Work Text:
1.
Giorno’s eyes were always drawn to Mista, constantly finding their way to the gunman whenever they were in the same room. Sometimes Giorno didn’t realize it, his eyes naturally gravitating to the older boy. Even when Giorno caught himself looking at Mista, he couldn’t always get himself to look away.
In a way, it was hard not to keep looking at the boy, the mishmash of patterns of his clothing was eye-catching enough. One couldn't ignore it even if they tried. But it was more than that for Giorno, there was no sense in lying to himself about that.
To him, Mista was like an old, beloved book. Well-read but there was always something new, something eye-catching, something he hadn't noticed before. Each time Giorno looked at Mista, he felt like he learned something new. There was more to the lazy smiles and lackadaisical attitude than met the eye.
Mista was sharp. He picked up on things other didn’t, watching and listening and hiding under the act of ignorance and obliviousness. Giorno hadn’t even caught Mista’s observance until a week and a half after meeting him. Mista presented himself as an open book, but there were still secrets written between the lines and Giorno found himself trying to uncover them all. More times than not, in lulls or quiet moments, Giorno’s eyes fell on Mista. He concealed it well, or so he thought.
“Got somethin’ on my face?” Mista asked, dark eyes locking on Giorno.
Giorno didn’t so much as move a muscle, shifting his eyes to meet Mista’s. He could feel heat flare across the back of his neck but, thankfully, his braid hid it from view.
“No,” Giorno leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands over his lap to appear as casual and relaxed as possible. “I was looking at your necklace.”
It was the truth, mostly. Giorno’s eyes had caught onto the flash of gold around Mista’s neck. He had spent several minutes tracing the line and wondering how far it dipped beneath his sweater and if there was anything at the end. He had also spent another handful of minutes wondering what else Mista hid under his clothing. First weapons, now jewelry. Perhaps there was more. Giorno’s curiosity only grew with that line of thinking.
Mista blinked in surprise, his eyes widening as his hand came up to touch the necklace that had slipped over the collar of his sweater. He toyed with it for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed in thought before plunging his hand down his sweater and reeling out the rest of the necklace.
Giorno had assumed it was a cross. He wouldn’t have been surprised by that in the slightest. Mista was the traditional Italian Catholic. If he wasn't wearing at least two or three crosses, Giorno would have been shocked.
However, as Mista pulled the necklace away to reveal the little pendant hanging at the end, Giorno was surprised to find it was not a cross as he expected but rather a small, dainty ring. It was far too small to fit on any of Mista’s fingers and looked barely big enough to slip onto Giorno’s pinky. It was clearly made for smaller, more delicate hands.
Mista slipped off the necklace and extended it to Giorno to examine.
The chain was thin and slightly tarnished, fake gold peeling off to reveal the cheap nickel underneath. The ring, dull silver that shined brighter than the fake gold of the necklace, was in pristine condition. It was a small, simplistic band with a date elegantly etched inside.
“My mom’s wedding band,” Mista clarified, licking his lips in a nervous tick. “She’s gone now but can’t seem to get rid of the ring.”
“You always wear this?” Giorno asked.
Mista nodded his head, looking somewhat embarrassed by the confession. Giorno stored that information away, as he always did when Mista revealed another secret. Giorno was collecting them, a small part of him treasuring the fact that only a few people knew. An even smaller part of him hoped that some of these secrets were just for the two of them.
“It’s beautiful,” Giorno murmured, holding the ring by its chain and watching it swing before his face.
“’Think she’d probably want me to give it to someone.”
Giorno hummed at that. He couldn’t imagine Mista in a serious relationship. He was loyal, kind and loving, but seeing him settle down with some girl didn’t sit right in Giorno’s image of Mista.
“Got someone in mind yet?” Giorno asked teasingly. He handed back the chain, draping it on Mista’s awaiting fingers.
“Yeah right,” Mista snorted, a wide grin coming to his face as he slipped the chain back on and tucked the ring back under his sweater. “Though, there is this new girl down at the café by the sea. You know, the one where Abbachio…”
Giorno listened as Mista dove into a story, hands moving around to describe the events. The girl at the start of the story never made a reappearance, forgotten in the wave of Mista’s excitement over telling Giorno about the time Abbachio took them there and had nearly gotten them kicked out.
In a way, it was how most of Mista’s relationships ended up. The girls never lasted long, pushed to the sides and forgotten in time. They’d never mean as much to Mista has the gang did.
2.
The sweet smell of sugar and baked bread flooded Giorno as he walked into the brightly lit café. Mista, Narancia and Fugo were already seated around a wide table with three empty seats left, presumably for Abbachio, Buccellati and himself.
Giorno took the seat beside Mista and nodded his greeting to the table, as not to interrupt their conversation. A waitress came and took his order as the conversation at the table abruptly dissolved into Narancia and Fugo bickering, with Mista leaning back on the rear two legs of his chair laughing.
“You’re going to fall,” Giorno warned him, eyes watching the feeble legs wobble under the strain.
“Nah, I’m good,” Mista waved off. “I’ve got perfect balance. No need to be impressed or nothin’.”
Giorno nudged his foot under the raised front leg of the chair, tipping it back further ever so slightly. It was enough to break Mista’s smile as he scrambled to maintain balance, ultimately throwing himself forward to steady the chair on all fours once more.
“You’re a dick, you know that?” Mista grumbled.
“I wasn’t aware.”
However, Giorno’s reply was lost on deaf ears as the waitress came, setting down Giorno’s espresso and a platter of taralli, the ring-shaped bread stacked in a neat high pile.
Narancia greedily grabbed nearly half the sweet glazed bread before Fugo made him return most of his stolen treats. Fugo took one for himself, nibbling at it as Narancia shoved three into his mouth at once. Mista grabbed one for himself, twirling it around his finger before grinning up at Giorno, holding it out for him to see.
“Ew, Mista, are you proposing to Giogio!?” Narancia cried over the table, face wrinkled in mock disgust. He still wasn’t over the ‘bench incident’ as they were politely calling it.
Although ‘bench incident’ didn’t really accurately describe what happened. The bench had hardly been involved. Mista and Giorno had barely been involved. But Narancia’s mind had filled in the blanks that his obscured vision left with weird sexual innuendos and now Giorno and Mista had to live with the teasing from their fellow peers. At least Narancia was living the same punishment- though, thinking you’ve seen your friends in sexual situations and having everyone think you’ve been in sexual situations with one of your closest friends are two completely separate feelings.
Giorno had been only slightly embarrassed at the implication but he was more nervous on what Mista would have thought about it. However, in the true Mista fashion, the gunman acted as if nothing happen and went about life like it was the same as always.
“Fuck you,” Mista spat at Narancia before turning to Giorno, whatever excitement he had before about the taralli gone as he muttered, “It’s your hair.”
Giorno frowned instantly but Narancia gasped, clapping loudly. “Mista, you genius! Giogio does have taralli hair!
“What?” Giorno asked, confused, looking between the two.
With Mista’s taralli free hand, he gently prodded one of Giorno’s curls with a finger. “You get the inspiration for these from cookies? That’s cute.”
Giorno leaned out of Mista’s reach, lightly slapping his hand away for good measure. Still, Mista and Narancia all burst out into peals of laughter at this discovery. Fugo bit back his own laugh with another piece of the dreaded taralli.
Giorno shrugged at their antics. He knew the more he reacted, the more they’d tease. That’s why Mista and Narancia had always been easy targets for teasing each other. Giorno apathetically grabbed a taralli for himself, half considering dipping it into his espresso.
Narancia sobered up quickly. Upon seeing Giorno’s lack of response, he turned to Mista with a smirk. “Don’t tease Giogio, especially when you dress like that.”
Mista’s face instantly broke from laughter and shifted to annoyance. “What’s wrong with my clothes? They’re cool.”
“The taralli ring really ties it together,” Giorno said, watching at Mista snapped his head to look at Giorno in betrayal.
With a pout, Mista slumped into his chair and kicked the leg of Giorno’s. “Well, at least we match now.” He waved his taralli ring for emphasis.
“Ugh, get a room, Mista,” Narancia wailed over the table.
Mista turned back to Narancia to argue, barely aware of the bread still hanging on his finger. Giorno couldn't help but smile at the thought of them matching, as silly as it was.
When Buccellati and Abbachio finally joined them, Narancia, Mista, Fugo, and Giorno all had taralli rings on their fingers, Mista and Narancia laughing loud enough to get them kicked out. Narancia had spent nearly ten minutes begging Fugo to join them but Mista had more luck with Giorno by simply offering the ring-shaped pastry to him with a knowing grin. The single taralli fit snug on his pinky and Mista grinned so wide and honest.
Cute, Giorno’s brain happily supplied, but he quickly pushed the thought away as Abbachio’s glare landed on him, looking at Giorno like he knew exactly what he was thinking. The glare didn’t last long as Abbachio made an affronted noise in seeing Bruno join the fun, wearing the ring cookies on his fingers as he causally ordered himself a coffee.
Giorno’s embarrassment slipped away as the conversation continued, taralli rings on all of them, even the reluctant Abbachio.
3.
Mista had barely entered the room when Giorno noticed it, his eyes instantly flashing to Mista and scanning him up and down. Checking him out again, huh, Giogio, Narancia would tease if he was in the room right now. But thankfully, they were alone. It was easier to deal with his feelings without other people chiming in at every little thing Giorno did. Then again, they were probably right. Giorno was checking out Mista after all, but that was before he noticed it.
“What happened to your finger?”
Mista froze, eyebrows pinching in confusion under the flap of his hat. He looked down at his hand as understanding came to his face, a cute little blush coming against his cheeks. “Ah, nicked myself on a kitchen knife last night.”
Giorno held out his hand expectantly, Gold Experience simmering around him.
“Nah, boss,” Mista waved off, using the nickname he had been casually attaching to Giorno ever since they’d partnered up. “No need, just a little scratch. Nothing to worry about.”
“It’s your trigger finger,” he insisted, not dropping his waiting hand.
“Giorno, its nothing okay? Just a stupid little cut.”
"If it is nothing, then it'll be nothing to heal up."
Mista sighed, giving his hand to Giorno with a quiet grumbling. Giorno was pretty sure he heard the words “stubborn little brat” slipped out but he didn’t respond. He wasn’t the only stubborn brat in the room.
The nick must have bled quite a bit as Mista had tied a bit of tape around a thick cotton ball. Giorno fingered the homemade bandage in mild amusement. For someone who got hurt as much as Mista did, one would think he’d be better prepared. It was a good thing Mista had Giorno…even if the other wasn’t aware of how much Giorno was Mista’s.
“Out of Band-Aids,” Mista grumbled, sounding almost embarrassed.
Giorno nodded, his fingers lightly tracing over the bandage as his Stand transmutated the cotton ball into fresh skin to heal up the wound. Mista’s hand twitched at the slight pang of pain that always followed Gold Experience’s touch. As a consolation, Giorno transmutated the tape on Mista’s finger into a small white jasmine flower, the stem still wrapped around Mista’s finger, between the first and second knuckle. Giorno let his fingers drift along Mista’s hand a second longer than probably appropriate but Mista didn’t seem to notice, looking at his healed hand and the small parting gift with amusement.
“You handing out flower rings to all your patients?” Mista asked. He held his hand to his face, looking at the flower in awe. He always marveled at Giorno’s Stand’s power.
“Only my favorite patients,” Giorno said, only slightly regretting the wording as it flew out of his mouth.
If Mista noticed the fondness in his tone or the embarrassing truth behind his words, he ignored it in favor of looking at the white flower instead.
“Must mean I’m pretty darn special, huh?” Mista smiled giddy. Mista knew how cold Giorno could be and he knew their friendship was a rarity, something sacred and special. “Why a jasmine flower?”
“What? Expecting a rose?” Giorno quipped back, his heart rapidly beating in his chest as he waited for Mista to answer.
Mista frowned for a second. “Roses are contrived don’t you think? You can get anyone a rose. I’ve given hundreds of girls roses before but you mean more to me than they do.” Giorno was rather speechless by that assessment and Mista continued. “No one gives you jasmine when they are perfectly good flowers. I think that’s pretty special, don’t you?”
Giorno wasn’t sure how to interpret Mista’s words but they were too vague for Giorno to be willing to assume they meant what he wanted them to mean. Mista was always far too casual with his words and gestures.
“I guess,” he replied to Mista who seemed to have moved on from their conversation.
“Don’t worry, Giogio,” Mista straightened up, taking care not to be too rough with his new flower ring, “I’ll take good care of it.”
With that, Mista continued on his path, going wherever it was that he had been on his way too before Giorno had stopped him.
Giorno groaned the minute he was out of sight, burying his face into his arms. What the hell was all that supposed to mean? His stomach was in a mess of knots, Mista’s stupid words tangling him up further.
Giorno had long ago accepted that, on some level, he was attracted to Mista. Perhaps the dreams of kissing him and the constant staring should have clued him in on that, but in the end, it had been Bruno looking him dead in the eyes asking if Giorno’s affections were going to be an issue.
Of course, they wouldn't be. He had said as much to Buccellati. Mista was one of Giorno’s closest friends and allies. That was not going to change because of feelings. Feelings he wasn’t even sure he wanted to spend much time analyzing when there were more important things on hand.
Giorno and Mista were close, had each other’s backs and that was fine enough. Giorno hoped Mista felt the same way about their camaraderie, though he very much doubted the feelings Giorno had locked away tight in his chest were the same friendly feelings Mista had for him. But one could hope. As long as he didn’t fool himself into believing the affection was returned, he was fine with how they stood.
Still, it didn't stop Giorno from sometimes second-guessing Mista's true feelings. Like when Mista pressed their arms together when they sat in the same booth even though there was plenty of space or like when he spent hours laying with his head in Giorno’s lap as he talked about everything and nothing or like when he smiled at Giorno like he was the best thing in the world. Like when he wore the flower ring on his finger the rest of the day despite Narancia’s teasing and even going as far as to delicately set it aside at dinner as not to ruin it while feeding the Pistols.
Giorno ignored the pointed look Bruno gave him at the dinner table. It meant nothing. It was just what friends did.
4.
It was a large, crowded dining hall filled with laughter and excited conversations blending together. It was packed, not a single empty seat at the grand table, though it felt empty with four members missing.
Giorno was the new head of Passione. There had been little question of it. The dinner had just been a formality, one that felt dulled without Narancia’s laughter, Fugo’s reprimands, Abbachio’s glares, and Buccellati’s proud smile. All that was left was Mista: solid, reliable and loyal. Always there.
Mista hadn’t left Giorno’s side the entire evening. He was never more than a few feet away, always having Giorno within his line of sight. It was a comfort to have Mista so close, especially when they had overcome so much. It felt right to have Mista close to him, by his side, together.
Giorno wasn’t sure what he’d do without the gunman by his side. If he had lost Mista as well, he would have been truly lost. Sometimes, Giorno had awful nightmares of losing Mista: his body littered with bullet holes, bleeding out onto the cobblestone streets. Giorno was always just one second too late.
Those nights, Giorno would climb out of bed and search for Mista. Sometimes he was sleeping outside Giorno's office on the couch; sometimes he had found his way into a bedroom. Many nights, Giorno found Mista already in his room, sleeping on a couch far too stiff to be comfortable but too stubborn to actually do anything about it except bring more blankets and pillows each night. Sometimes he’d follow Giorno to his room, resigned to keeping the blonde in sight. Sometimes Mista would start somewhere else, in another part of the house, and just like Giorno wake up in the middle of the night to come and find him.
They never spoke about it. There was no need to when the message was clear: they had each other's backs no matter what. They had gone through too much not to worry about the other. They had shared more than anyone else could imagine. They could only find comfort in each other when memories of the past came roaring back.
Giorno tried not the think about that now, ignoring the four missing souls that should be there and focusing on the comfort of Mista’s knee pressed reassuringly against his underneath the table. It was like Mista could read his thoughts and wanted to remind him that he was still there and not going away. It was more of a comfort that Giorno was ever going to let on. Whether Mista knew it or not, he spoiled Giorno with these comforts and Giorno had no problem in taking advantage of them.
Dinner went slowly but when it finished, the table was cleared and a crowd surrounded him. Giorno led them back to his office, sitting on his chair and watching the large group of mostly unfamiliar faces line up. Ready to pay respects.
Mista was first. Giorno would have thought he would but it still made his heart race. Mista kneeled before Giorno, taking his offered hand into his. His touch was warm and gentle against Giorno’s cold hands. Mista’s fingers softly brushed the underneath of his wrist. It was enough to make Giorno momentarily forget a group of Passione’s finest and best was watching. It was easy to forget them when Mista looked up at Giorno with such reverence.
Mista wordlessly brought his lips to the ring on Giorno’s finger, brushing them against the cold metal before moving up, just the slightest, to press a soft barely there kiss to Giorno’s skin, his eyes never leaving Giorno’s. With a final squeeze of his hand, Mista let go and stood up so the next person could step forward and offer their undying loyalty to Giorno. It was all muted in comparison to Mista’s, the warmth of his touch lingering long after.
Mista stayed beside Giorno throughout the whole evening as the members of Passione filtered out. He stayed rooted in his spot up until the very last one left, leaving the two of them alone. Giorno sagged against his chair immediately, exhaustion pressing against his temples.
“You should get some rest, Boss,” Mista murmured, his hand coming to rest on Giorno’s shoulder before hesitating and letting it hover for a moment.
“Nothing’s changed,” Giorno said, bringing his hand up to grab Mista’s and bring it to his shoulder. “Between us, nothing has changed.”
Mista seemed unsure but he nodded his head regardless. “I understand…you’re just the boss now and, well, you know.”
“I know.” Giorno let his fingers trail against the back of Mista’s hand.
“Giogio…”
Giorno looked up to Mista to see the gunman leaning closer, an unsure look in his eyes. Giorno thought his heart was going to leap into his throat.
“I never said my vows to you,” Mista said quietly.
“You don’t have to. I know already,” Giorno insisted, turning his seat to face Mista directly. He wasn’t sure he could handle Mista kneeling down before him again and whispering vows of devotion. Giorno’s heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
Still, Mista squeezed his shoulder once more before letting his hand fall back to his side, his expression clouded. “I don’t think you do.”
“Then enlighten me,” Giorno whispered, unable to get his voice strong and calm again. Not with Mista. The gunman somehow figured out a way to breakdown Giorno’s walls without even trying.
A small quirk at the corner of Mista’s lips was all the preamble Giorno got before Mista dropped onto his knees, once again kneeling before Giorno.
He grabbed Giorno’s hand and brought it back to his lips. He bypassed the ring to kiss the back of Giorno’s hands, his lips far more firm and insistent than before. Mista left his lips lightly brushing against his hand as he spoke, whispering his vows against Giorno’s skin.
“I swear to you and your dream. As long as you will have me, I will serve you loyally. Beyond Passione, beyond everything else. I’m yours. You have my gun, Stand, body, soul. I give it all to you. I will die for you, Giorno.” He paused, only for a moment to press another kiss against Giorno’s hand. “I will never let anything happen to you. Your word is my command and I will stay by your side until death.”
He couldn’t breathe. Not with Mista’s eyes on him like that. Not with those words lingering in the air between them. There was no way of missing the intention of those words, not when Mista pressed yet another intimate kiss onto his hand. Not when Mista wore his heart so openly. Perhaps it had always been this way and Giorno had been unwilling to think Mista could love him like that.
Mista opened his mouth to speak more but Giorno stopped him, bring his other hand to cup Mista’s cheek. The gunman snapped his mouth shut, leaning into the touch immediately.
“You don’t have to continue. I told you, I understand.”
“Giorno, it goes deeper than-”
Mista was cut off by the soft press of Giorno’s lips against his. Like always, Mista was quick to follow Giorno’s lead, immediately catching on. He brought his free hand to grab the collar of Giorno’s suit and pull him closer. Their hands, still holding each other, fingers interlocked.
Giorno only pulled away enough to speak, their eyes focus solely on each other.
“I told you, I understand.”
Mista looked dazed; drunk and in disbelief. He squeezed Giorno’s hand and gently tugged on his suit to bring him closer again. He looked almost desperate. Almost like he didn’t believe this was real.
“I don’t really understand why you would want someone like me, but I’ll follow you wherever you go, however you want to take this.”
Giorno smiled softly, kissing Mista once more. “Don’t worry; I’ll be happy to enlighten you.”
5.
Giorno loved the sight before him. It was rare to see Mista dressed so formally. In a way, Giorno was glad for the rarity. No one but he should be able to see Mista like this. Even if the illusion was broken only slightly by that stupid hat, somehow it added to the charm.
They had gone for a nice dinner: private, secluded, candlelit, live music, under the stars. The whole nine yards. It was a special day. 10 years. They had met on this day ten years ago. Giorno had been an entitled 15-year old and Mista had been a lazy 18-year-old gunslinger. Now they were two of the most powerful men in Italy.
“I’m exhausted,” Mista groaned upon entering their room, yanking on his tie to rip it off.
Giorno only huffed a laugh as Mista struggled with the article, before giving up and falling back onto their bed.
Giorno sat beside him, rubbing his partner’s belly. Immediately, Mista’s hand came up to hold Giorno’s, interlocking their fingers.
They sat there in comfortable silence. It was easy between them. Giorno had once thought that he couldn't see Mista in a long-term relationship but he had to admit now he was wrong, but only partially. The family always came first, but they were family well before they got to this point. They were all each other had for so long, it only made sense that they kept that. The affection had always bubbled beneath the surface of every interaction, it just took them a while to confirm it and get their act together.
“Come here.” Mista tugged until Giorno turned to lean over Mista. “I want to kiss you.”
Giorno smirked and leaned down. How could he ignore a request like that?
Mista grabbed for Giorno, pulling him into his lap as Giorno buried his hands under Mista’s hat to pull at his hair. Mista groaned as his hair was tugged, giving into Giorno, melting under his touch. Mista’s hands held Giorno’s waist, keeping them as close as possible as they kissed.
When they pulled away, Mista peppered kisses to Giorno’s jaw, neck and throat. One hand left Giorno’s waist to cup his cheek. Rough calluses fingers brushed the soft skin lovingly.
“I got you a gift,” Mista said in between kisses.
“If you are talking about your dick, that’s hardly a gift if I can have that whenever I want.”
Even as Giorno said the words, his cheeks flushed and Mista gave him a wide grin. How is he so beautiful? Giorno couldn’t help but think, kissing Mista soundly on the lips once more. God, I love him.
Removing his other hand from Giorno’s waist, Mista dug into his pocket. After a moment of fumbling around, Mista pulled out a silver band. He held it up between them, watching as Giorno’s eyes widened.
“Wanted to get you somethin’ fancy but Trish said I couldn’t make it obvious because, well, you know. Been carrying it around for two weeks trying to give it to you at the right time. So,” Mista cleared his throat before saying, “will you accept it? Marry me?”
Giorno was at a loss for words. In all his careful observations of Mista, he missed this. When had Mista found the time to slip away and buy a ring? How had Mista kept a straight face this whole time? How had Mista kept a secret from him for so long when Mista could barely keep a thought in his head without blathering it to Giorno?
“Why did you wait so long?” Giorno ended up asking, his voice too soft and too vulnerable. He felt his cheeks grow darker.
Mista’s own embarrassment came to the surface, his eyes avoiding Giorno’s.
“Wanted it to be the right time.”
"Ten-year anniversary dinner wasn't right?" Giorno couldn't help but tease, pressing a kiss to Mista's forehead.
“I got caught up in the moment and forgot.”
It was his honesty that Giorno loved above all.
Giorno leaned in for another kiss but Mista moved his face aside, a deep flush traveling across his cheeks and throat.
“Hmm?”
“You never answered me,” Mista muttered, his face growing impossibly reader. “Please, Giogio, you’re killing me here.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Giorno whispered in his ear. “You already know the answer.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
How had Giorno gotten so lucky?
“Okay.” Giorno grabbed Mista’s chin and forced him to look into his eyes. “I’ll marry you.”
Of course, marriage wasn’t really an option but the two gangsters didn’t care as they spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms, kissing and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s skin.
+
“I’m surprised you didn’t lose it in the two weeks,” Giorno teased, curled up against Mista’s chest as he played with the silver band around his finger. It was fitted for his middle finger rather than ring finger but Giorno couldn’t give less of a damn on which finger the ring laid.
“Nah, I had the Pistols keep an eye on it. Couldn’t risk losing something so important.” Mista paused for a moment before adding, “Melted down my mom’s ring for that. I think she would approve.”
Giorno's heart leaped at the thought. He didn't need anyone's approval except Mista. However, Giorno was giddy with the idea of someone so close to Mista's heart accepting them. He nuzzled Mista's chest, pressing light kisses just beneath his collarbone.
“Now I got to get you one, right?” Giorno asked, looking up as Mista whose fingers were tangled in his gold locks.
“You don’t gotta, Boss. You know I’m yours.”
Giorno hummed contently before grabbing a single hair from his head and pulling it. He held the loose gold strand in between his fingertips and watched as the hair curled up, shifting into a loop, tiny little roses blooming all around as thornless vines linked it into a seamless ring.
He grabbed Mista’s hand a put it on his middle finger, pressing a kiss against the palm.
"A placeholder."
Mista grinned, holding the new ringed hand over his heart.
“It’s perfect.”
Giorno smirked. “I thought roses were contrived.”
“Shut up,” Mista silenced him with a kiss, “It’s perfect.”