’d made sure to tell Luigi to keep the curtains open every time after that- and really, that was all the plumber needed to know.
That didn’t mean things were going smoothly.
Far from it, actually.
Once Mario had gotten wind that Luigi was still going up to see Bowser, and sometimes even talked to the self-proclaimed ‘best- looking evil dude this side of the sun’, he’d been livid.
Which, fair, the guy had kind of imprisoned him and dangled him over a pit of lava to kill him as a gift for his unwilling bride.
But he was also the guy that had snorted when Luigi, hothead that the italian was sometimes, burst into the room to have a single moment to himself and vent about annoying toads and their tendencies to reach him every time he wanted to have some goddamn peace. He didn’t really think about it all too much, but something about the fact that Bowser was in there told him he’d be left alone.
(He’d been right. Nobody had bothered him for the rest of the afternoon.)
He’d told Mario to shove it (not in those words), assured him he was a big boy and knew exactly what he was doing. Mario didn’t need to like it. He just needed to understand, to trust him.
And yes, maybe that was playing cheap, but Mario was a big softie and really, Luigi knew he would get his way the moment the older brother threw his head back and sighed, defeated.
That was months ago now.
Months and months filled with meetings, talking and even laughing eventually, of treating the worst monster he knew like a person and seeing him become, well, maybe not a good guy, but definitely a better one.
..
Sometimes Luigi wished that the thing with Bowser had been a bit more lineal, that there was a point, a moment that he could point to and say ‘Ah yes, see there? That’s the moment Bowser became friendly.’.
Luigi’s wishes very rarely got an answer.
The change had come slowly, with him continuing to walk up the stairs and open the curtains, and Bowser coming out of his castle to greet him, his skin now back to the deep yellow he was used to, hair almost flowing down his neck in a vibrant red.
Sometimes, the koopa greeted him with a smile, a laugh even, and they talked until the sky turned dark, about everything and about nothing.
Sometimes they sat in silence, for the whole afternoon, neither of them willing to break the quiet. And it killed Luigi, who hated nothing more than the silence, who heard his own ears ring and feel every exhale in the air, thoughts running a million miles per hour every time he was alone with them.
But he stayed.
He stayed, refused to get up and leave, lose the unspoken challenge- and got rewarded for it the next time, when Bowser would laugh again, mood infinitely better.
It had started small, with Luigi asking about his day and Bowser actually answering, asking him how the princess was doing in return, or whether Mario had died already or not.
It started with Bowser trying to manipulate Luigi, trying to butter him up so the plumber would free him, promising him riches and land, more gold than he could ever want. Luigi had shot that thought down very quickly, and Bowser had grumbled, and not quite apologized, but muttered something about needing to take every chance he got, and that had been it.
Nobody could change overnight, and Luigi knew that- and Bowser had learned quickly that the plumber was not to be underestimated.
Instead, the koopa started asking about his own day in return, showing genuine interest when Luigi told him the newest gossip, soaking everything up he was ready to give, like a man starved.
And maybe to some degree, that was the thing, the point in their timeline Luigi could point to if asked when things had changed.
..
But the day when everything changed was probably when Bowser asked Luigi for painting supplies, to deal with his.. everything, have an outlet for his emotions, get the anger under control.
“I want to be rehabilitated.”, he’d grinned when asked why, and Luigi found he didn’t really care if he was honest or not.
He’d come back that very same day, with a sketchbook and some pens and markers, and got the probably the first honest genuine smile in return.
The air had been stuck in his suddenly dry throat then, and even now he could remember the way heat had crawled up his cheeks.
Bowser’s smile had followed him for days after that, and Luigi was worried he’d gotten sick from the way his stomach churned and twisted into knots.
..
Bowser had since upgraded to canvases and paint, and Luigi felt a strange sense of pride every time the koopa showed him one of his paintings or explained them to him. He’d also given Luigi the old sketchbook back, told him to sit down and learn something if he was there and watching him every day anyways.
Luigi had looked back and forth, from Bowser’s expert-level drawn canvases to the sketchbook in his hands, knowing full well his artistic skills were barely above elemental school levels.
But, well, Bowser had grinned at him, and his eyes had fucking twinkled with excitement and what was Luigi supposed to do then? Say no? Like a monster?!
He wished he had, about half an hour later when he saw the weird figures the Italian had drawn and Bowser burst out laughing like this was the funniest thing ever, but oh well, what can you do.
He did tell Luigi to come a bit closer, try to copy what he was doing, and showed him some tricks to help give form to his sketches.
Luigi did so, but he had to wipe his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants a few times, when Bowser looked at him over his shoulder, an easy smile on his lips, shoulders relaxed.
He should really go talk to that doctor.
..
And slowly, days turned into weeks and then they turned into months, and the time they spent together felt increasingly meaningful, special in its own way.
Mario would have a field day with that one- if he would’ve known they were meeting up as often as they did.
But Mario didn’t need to know everything, and whenever the guilt came crawling into Luigi’s bones, he shooed it away, reminded it that brother dearest was busy courting the princess anyways. It didn’t help every time, but often enough that Luigi was happy to continue meeting up with Bowser. It wasn’t like he was doing something forbidden. The princess had told them, both of them, that they were welcome whenever. And he wasn’t sneaking around either, just walked up to Bowser’s room in broad daylight.
Wasn’t his fault that nobody noticed shit around here.
And the same went for him, apparently, when he pressed the handle without looking and pushed the door open all the way.
He looked up and- and-
And froze in the middle of the doorway.
A rough voice was reading out loud, quietly and rumbly, sounding words out carefully, letting syllables melt on his tongue.
And oh- Oh- Oh Fuck.
A lot of things changed at that moment.
Even more changed when Bowser kept on reading, and Luigi, rooted to the spot like he was, accidentally realized that Bowser was reading a fucking romance book.
Then he stopped, and grumbled something to himself, too low for Luigi to understand, and the italian stumbled outside, somehow managing to close to the door quietly. At least he hoped so.
Couldn’t be sure with the heavy beating of his heart in his ears.
He put a few shaky steps of distance between himself and the door- and promptly collapsed against the opposite wall, knees giving out.
His face was burning.
He cursed, in english and italian, for good measure.
Pushing his cap down harshly, he raked clammy hands through his hair, pulling on a few strands until he saw stars instead of Bowser, wearing thinly rimmed glasses, lounging on one of his sofas, book in hand.
His voice ran through his head on loop, the few words that he had caught suddenly his favorite words in the english language- or any language, really. They seemed to wrap around him, beckoning him, rush him to a cliffside, and push him over the edge.
He fell and at the bottom, Bowser’s burning eyes, sharp muscles and soft smile were already waiting to catch him.
Every moment, every single second of their meetings rushed through his mind, everything he’d found endearing, had found sweet or cute, everything that the koopa had done to rile him up, to make him smile, every joke, every story, every-
“Fuck”
Luigi looked up, eyes wide but unseeing, let out a shaky breath.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck-
This was- this was a problem. Huge- huge fucking problem.
Mario would kill him.
.. If Bowser didn’t do it first.
..
Actually, death would be so very much worth it, Luigi decided about a week later, when he’d had time to calm down, come to terms with the fact that he was.. crushing- on Bowser of all people, and totally accidentally forgotten his sketchbook at home and instead brought a book about the Dark Lands to their next meeting that Luigi had found in the library earlier.
Weird how that happened.
“Think you could help me with something instead?”, he’d muttered, trying to sound apologetically, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.
Bowser just nodded, completely oblivious to the fact that Luigi was a horrible liar and had skimmed through the book earlier, marked a few random things, with a half thought out plan to ask the koopa to explain them to him and maybe get him to read something out loud for him.
‘You’re shameless.’, his head had accused him.
‘You’re not wrong.’, he’d agreed, partly lost listening to Bowser reading a passage about agriculture or some other boring thing, feeling a shiver run down his back at the way the rough voice wrapped around the words, let them float in the air.
And Luigi decided then and there that they’d need a book club.
Totally unrelated that was, of course.
Funny how the world works.
..
And the weeks turned into months, and all of a sudden, half a year had gone by, and Luigi was now comfortably calling Bowser his friend- if only in the privacy of his own head.
He’d never had something like this, a friendship like this, something he was so fiercely protective of, so incredibly happy about.
Bowser without his walls was a force to be reckoned with. He’d pulled the rug out from under Luigi, made him fall in love with him over and over again, with his smiles, with little moments, listening to Luigi rant, sharing things about his own past, brave enough to be honest with somebody for once in his life.
It was a joke that made the other laugh, a snort, a tease, a grin.
It was calming words and a koopa the size of a pet turtle sitting on Luigi’s shoulder or drawing pretty pictures while he tried drawing anything that even remotely resembled something.
And it was Bowser’s ash and fire and leather and bourbon smell, and how the cold shoulder slowly turned into a warm smile.
It was interest and curiosity, a friendship that blossomed even though it was never meant to be, even though there had only been hatred and fear.
It turned into the most important thing for Luigi.
And oh, how terrifying that was.
But oh, how much he loved it.