Chapter Text
Giorno finds a little pastry shop tucked into a corner for their lunch. It’s a sweet-looking place, the outside painted a pastel yellow accented with white. A cheery sign on the street nearby advertises, in bold-faced English, ‘donuts, delights and delicacies.’
Fugo raises an eyebrow at her choice. “I’ll never get used to that you have such a sweet tooth. Pastries for lunch...”
Giorno smiles. “I have to indulge sometimes.” She knocks her knuckles lightly against his side. “Maybe you should too.”
Fugo reddens a little, casting his eyes away from her. “Maybe.”
She orders a chocolate filled croissant, Fugo a strawberry crepe. He does really seem to like strawberries: she finds it very cute, the way he reflects it in his attire. They find a seat outside, as Giorno likes to bask in the sun and fresh air. It revitalizes her to feel the warmth of the sun and the pulsing energy of everything around her outside, from the heartbeats of people going down the sidewalk nearby to the subtle, constant hum of a flower bush nearby.
When they actually go outside, it’s a bit more hot and humid than she thought it would be, used to the refreshingly mild climate of Italy. The sun beats down on her like an angry mother rather than a kind one. Florida is indeed a strange place.
There’s the natural silence that comes with both parties having their mouths full and being too polite to try to speak through it, unlike a certain tetraphobe Giorno knows well. Fugo picks at his crepe- spends most of his time staring at her instead of eating. He keeps pretending he’s not staring when she looks up, but Giorno’s gotten by on her perception long enough. She can tell when something’s going on.
She swallows another bite of her pastry, wipes carefully at her mouth with her napkin.
“What’s wrong?” Fugo jolts, caught red-handed.
“What? Oh, it’s nothing-“
“Something’s on your mind, Fugo. Please don’t think I’m not smart enough to notice.”
Fugo bites his lip. Takes a second to think over what he wants to say.
“So this is like... a date, right?”
Giorno blinks, caught off guard. “What?”
Fugo’s eyes widen. “Uh, shit, is it not? I mean, I thought I read the signs right, but if I didn’t... oh God, this is embarrassing.”
Giorno honestly hadn’t thought about it too hard. She knew she liked spending time with Fugo, and alone, well- she figured they just got more quality time that way. Her heart is beating a bit faster than usual, she realizes now, and is this what it’s supposed to feel like, liking someone?
“It... can be?” Giorno tries. “If you want?”
Fugo waves a hand. “It’s not about what I want, Giogio, it should be about your comfort, and obviously-.”
Giorno frowns. “I don’t think you understand. I think you should respect your wants more.”
Fugo looks divided, his eyebrows furrowing. “I like, appreciate the sentiment there, but healthy relationships should intrinsically be about serving the wants and comforts of both parties.”
Giorno sometimes wonders if Fugo comes up with these textbook-like definitions himself, or if he’s parroting academia. He doesn’t seem like the type to take something exactly from its source material, but sometimes the way he talks just sounds so academic. Leftovers from an education unfinished, maybe. Or distancing himself through language she can’t exactly parse.
“I don’t think I know what that means.” She says pleasantly.
Fugo turns a bit red. “Uh, I mean like. In a relationship, it’s essential for both people to get what they want, at least a little bit.”
“What kind of relationship is this?” Giorno knows she’s being a bit cruel, but it is just so fun to tease Fugo, lightly as she does.
“Do you mean- in my example? Or our relationship, because- uh- I mean, you’re probably supposed to determine that, being the Donna and all, I’m just-“
“Fugo.” She lays a gentle hand on his wrist, and his mouth clamps shut. “We are on a date. I believe this is a thing that happens when there is romantic interest. Is that determined enough for you?”
“Okay.” Fugo says. “We’re actually- we’re actually on a date. Okay.”
Giorno represses a giggle. “Need a second?”
“Several, I think.” Fugo says weakly.
“Can I touch you?”
Fugo swallows. Nods. Giorno moves her hand carefully down from where it’s clasping his wrist, and places her hand on his, squeezing a little bit. Fugo looks like someone holding a butterfly in their hands, in awe yet terrified to move in case they scare off or hurt the creature.
Giorno knows herself, and she knows her own power. There is very little Fugo could do to scare her off or hurt her, no matter what he thinks about the volatility of his temper or his stand.
“Nothing has to change right now, if you like. We are...” She waves her free hand around a bit. “In the middle of a bit of a family situation, as it were. But I want you to know that I care for you. Perhaps more than is wise.”
She can see Fugo swallow, his face a blotchy red and his eyes wide. “Thank you?” He says, in a tone that isn’t anywhere near joking, just... unsure. “Um, I mean- God, what am I supposed to say to that? Everything you say leaves me speechless.”
Giorno can’t help but smile: that admission is one of his own ways of showing his care, even if he doesn’t quite know it. “Oh? Would you say I take your breath away, Fugo?”
Fugo opens his mouth in an almost-indignation, but the consistent red of his cheeks betrays him. “You-“ He lets out a sharp burst of laughter. “Oh my God. I hope things never change if change means you’ll start saying cheesy shit like that.”
Giorno can feel people’s heartbeats if she concentrates hard enough, a strange side effect of Gold Experience’s power. Even as he counters her, she can feel it when Fugo’s heart skips a beat. She hasn’t felt this giddy in a very, very, long time: perhaps ever, even. Moments of pure childhood joy would rise to mind, if she had many, but those had been quashed early in her life. No, perhaps, the feeling rising in her chest is something completely new.
It’s unfamiliar, but she can’t say she’s not enjoying it at least a little bit. She’d deal with strange, distant relatives much more often if it meant she could feel like this.
“As great as this is,” Fugo swallows. “We should probably head out. Before Sheila sends a search party.”
“You know she wouldn’t think to send a party, she’d just go herself.” Giorno says pleasantly, standing to toss the remnants of her food.
Fugo follows her, as their hands are still linked together. He snorts a laugh. “That’s true. Not that I doubt her ability. You know she sank an entire ship on our mission on the off-chance that it was trapped?”
“Very well, since I paid for it.” Giorno smiles, or really smiles wider, because she’s been smiling this whole time.
Fugo laughs outright at that, and Giorno watches him with a kind of wonder.
They hold hands all the way back to the hotel.
***
Fugo lets go of her hand before they reach the hotel room door, nervousness in his eyes and an apology on his lips. “Sorry, I just,” he says. “I know that it’s probably not unexpected or anything but I’m still not... totally ready to do or say anything in front of those two.”
“Of course.” Giorno says. She can’t say she’s much of a fan of the idea of PDA either: how vulnerable and embarrassing it would be to show that side of you to anyone who happened to look over. She has little doubt why Buccellati and Abbacchio kept their own moments in private, for the most part. She’s created her own sort of little world with Fugo, built on quiet moments together in the mansion library and times when Fugo would give her a mission report and then simply linger, nervous but unabashed in his desire to remain with her. Though Mista still has yet to learn to knock, she keeps this world private when she can, just the two of them.
Fugo squeezes her hand gently before dropping it, and she feels the remnants of his energy fade from where they were connected.
Sheila’s up, never one for much more than twenty minute power naps. She gives a bored salute as they enter, and Giorno nods politely in response. “Have fun on your date?” She asks, clearly meant to tease. Fugo flusters, as he often does, but Giorno is firm in keeping her cool.
“Yes.” She says. “I think we did very much.”
Sheila gives her a bit of a funny look, but ultimately shrugs and goes back to messing around on her Game Boy. The sun is just setting by now, and while they are technically on a vacation trip, Giorno’s fingers are starting to itch to do something else already, so she fishes out some paperwork and spreads it over the desk. Fugo finds something to read from his suitcase himself, and gives her a glance as he passes by to sit on the bed. “I’ll never understand your organization system.” He says, eyeing up the assorted piles Giorno’s already made.
He’d helped her in cleaning, once or twice, especially when they had to clean out old files and Giorno couldn’t tell for the life of her which ones were genuinely important. Apparently she doesn’t organize things in a very clear way, but it makes sense to her, and that’s what matters, right?
A few quiet hours pass, broken only by some quiet banter between Fugo and Sheila here and there. The mood is still... a bit stressed, if calm for the moment. The morning’s events with Kujo clash with the afternoon’s with Fugo, and it’s clear Sheila’s still not over what she witnessed at the household. It’s unlikely she will be for a while - Sheila’s stubborn as a mule, would look death in the face and laugh, if she thought she was right.
“Okay,” Polnareff announces, as loud as his voice can be broadcast from the back of the turtle. “I know I don’t have to eat, but I think we should have a nice family dinner together. It’s provided here and all.”
Fugo eyes him. “I know you’re an actual outgoing person and all and might genuinely just want to spend time with us, but also, what’s your ulterior motive here?”
Polnareff puts a hand to his chest. “An ulterior motive, mon ami? Can I not share a meal with my friends without being slandered?”
There’s a beat of silence. Polnareff sighs. “Fine, fine, yes. I think we should probably work on the... Jotaro issue. I can give you more information.”
“You aren’t going to make us go out to a restaurant or something, are you?” Sheila complains.
“We can get room service.” Giorno assures. “It’s safer this way, anyways. Less chance for others to listen in on us.”
After a few calls and a bit of waiting, they’re situated with their meals: it’s a bit awkward, as the hotel suite wasn’t really meant for conversation around a table, and therefore they end up in a sort of irregular triangle. Sheila sits on the floor at the coffee table, Fugo at the nearby desk, half-turned to face them but keep his meal over the table, manners hammered into him remaining. Giorno has no qualms about eating on the floor as well, and sits across the table from Sheila, placing Coco Jumbo between them. She sets aside a few pieces of lettuce from her salad for the tortoise before pouring dressing on it.
Polnareff hangs out of Coco’s shell absently for a moment, watching him nibble on a piece of salad, before he sighs. “I didn’t even know Jotaro had a kid.”
Sheila scowls. “I don’t know how you’re not more angry at him. Why bother even trying to connect with him when he obviously isn’t willing to do the same?”
Polnareff looks tired. “I... I learned a lot about Jotaro on our little adventure together. I think I kind of get how he works. Maybe he thought if he shut me out he could shut out all the other shit that happened. I don’t know. I’m mad, yeah, but... I don’t know.”
Giorno is reminded, painfully, of the look in his eyes when he told her about Jotaro before they met him. He’s all I’ve got left.
How long has he been alone like this? Giorno wonders, for a moment, how they all ended up together like this. A bunch of people left by the people they cared about, through death or ignorance, bundled up into a bizarre adventure that left them with more scars but finally, finally not alone.
She takes a moment to chew slowly. “I don’t think you have to know anything yet. At least he’s reaching out now: perhaps you can get more information to work things out with him.”
“I hope so. I missed like, ten years of his life! He’s got to have stuff to tell me from then.”
Sheila shakes her head. “I still don’t get why you think he deserves a second chance, but whatever. Giorno, I’m here to support you. But I don’t want to get any more tangled up in this family shit.”
“Thank you for your honesty.” Giorno says. “I appreciate your work as bodyguard and everything you’ve done to support me. I will not ask you to become any more entangled in this situation than you have to.”
“Cool.” Sheila says simply.
She’s finished most of her food by now: she’s a quick eater, scarfing her portions down like she’s afraid they’ll be stolen away. She shoves the rest of her chicken nuggets in her mouth, chewing slowly if only because of the difficulty of how full her mouth is. She catches Fugo making a disgusted face at her and opens her mouth wide to disgust him further. He makes a retching noise and looks away. Giorno feels herself smile. Some things do stay the same, even through the strange courses her life takes.
When Sheila finally finishes chewing and swallows with mild difficulty, she tosses her trash into the can across the room, pumping a fist when it makes it in. She then stands. “Anyways. I’m out. You guys can keep talking if you want, but I’m going to bed.”
“Didn’t you just nap?” Fugo says.
“For your information, that was hours ago. And I said going to bed, not going to sleep.”
“Right. I forgot instead of sleeping you go into maintenance mode, where you get woken up by tiny things and whack anyone who gets too close.” Fugo admonishes, clearly speaking from personal experience.
“I think we should all head to bed soon.” Giorno breaks in, as Sheila sticks her tongue out at Fugo. “It’s best we keep our energy up. Polnareff, are you...” She’s not sure what to say. Are you okay? doesn’t really feel like enough.
Polnareff waves a dismissive hand anyways. “I’m fine, Donna Giovanna. I’ll have all night to think about how I feel about the man I considered my best friend not speaking to me for years.”
That statement makes Giorno think a lot less of this is resolved than he’s showing, but she doesn’t contest it. Instead she feeds her last bit of lettuce to Coco Jumbo, and stands to clean up her food and get dressed.
“Do you have less qualms about sharing a bed with me now?” She grins after she’s finished her nightly routine and Fugo passes by to get his own routine done.
He flushes. “I didn’t have, um, qualms before, really. I couldn’t say no if you asked, I was just nervous.”
She takes one of his hands. “Still nervous?”
“Giogio, you would not believe how much anxiety you give me.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t worry, it’s usually just anxiety for your life when you pull stunts like cutting your hands off. The, um, intimacy anxiety is... I’m working on that.”
Giorno laughs. “I can’t promise I won’t be losing any more hands anytime soon.”
Fugo sighs, but it’s strangely fond. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Giorno feels something twist in her chest. “Can I tell you a secret, Fugo?”
“Anything.”
She leans in close to his ear to whisper, smells the gentle strawberry scent of his shampoo, his hair still wet from a recent shower. “I’m nervous too.”
She squeezes his hand gently, and leaves him with that. If she was braver, perhaps, or more sure of herself, perhaps she would done something more - kissed his cheek, or looked into his eyes as she spoke. But she wasn’t lying about being nervous: this is uncharted territory for her, and even if she’s long trained herself to keep a cool head, her heart pounds faster than normal, and she finds herself second-guessing herself. What counted as too fast, or too slow? Do people kiss after the first date?
Settling herself into the pillows on the bed, she thinks that perhaps they can figure it out together.
***
This time, Giorno wakes up cold. It’s dark, too, some indiscernible time deep in the night, and she realizes she woke up because Fugo wasn’t there.
She finds him quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed, and feels a rush of relief that he’s there, and reassuringly alive, his heartbeat solid but - oh.
He’s shaking.
Giorno sits up, watches him flinch. “Fugo?” She tries quietly.
“Hi.” He croaks. He sounds terrible.
“Hi.” Giorno repeats. “Are you alright?”
A rhetorical question. He shakes his head.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Fugo looks like he wants to shake his head again, but stops. Swallows hard. “What else is there to do, really?” He says dryly.
Giorno sits up fully so she can scoot up next to him on the edge of the bed. Their fingers millimeters apart.
“I’ve been thinking about what Sheila said,” he starts. “I woke up, just shaking, I-“
He takes a second to gather himself, taking a shaky breath.
“I just can’t understand. How you could- how you could not want-“ His voice struggles not to break. “I miss them every day, Giorno.”
Giorno thinks about meals set out for people who would never come home, a dusty house with no inhabitants but ghosts, and aches.
Fugo keeps going, struggling to keep his voice low. “You know, Narancia loved to refer to me as his best friend. It was like-“ he draws in a sharp breath. “Like a badge of honor. He’d introduce me to strangers like that. Like me being his friend was the best thing that ever happened to him.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “...I think he was one of the best things that ever happened to me, too.”
The ache in Giorno’s chest swells. She wants to reach out, then, Fugo looks so small.
“The night before I left- we- we slept next to each other. He was always so warm, you know? When we shared a bed I’d wake up in the middle of the night with him all wrapped around me, afraid I was burning to death.” He chuckles roughly. “...I wonder if I’ll ever feel that warm again.”
Giorno can’t help it, then, when she reaches for him. Maybe it’s to try to give him even just an inkling of that warmth, she thinks. But she doesn’t think too much when she wraps her arms around Fugo, pulls him closer. He stiffens at first, then goes almost completely slack, dropping his head into her shoulder and shaking just a little bit. He tries to say something, something like “Giogio,” but she shushes him. Her shoulder’s getting a bit wet- she hesitantly strokes her hand up and down his back, his shoulders hitching with the effort of his gentle sobs.
Giorno is filled, suddenly, with the overwhelming urge to kiss the top of his head: whether to comfort or heal, platonic or romantic, she’s not sure, but she just knows she’d like to do it. She mulls over this for a moment before Fugo sits up again, taking a shaky breath, and she misses her chance.
“I’m sorry,” He says. “This is your trip, I shouldn’t-“
“It’s my trip, and you can cry if you want to.”
He laughs, watery.
“I appreciate it. But it feels kind of stupid, we had such a good day, with the- uh-“ He struggles on the word date, which is adorable. “I shouldn’t be like this, you know? I should be happy.”
“Fugo,” she starts, remembering her own experiences with waking up in pitch blackness, quivering. The events of the day didn’t matter in the yawning lonely emptiness of the night, when she was left alone with her thoughts and her fear.
He keeps talking, though. “I’m tired of being sad, Giogio. Even if I keep myself distracted, find other good things - it always comes back. I-“ He swallows. “I’m afraid it will be like this forever.”
Giorno softens. "It might be." She concedes. "I don't think it ever really goes away. But you can make it better. You can build a life around it." She sweeps a hand out. "I mean, I remember waking up shaking just like this. But I'm still here, and I'm still alive, and I wouldn't trade my experiences for anything. I wouldn't want to forget them, no matter how much it hurts."
She knows her experiences with the late members of Fugo's team are nowhere near the bond he had with them: but she still aches with their memories as much as she treasures them. Leads in a way she hopes Bruno would be proud of.
Fugo's staring at her with that reverent look in his eyes, one that has faded a bit more over time but still comes back from time to time. "You're right." He says quietly, dipping his head. "It hurts, but- I don't want to forget them. I just... want to feel like I've healed more, maybe. Instead of waking up in the middle of the night crying, you know? It's almost pathetic, like I'm a protagonist in a dramatic novel or something. Maybe next I'll start crying myself to sleep."
"Hey." Giorno is still holding his shoulder from where they were embracing earlier, and she squeezes gently to get his attention. "It's not pathetic. It's human to cry."
"What does that make you then? I've never seen you cry." Fugo snaps, then immediately looks pained. "I mean- shit, I'm sorry."
That did smart a little bit, but it's not as if he's wrong. "It's fine. I have my own issues, too. I can't promise this won't keep happening, but I can say... perhaps we can heal together."
Fugo looks at her a long moment, then slowly, carefully, takes her hand. "I'd like that."
Giorno smiles. "Good. Good. But for now, I think the late hour is affecting our emotions. C’mon.” She says. “Let’s go to sleep.”
Fugo nods almost meekly. “Okay.”
She folds him in her arms this time, purposeful. His vulnerability already exposed, he hesitates only a moment before pressing his face into her shoulder and drawing his own arms around her.
“You’re not alone.” She whispers, as sleep edges at her vision. “I’m here.”
The quavering child in her named Haruno, shaking alone in the depths of the night, calms, and drifts off with her.