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Giorno notes that no one is really giving him a straight answer today whenever he inquires as to where Mista is. He hadn't caught a single glimpse of that silly hat at all today, and the halls of their shared house seem much quieter without Mista's echoing laughter or rude quips. Come to think of it, Mista's been a little scarce all month, and Giorno doesn't like that. He quite enjoys seeing that face on a daily basis, after all.
“Have you looked at the calendar at all today, Giovanna?” Abbachio notes dryly, not even looking up from his book. “You probably aren't even going to see him.”
“Is today a significant date, then?” Giorno asks politely. The older man just snorts and jerks his head in the direction of the baby animals calendar (Buccellati's choice, and no one was going to object) hanging on the wall, next to the old fashioned cuckoo clock (Fugo's). April 4th...?
Ah.
“Right,” Giorno says, before turning smartly on his heel and out of the kitchen.
“And you're supposed to be the smart one, you damn brat,” he can hear Abbachio muttering after him.
---
“Mista? Are you in there? I wanted to – oh.”
'Oh' indeed. Giorno's eyebrows raise upon seeing the absolute state of Mista's room. It looks as though a volcano made of blankets, clothing and towels (basically anything soft and safe) has cropped up in the middle of the bed, about to explode at any second to reveal its Mista-shaped core. In all honesty, it's very impressive – he had no idea that Mista even owned this much stuff, though he eyes something that looks suspiciously like one of his missing towels.
“Er... are you comfortable in there?” He has to ask. There's a little bit of shuffling as Passione's finest gunman reacts to the sound.
“G-Giorno? Is that you?” His voice is as faint as one might expect, hearing it through 10+ layers. Narancia, on the other hand, treats this as nothing new. (On account of having nothing better to do, he'd tagged along if not for the prospect of giving Mista a poke or seven while in a vulnerable state.)
“Ah, this is the first time you're seeing this, huh?” Narancia asks his companion, and Giorno nods in response. Narancia rolls his eyes. “He does this every year, this is just Mista being a GIANT WEENIE for like the whole month because of that big bad number!”
However, he's not deterred from his fun by any means. With a wild cackle of reckless abandon he bodily hurls himself onto the pile with an elbow drop to Mista's ... something, though its impact gets engulfed by the sheer amount of cloth in the way (he thinks he got Mista in the ribs but no one knows). He still gets a few squawks for his trouble, much to his delight.
“Eat shit, Narancia!” Mista's muffled voice pipes up, wriggling in his self-made prison from that most vicious of blows. “Laugh at me all you want! The number 4 is nothing but death and misery and 4:44 on April 4th is the goddamn unluckiest time of the whole year! It's gonna be a bad one, I can feel it!”
“You do NOT get to call me overdramatic ever a-fucking-gain, you baby!”
“Get bent!!”
Giorno struggles to keep a straight face as the Mista-sized heap under the blankets (and Narancia) shudders, and a lone hand pokes out from somewhere to give his friend a single finger salute.
“Mista, nothing bad will happen to you today, I swear it,” he says soothingly, coming forward to pat him where he assumes the gunman's shoulder is. (He gets Mista's cheek instead, but he doesn't know that. He swears he can feel the blankets cease their trembling at least for a moment.)
“W-what makes you so sure?” Mista's question is punctuated with a sharp, borderline hysterical laugh.
“I will do everything in my power to protect you,” Giorno declares. “On my life itself, you will be safe today!”
He says it so goddamn sincerely that Narancia and Mista are both stunned into silence, the latter even daring to unearth his eyes from the depths of his blanket cocoon to stare at him. There it is, that future Boss voice coming out again, the one that compels any and all people into happily complying.
“R... really?” Mista asks, the only visible part of his expression turning cautiously hopeful. Cute, Giorno thinks before nodding and gracing him with a rare, full smile.
“It's the least I can do, isn't it? You've guarded my body more times than I can count, surely it is time enough to allow me to return the favour?” he says, green eyes shining. He kicks himself internally for his choice of words, but luckily enough his two companions had not picked up on those particular... nuances.
“Ugh, I'm outta here then,” Narancia snorts. He shimmies his way off the blanket mountain and bounces off the bed for good measure, hopping back to his feet. “I was kinda looking forward to watching Mista lose his shit once 4:44 came around, but it looks like it's gonna be a snoozefest now that he's got a watchdog... Have fun!”
He scrunches up his face into a comically exaggerated wink at Giorno before traipsing his way out of the room to find entertainment elsewhere. Maybe Fugo would be up to join him for a game of five finger fillet. Giorno shakes his head a bit once Narancia leaves, a little huff escaping him. 4:44 was still an hour or two away, after all. Mista would be safe a while longer.
...But now it's just the two of them.
Mista's big, dark eyes are still peering over the blankets at Giorno, looking especially shiny and hopeful. He opens his mouth to say something when-
“Giornooooooo! We're so hungry! Mista hasn't fed us yet todayyyy!”
“Giorno! Let's play!!”
“I'M SO BORED AND IT'S TOO HOT UNDER THOSE BLANKETS!”
-of course. The Sex Pistols immediately manifest and swarm the one person in the world that they like as much as Mista (though they'd never admit it), pestering and chattering away, flitting about here and there. No doubt they were feeling Mista's distress about this dreaded date as well, though Giorno notes with a little frown that poor little No. 5 looks a bit more beaten up than usual today, and was the only one to remain by Mista, nestled by his ear.
“Hey guys, don't overwhelm him!” Mista huffs, burrowing back into his safe little nest. Giorno comes forward (ignoring the flock for the time being) and sits down on the bed next to him, offering a hand out to the lone Pistol.
“No. 5, what's wrong?” he asks gently. No. 5's lip trembles but he says nothing, opting instead to just burrow further under Mista's hat, letting out a squeaky little sob.
“Ah, yeah, little guy's had it rough today,” Mista murmurs, reaching up to give his stand a comforting little stroke. “Had to get No. 3 to leave him alone more than usual, but even so he's been real down...”
Giorno can feel his heart breaking a little; No. 5 definitely has it the worst amongst the Pistols, but it hurts to see him so melancholy today just on account of the date. (That, and he'd never heard Mista speak in such a forlorn voice before, and that tone does terrible things to his heart.)
“Hey,” he murmurs, “I promised to keep Mista safe today, and that goes doubly for you as well, No. 5!”
“R-really?” the stand squeaks, poking his head out from the hat and staring up with big leaky eyes.
“Mmhmm!” Giorno pulls his collar out a little bit and points to his neck, inviting the little guy to come in. (This isn't the first time No. 5 has done this, but it is the first that Mista knows about it.) No. 5 lets out a happy little noise before zooming out and immediately nestling in his favourite spot on his favourite person. Mista's jaw drops, but he recovers quickly.
“Heyyyy, no fair!!” No. 2 shrills, tugging at Giorno's ear.
“I wanna ride on Giorno too!!” No. 6 wails.
“Stop being brats and maybe he'll let you someday!” Mista snaps. “Sorry Giorno, you don't gotta indulge them when they're hangry, we just need to go and - ”
“FOOOOOOOD!!” the rest of the Pistols complain loudly.
“Well, if they haven't eaten yet today, we should definitely go and get them something,” Giorno says, making sure No. 5 is tucked away safely in his collar. “Can I assume that you also haven't-”
His question dies on his lips as Mista's traitorous stomach answers for him with a loud grumbling complaint. The gunman looks sheepish.
“I, uh... it kinda slipped my mind,” he mutters, cheeks flushing a little. “They already ate my emergency stash of ladyfingers this morning and I didn't have anything else, so...”
Of course Mista would make sure his Pistols were fed before he was. Of course. Stupidly endearing and a good father to his bullet children, that's Guido Mista for you.
“If it's okay with you, I won't be gone lo-NGGH-!”
Mista hurls himself out of his blanket cocoon with the force of a cannon to cling to Giorno's legs desperately, nearly bowling him over. That grip sure isn't loosening any time soon.
“Giorno!! Don't leave me, please!” he all but begs, staring up at him with misty eyes, unable to bear the thought of being alone at this dangerous time of day. “Stay with me!”
You have no idea how much I long to, Giorno thinks, growing even more impossibly smitten with this ridiculous man. That being said, he's caught at an awkward position, a weird sort of half-hunch and his legs were starting to go numb already – Mista has one hell of a grip.
“Stay with us, stay with us!!” the Pistols all wail in unison, shooting up and hiding in Giorno's forehead curls, behind his ears, and in the plaits of his braid (No. 5 clings even tighter to Giorno's neck from his safe place in his collar). “...Pleeeease?” they add as an afterthought. Who could turn them down?
“All right then, why don't we all head out together?” Giorno beams, and the Pistols cheer at this compromise. He looks down at Mista with a bemused little huff. “I will, however, need for you to let my legs go, Mista. I'm going to need those.”
“Oops, right!” Mista's grip relents. He shakes off the remaining clothes still clinging to him like a dog, casting a few shirts and a sock off. He awkwardly gets up from his knees before adjusting his hat, his cheeks a rosy pink. It's probably just from recently being in a very heavy, very warm pile of blankets, but Giorno can't help but think that he looks strangely bashful too.
“...Almost lost my cool there,” Mista jokes in an effort to save face (too late). Giorno laughs gently.
“You'll always be cool to me,” he says with a little nudge, trying his best to keep his words from dripping with the affection Mista deserves.
“Nah, you got me beat there,” he fires back immediately, nudging back. “No one's as cool as you, Giogio!”
If Giorno were to drop dead from heart failure right now, that little lopsided grin that Mista just flashed at him would absolutely be the guilty party. No survivors to be found anywhere. But, alas, he is still standing and still fighting the desperate urge to launch himself at this man, dip him to the ground and kiss him breathless.
Maybe being dead would be easier.
“Get on my level, then,” he manages to say (more like squeak, if he's being honest), giving him one more elbow for good measure.
“Ooh, harsh!” Luckily his companion doesn't seem to notice, and just laughs in response to this good-natured, possibly just platonic ribbing. Disaster has been averted for now. It's good to see that Mista's easy laughter and smile is mostly back, his fear of this day temporarily abated. He seems to be a lot less jumpy than he was earlier too, though sudden movements still make him bolt like a deer.
Giorno would like to think that it's because of him, but he knows better than to have his hopes up too high. Still, there are few things he likes more than hearing Mista laugh. Like the twinkle in his eyes when he's about to tell a ridiculous story, or the way he casually drapes himself over Giorno when they're all sitting down at the kitchen table. Or the shade of red his face turns when he's arguing with Narancia and Fugo, or even the sleepy way he smiles when greeting everyone in the mornings (he's more of a night owl).
...Okay, so there are a lot of things he likes about Mista, but his laugh is definitely up in there.
They sneak their way out of the room, striding down the hallway with purpose to find the kitchen; Mista knows the way well like the back of his hand, having lived here longer than Giorno (and by virtue of having more mouths to feed, as it were), but the Pistols keep getting distracted and trying to pull Giorno this way and that and they wind up getting sidetracked a few times. Still, the kitchen gets reached and various foodstuffs get swiped to take back to the room – Fugo's damn cuckoo clock is in the kitchen, after all, and there's no way he's going to sit somewhere where he can HEAR every single tick leading him closer to his doom, no sirree! So back to Mista's abode they go, where it's safe.
“It's like we're having some kind of post-apocalyptic slumber party,” Giorno teases, after Mista shoves enough of the blanket mountain around to make a nice little nook for them all to settle down in. “Emerging at great risk to steal the sustenance we need, before retreating back to our safe place to hunker down in the gloom... Mista, you live like this?”
“Hey, you laugh now but in like 20 years when it's a nuclear wasteland I'll be the leader of an underground bunch of scavengers,” Mista grins. “At least we didn't run into Abbacchio, he'd murder us if he knew we swiped some of his biscotti...”
He unceremoniously dumps his armful of goodies onto the bed amid a round of cheering from his long-suffering Pistols. “C'mon, guys! Let's chow down!”
There's just the sound of many mouths chewing for a while, Mista included, and Giorno makes sure that No. 5 gets his fair share too.
“You're spoiling him rotten,” Mista grumbles through a mouthful of his pudding cup, but ultimately he's far too lazy to actually stop Giorno from holding up the half biscotti that No. 5 is munching on, even though they both know that he's capable enough to hold it himself. Once everyone is sated, the Pistols disappear back into Mista's gun for a well-deserved nap, and Mista himself flops back on the bed.
Giorno, now full of pudding and feelings, wants to flop onto him and just nap, but instead settles to lie as close to him as he dares. From this distance it's very easy to feel the warmth radiating off the other man, and he can almost count those individual dark lashes. He would barely have to reach out to take hold of Mista's hand, but... Maybe this is a little closer than just friends would lie, but Mista hasn't scooted away in disgust or otherwise, and so Giorno is content with this for the time being.
They fall into easy chatter about nothing, though Mista's eyes flit over to his radio clock occasionally. As it begins nearing quarter to 5, however, his gaze stays on the bright digital display longer and longer each time and he starts stumbling over his words. Uh oh.
The clock turns 4:40 and with a little shriek of terror Mista bolts upright, shaking like a leaf. “Oh god, it's coming! 4:44!!”
“Mista!” Giorno's voice is sharp and clear, and it draws the gunman's attention again, however briefly. “Mista, you are going to be all right!”
“Aah, I can't stand it! Giorno!!” And for the second time today, Mista throws himself at the other man and this time he clings like an octopus, burying his face into his neck. Giorno should really be expecting this sort of thing by now, but he doesn't and so his breath gets knocked right out of him. His arms wrap around Mista almost by reflex, keeping him in a firm embrace. He can feel his companion's heart pounding away against him, nearly matching his own suddenly going haywire.
“Mista... I'm right here,” he murmurs, earning a little whimper in response. He pats him gently, but there's really not a whole lot else he can do without things veering into intimate territory. Mista is trembling under Giorno's hands and he's taken to muttering prayers and other nonsense, eyes clenched shut to keep that demon number out of his sight.
“Shhh...”
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, he supposes. Giorno begins rubbing gentle lines up and down Mista's back, following the grain of the sweater fabric one way and then the other with his fingertips. The trembling slows, so that must mean he's doing something right. He hums a thoughtless little tune, to reassure Mista that yes, he's still here and no, he's not leaving. The tension gradually drains out a little at a time, until the other man heaves a sigh so deep it's almost as if he's deflated.
4:45.
“It's passed now,” Giorno whispers. “You're okay.”
After a few moments Mista laughs weakly, boneless and limp, lying in Giorno's arms as if he belongs there. “I always said you were a lucky guy, and 'm sure this proves it. You're like a human lucky charm. I think... I think things are gonna be okay today.” He clings a little tighter, and his voice drops low, grateful and warm. “Thanks... for everything today, Giorno.”
“I'm glad,” Giorno says softly. It is almost too much for him to hear Mista's heartfelt words, for his ears only. It's his turn now to express his feelings, since Mista went first; taking the biggest chance of his life, he leans forward and his lips brush feather-light against the top of Mista's head.
The other man tenses up again and is suddenly so still that Giorno starts feeling the seeds of doubt and worry sprouting deep in his chest. Did he fuck things up by making his move? Did Mista even notice? He must have. Shit. Shit, maybe he should have kept his lips to himself –
“-oi. Oi, Giorno.”
Mista's tone is impossible to decipher, and Giorno can feel those seeds of doubt sprouting into full blown hedges twisted into a maze. The silence stretches a bit before he answers with a meek little “yes?”.
“That kiss kinda sucked.”
Yeowch. Talk about shooting to kill. Giorno's pride is suddenly so bruised that he actually pulls away a bit to stare, cheeks darkening. “Wh-”
“How'm I supposed to feel anything if you're just kissing my hat?” Mista still isn't meeting his eyes, but he can just hear the shit-eating grin he knows that Mista is sporting now. “You're gonna have to do better than that, I think.”
“Maybe your hat is a better kisser than you, ever thought about that?” Giorno snipes back. Oh good, he's found his tongue again. The gunman looks wounded at the very notion.
“What! You wanna start something?! You better put your money where your mouth is!” he blurts out, his blush illuminating the room. His head lifts so that he can pout directly at Giorno. “- A-and – kiss me again... but for real this time! Um, if you wanna, of course-”
The words barely leave him before it's Giorno's turn to finally launch himself at the other man, very happily taking him up on his challenge. Mista is just so, so warm, and he's been wanting to do this for so long and though they are off to a clumsy start bumping noses and clacking teeth, their lips finally find each other and Mista tastes like pudding. As far as first kisses go it's nothing fantastic, really, it can even hardly be called a kiss and more like smiling hard against each other's lips. But damn if fireworks and flowers don't burst into Giorno's vision and sprout from his fingertips, and the urgent way Mista's pressing himself against him must mean that he sees and feels them too.
So much for April 4th being unlucky. This is the best day of their lives.
Now that he's been given permission, Giorno absolutely peppers that smiling face with little kisses anywhere he can reach; cheeks, chin, the corner of his mouth, his temples, under his eye... his heart is fit to burst at the way Mista scrunches up his face when Giorno kisses him on the nose. So naturally he does it a few more times, amidst half-hearted protests and chuckling.
Never let it be known that Mista doesn't give as good as he gets, though. His calloused hands come up to cup Giorno's cheeks in an achingly tender gesture... before he squishes them together, chortling against the blonde's now unflattering squashy fish lips. He plants a smooch on that beloved fishy face, but not without a lot of giggles from the both of them.
“Why did we take so long to do this?” Mista sighs, breathless and flushed, when they finally break apart for a breather. His head drops onto Giorno's shoulder, and in contrast to their brazen making out only moments ago, his hand hesitates before slipping shyly into Giorno's.
Giorno plants another little kiss to Mista's head, enough so that it can be felt this time, and intertwines their fingers just as shyly. “Guess we needed a catalyst of some sort. Like you, freaking out over a specific time of day.”
That earns him an elbow to the ribs, but there's no real force to it. “Shut up! That number is still a bane upon my entire existence!”
Despite his vitriol for the number 4, Mista is definitely a lot more relaxed now than he's been in a while, though that may be chalked up to the fact that it's now past 5 o'clock and the danger hour has passed without (bad) incident.
“Still...” he sighs, and settles comfortably against Giorno. “...kinda wish it wasn't today. I don't know if I wanna commit the memory of our first kiss to April 4th...”
The blonde suddenly erupts into peals of laughter, earning him an affronted noise. It takes a while for him to stop laughing, much to Mista's dismay. Wiping his eyes, he lets out a happy little sigh and presses their foreheads together.
“Oh Mista, you're adorable. You really think I'm going to stop at just today to kiss you like this?” he says with a wink. “I've been wanting to do this for the longest while, and I fully intend to make up for lost time.”
Mista's eyes widen and his heart skips several beats. 'For the longest while'? That really explains a lot, doesn't it...
“...Oh. O-okay, yeah! Yeah, I have no complaints about that!” he says. “There's still 26 more days left in this godforsaken month, so I'm gonna hold you to this, y'know. You better make good on that claim!”
“You have my word.” Among other things, Giorno chuckles, before capturing his lips once more. They'd figure out the details of what they were exactly later, but for now they'll take on the rest of the month together.