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Mista doesn’t really look at the stars much. He keeps his head down, because there’s a lot of interesting shit going on down on earth. Of course, when the stars started multiplying, he payed a little bit more attention.
It’s all over the news, and when something’s being shouted in your face daily, you tend to pay a little more attention to the subject. So recently, when he’s out at night, gun in hand and bullet or three lodged somewhere in his body, he looks up.
The sky used to have little specks of light, here and there, almost invisible because of the light and gas pollution. It’s the year 2060, and they’ve had centuries to wreck their planet. Mista isn’t much of an environmentalist, but, like the star issue, when something’s shouted in your face...
But anyway, the specks of light started becoming stronger, brighter. Scientists can’t explain it, not properly - all they can really say is that the ‘new stars’ aren’t really faraway suns, but light and energy dancing on the edge of their solar system. Every day, more stars appear. Every day, the new stars come closer.
By now, Mista muses, the sky is more twinkling light than empty space. He almost misses the deep blackness of the night sky; the emptiness was peaceful. The new stars are beautiful, but they demand his attention every single minute of every night. They’re barely outshone by the sun during the day.
It’s still cold, even though there’s a bunch of light cavorting around their planet. His sweater is thick and warm, but it’s also a crop top, so his stomach is mostly freezing. He has a job to do, though, so he puts his discomfort out of his mind and focuses on his surroundings.
He has a clear shot into the mark’s apartment - specifically her bedroom. Her name is Kylie Quentin, and she’s the underboss for a rival gang. Age twenty three, which puts her a good four years ahead of him.
She’s pretty, he guesses, but it’s his policy to not really form opinions on marks, because professionalism is key. It’s why he’s so successful. Well, not ‘successful’, since he’s still an assassin and he can barely afford his hormones, let alone top surgery, but he’s still alive and he has an apartment and he can usually afford to eat.
Its nearly midnight. His intel says she should have been home at ten, so he’s absolutely going to beat up the piece of shit informant the next time he sees the man.
And then he sees movement through the window. He shifts a little, lowering his eye to the scope - sure enough, there’s Quentin, stripping off her dress. He hasn’t got a headshot yet, but he’s also fucking tired and it’s freezing, so he settles for dropping his aim down to her chest.
Mista licks his lips, steels his gut, and pulls the trigger. The silencer muffles the shot, but there’s still the kick that jolts into his shoulder. He’s used to it, moves with it, and it’s fine. The glass shatters, and Kylie drops out of sight. He knows she’s dead; he aimed right at her heart, and he doesn’t miss.
But now comes the scramble; pulling apart his gun, fitting it back into the briefcase, carefully wiping the spot he as at for any fingerprints or DNA residue. It’s basically pointless, because the police knows who he is already, but he doesn’t want to be linked to too many crimes.
“What did you do to her?”, a voice asks, and Mista screeches. He spins on his heel, already reaching for the revolver stuffed down his pants (its useful, okay, and he doesn’t have the money to buy a proper holster).
Behind him is a - a thing. It’s fairly tall - normal sized, at least. It’s also naked, and when Mista hesitantly drops his eyes down to the thing’s groin, male. He still hesitates to call it a man, because it’s fairly luminescent. Which is to say, it’s fucking glowing in the dark.
“What the fuck?! Who are you?!” It’s slightly high pitched, slightly girlish, and Mista curses himself for it.
“I am Giorno Giovanna. I am one of the Light.”
Giorno points at the twinkling sky, a small smile on his face. He’s beautiful, he really is, luminescent skin and all.
Mista isn’t a genius, but he’s not an idiot either, and he’s starting to put two and two together. A beautiful being that’s glowing, saying that they’re part of ‘the Light’, added to the glowing lights in the sky that no one can really explain?
“Y-you come from the new stars?”, he asks. He doesn’t lower his weapon, because he’s not an idiot.
“New stars? Is that what you call us? Anyway, it’s not important. What did you do to the woman?”
A confirmation. He’s talking to a star, a star that has a human form. What the fuck. But when asked questions, Mista is in the habit of answering them.
“I killed her.”
Giorno tilts his head, a blank expression on his face. “Killed?”, he questions softly.
“Yeah. I shot her, and now she’s dead.”
Giorno is far too close to him, fingers caressing his cheek. They’re icy, which seems wrong, because aren’t stars supposed to burn?
“What does ‘dead’ mean?”
“Well, when you die, you kinda... stop. You stop existing, your body stops working.”
“We call that ‘extinguishing’ in our language. You extinguished that woman. Why?”
Being questioned by the closest thing Mista’s ever seen to a god about the morality of his actions arouses a feeling in his gut. It’s not shame, it’s not anger, and it’s not irritation, but it’s something in between.
“Because it’s my job. Someone payed me to kill her, because she’s important enough that someone wants her dead.”
“So you extinguished her because someone asked you to?”
Giorno is far too close for comfort. His hands trail down his cheek, to his shoulders and his chest. Mista wants to tell him to back the fuck off, but the words stick in his throat.
“Something like that. Why are you asking me this stuff?”
Giorno’s eyes are twinkling. They’re a gorgeous blue, but there’s something empty about them. Mista knows the exact moment eyes become empty. It’s not a soul leaving, because Mista doesn’t believe in souls, but there’s something about dead eyes that’s changed. Giorno has dead eyes.
“You intrigue me, Guido Mista.” How does Giorno know that? He never introduce himself, but somehow it’s not surprising. “All of humanity intrigues us. I just happened to fall here, and you were there. I watched you, and you extinguished the other human. Aren’t you both of the same species?”
Giorno takes a step towards him, and Mista takes a step backwards. The back of his knees hit the bit of the roof, the ledge that separates him and a five story drop.
“Er - well, yes. But we don’t really put much weight on the whole, ‘we’re all humans’ thing, us humans. It’s more... everyone has their own little group, and people fight. It’s just what people do.”
Giorno smiles. It looks stiff, odd. Everything about Giorno - not just the whole ‘actually a star’ thing - is sorta off. Cold.
“You humans are so silly. All you do is hate each other.”
Mista takes offence at that. Sure, he isn’t a very loving guy. Hasn’t had much love, and hasn’t given much love, but humanity as a whole is fairly loving. He’s an optimist about the nature of humans.
“That’s not true. Sure, we kill each other a lot, but still! More people love each other than hate each other. I think.”
Giorno is incredibly, uncomfortably close to him. Or maybe comfortably, since he’s very handsome and Mista is mostly captivated by him.
“Can you show me? How humans love.”
That has to be a come on. It has to be, so Mista gently presses his lips against Giorno’s. He really is cold, freezing almost. Giorno kisses him back.