Archive of Our Own ^beta

When people tried to flatter Giorno, they would mention his steely confidence or his steady, unshakable resolve. Giorno couldn’t deny that this persona had become a part of him. It was an uncomfortable, if well worn jacket. Because Giorno didn’t show much emotion. He had never been afforded the opportunity. Simply put, his mother hadn't cared if he cried and his stepfather beat him when he did. Giorno knew it was silly to carry on the same now as then, but this stoic nature had garnered him something priceless. Respect. After all, what if Giorno lost his temper or snorted when he laughed? Would his underlings still respect him? He’d taken Passione by force and he had to keep up a certain harsh veneer to hold on to his seat. He didn’t dare throw a fit when his men angered him. Or get drunk and laugh with them. Or weep with them at funerals. Giorno was seen as a Bernini statue. Beautiful, divine even and awe-inspiring. But he was cold and still.

Those closer to him knew somewhat better and Giorno knew himself the best. For all his life, he had felt like a raging storm inside. He felt everything so strongly and so violently it made it hard to breathe sometimes. There was little use in expressing this. He’d never had a family or friends before he came to Passione and now those he loved depended on his strength and that golden will. So everyday Giorno swallowed down what threatened to shake him. He liked to think he hadn’t been naive. He’d known that this job would be difficult. And of course he’d known that blood would be shed on his behalf. He hadn't expecting the death of friends though. At least, he hadn't thought it would hurt so much. Giorno didn’t like these feelings. They came dangerously close to revealing to who Giorno really was. An 18 year old boy up to his neck in woes and blood.

Giorno’s sleep was troubled most of the time. This night, a particularly balmy Sunday evening, he tossed and turned with nightmares. Maybe it was because Girono had forced himself to go to Church and then skipped over confession once again. Maybe it was due to the fact he had far too much wine at dinner. Giorno knew the reason didn’t matter. The dreams were there and they were the same as always. As horrifying and unchangeable as when they happened and Giorno’s hands were slick with the blood he might as well spilt.

Giorno screamed as he sat up in bed. Gold Experience came out reflexively and Giorno rubbed at his tired, swollen eyes as his Stand filled the room with an intolerable yellow light.

“No, no, I’m alright.” He said as Gold Experience touched its hand to Giorno’s cheek. “No, I am fine.” He went on as he called his Stand back. Giorno took a deep breath and went to grab the clock to see if it was even worth it to try and fall back asleep or if he should give up, when the door to his bathroom flew open.

“Giorno!” Mista charged in, dressed only in a tank top and boxers and one lone sock. He had his gun out and Sex Pistols buzzed around his head. “What’s going on!? Are you alright?!”

Giorno turned the lights on. Once Mista saw that Giorno was alone he quickly figured out what had happened. “Bad dream?”

“Yes.” Giorno confirmed. “You may go back to bed, Guido.”

“Nah, I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.” Mista lied as he shut the door to their shared bathroom. “But I can't ignore a direct order so give me another.”

Giorno just looked down at his hands. “Come here.”

Before Mista could even cross the room his Sex Pistols were flitting around Giorno’s bed, squawking out concerns and worries and asking too many questions. No.5 started to sob and tried to hug Giorno’s nose. It almost made Giorno smile “Aw, come on guys, don’t hassle him.” Mista said, pulling them back into his gun. “Be good and I’ll slip you extra breakfast tomorrow.” That got a resounding wave of cheers as Mista carelessly set his gun on the bedside table and stared down at Giorno. “Permission to come aboard?”

Giorno nodded and Mista sat on the edge of his bed. This familiarity was not new. Mista was Giorno’s right hand man and his bodyguard. They had spent nearly every day since Rome happened side by side. He had seen it all and kept his mouth shut. “I really should not drink red wine before bed.” Giorno said, running his fingers through his tangled hair.

“Was it that dream again?” Mista asked. Giorno’s breath caught and he slowly nodded. “I’m sorry. I get those dreams too, y’know. We all do. But…” Mista looked away. “I know yours are worse. I know it was harder for you, in some ways.”

“It’s always the same.” Giorno said quickly. There was a crushing weight on his chest. He felt like he would do anything to get it off.  “And I know it is going to happen. But I can’t move. I can't do anything to save them. I can't even scream.” Giorno swallowed past the lump in his throat. “It has only been three years but then again it has been three years . But it’s the same dream.” Giorno said nothing more. “I apologize. Again. I hate to say it twice but I do mean it. I’m sorry to interrupt your rest for something so inconsequential.”

Mista gave him an odd look but he didn’t say anything else on the subject. “It’s fine.. I’ll catch up my sleep while you do paperwork.” Mista sprawled out on Giorno’s massive bed like he owned it. “Speaking of, when are you gonna let me head out on a real mission again? It’s been weeks!”

“I’m waiting for one that is worthy of your skill.” Giorno lied. “You are no simple jobber.”

Mista laughed and then reached out to playfully slap Giorno’s leg. His hand stilled once he touched him and Mista sat up on his knees. “Hey, you’re shaking.”

“Am I?” Giorno hadn't noticed at first, but there was a definite tremor to his hands. Giorno felt sickened with himself. It was times like these where he felt like a child, left to shiver in the dark. But it wasn’t dark and he wasn’t that child anymore. There was no reason for this. “I guess I still haven't calmed down, oh,” Giorno startled as Mista took his hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Coulda fooled me.” Mista cocked his head and Giorno felt suddenly scrutinized. He was used to being stared at by dozens of cold eyes but he didn’t want Mistra to become another pair in the crowd. “You got some wicked eyebags going on right now. Trish can cover em up for tomorrow but you should probably try to fall back asleep.”

“Would you stay?”

“Yeah sure, normal routine?” Mista asked, crawling over to the other side of the bed. “We got an early morning tomorrow so I’ll try to not snore.”

“If your snoring bothered me I would kick you out.” Giorno said, turning his back to the other man as he turned the light off. Giorno shut his eyes once Mista wrapped his arms around Giorno and pulled him tightly against his chest. When Giorno panicked, he could only calm down when Mista held him hard enough to crush out the worries.Mista said he had done the same with his younger siblings when they crawled into his bed, crying from their bad dreams. If it had ever been uncomfortable, Giorno had long forgotten about it.

“Tighter?” Mista asked, his voice right in Giorno’s ear.

“Just a little, thank you.” Giorno breathing evened out and he felt his shaking start to subside. “Thank you, Guido.”

Mista just laughed. “My pleasure, Boss. Just get some rest ok? We need you at your best.”

Giorno sighed a little and reached down. Mista’s hands were interlocked across Giorno’s stomach. Giorno rested his hand on top. He liked to feel Mista’s pulse. He and Giorno has escaped death together at least a dozen times but it never got easier. The fear got worse every time. After all, how many chances could two people get? Was their luck due to run out at any time? His breath must have gotten ragged again because Mista readjusted his grip and all but smothered him. Giorno knew this was pathetic. He tried to frame it as a tactical thing. Mista would be the only witness to his weakness. Giorno would allow himself these small moments and then he would never fall apart in front of his men. And he would never be tempted to reach out in the daylight where everyone could see the harsh, deep lines in his veneer.

Giorno slept lightly, but he slept through the night. Mista was unsurprisingly motherly. Giorno had always seen that part of him. He treated his Stand like his kids and all the young recruits regarded him as an older brother . In a normal world, Giorno thought as he woke up , he’d be married with children by now.  Probably quite a few considering his Catholic upbringing . Giorno looked to his side, unsure of what he was expecting. Mista always left before Giorno woke up. This side is still warm .  Giorno ran his hand down the sheets, smoothing out the wrinkles. He probably lost quite a lot of sleep due to me .

Giorno had little time to dwell. He had a busy day, as always. At the very least, he didn’t have to leave his manor for it. He liked to host meetings at his home turf at his own office and his own dinner table. Diavolo ruled through secrecy and terror but Giorno was transparent and loved as much as he was feared. He could tell how it rattled the old guard and thrilled every new member Giorno welcomed with open arms. He did have other buildings to deal with the more unsavory aspects of the job however. Blood was hard to wash out.

Giorno hummed to himself as he washed up and tucked his braid up around his head and pinned his curls to the side but his fingers fumbled around the familiar twists and knots. He looked at himself in his vanity’s mirror and sighed, before he opened up one of the drawers. He didn't need Trish’s help when it came to covering up his eyebags and brightening up his wan face. Giorno could never be accused of coasting on his good looks, but they came in handy quite often. He considered them just another weapon in his arsenal that he had to keep sharp.

At 9 o’clock exactly, there was a knock on his door. “Come in,” Giorno said, fussing with his still uncooperative hair. Giorno Giovanna had his pride and he had never had such a string of bad hair days in his entire life.

“Good morning Giorno.” Trish walked in, her heels clacking on the hardwoods. “I have your schedule for today. More of the same, but you’ll also be meeting with the head of the Gonzales family.”

“Gonzales?” Giorno drummed his fingers. “You know, I was thinking about what all to do about that situation.”

“You have them very close to conceding their properties.” Giorno smiled as he accepted the folder from Trish. She crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “What did you say to the head last time you spoke with him?”

“Oh a little of this, a little of that.” Giorno flipped through the papers. His last meeting was with Polnareff, as usual. “Nothing too cruel, yet.”

Trish laughed a little and wrapped her arms around Giorno’s shoulders. “Also you’re meeting with the Grand Madame of Sicily so make sure you look extra pretty. She likes them young.” Trish tucked a hair back into Giorno’s braid. “I have a little mission of my own today so you’ll be without me until tonight. Think you can survive it?”

Giorno smiled at Trish. She was officially his secretary and the third in his line of command. She’d become quite a formidable woman since she retired from her brief but successful music career. “Everyone in show business is crass and pathetic,” She had said after showing up at Giorno’s house with three moving trucks. “Let me help you do something worthwhile.” Giorno never wanted to compare Trish to Diavolo, but she had her father’s cunning and will and those were invaluable to Giorno. “It may be difficult.” Giorno got to his feet and swayed just a little. “Can you have breakfast sent to my office?”

“I’ll call down to the cook right away.” Trish whipped out her phone and shot off a quick message. “It smells like Mista in here.”

“It smells like Mista everywhere.” Giorno said flatly. He only called him by his first name when they were alone.

“And of course you’re cursed and share a bathroom with him.” She had a good natured laugh at Mista’s excess shedding. There was affection behind it, for the most part. “But Giorno,” Trish held Giorno by the chin and observed him closely. “Blend your foundation a little more, alright dear?”

Giorno just nodded and threw his jacket on. He escorted her out of his room and then made a solitary sojourn to his office. Mista met him by the door like always and Giorno braced himself for the day. Giorno threw himself into his work. Every bit of his blood and soul went into everything he did concerning Passione and every breath he took was for the betterment of his gang. He was in his element here; it was all he ever wanted. Giorno was like a prima ballerina and the office was his stage. He commanded it and he knew it looked effortless. But dancers bled in their shoes.

“Giorno,” Polnareff waved his hand in front of his face. “Please, pay attention. I worked quite hard to establish this contact and I won't tolerate any of this Italian nap taking.”

Giorno chuckled. He took a moment to look around the turtles room, like he always did whenever he visited. It had been redecorated years ago to better suit Polnareff’s tastes. There was a computer set up as well where Polnareff did much of his work for the gang. People knew that Giorno had a mysterious Frenchman as his number 2 but he had never been seen by anyone outside of the inner circle. Polnareff preferred it that way.

“I thank you, Jean.” Giorno said, smiling pleasantly. “Hopefully we can begin to undo the damage Diavolo had done to your homeland. I only wish we could have started sooner.”

Polnareff waved this aside. “You have had a hard enough time containing the drug trade here. I’ve learned to be patient. Hopefully, it hasn’t spread too far.” Polnareff leaned back against the couch and watched Giorno as he shuffled through the papers on the coffee table between them. Polnareff observed Giorno frequently and Giorno knew why. “You look more like him everyday.” Polnareff mentioned, leaning on his hand. “B-both your fathers, I mean.”

Giorno tried not to seem ruffled. Polnareff had told Giorno everything shortly after he took control of Passione. Everything about his father and his lineage and the far removed family he had overseas. Giorno met some of them about two years ago. It been…uncomfortable to say the least. All his life, Giorno had longed for a true family. It was why he’d hung on to that photo of his father. And suddenly he had some relatives, distant ones, but family all the same. Giorno expected to feel warm when he met the two men he considered cousins but there’d been a distance between them. An almost insurmountable one and they left Giorno feeling empty and confused. While he still communicated with the younger of the two online and on the phone, their worlds were too far apart for Giorno to ever truly feel close to him. As for what he learned about his father…Giorno thanked the man for passing down his strength, his intelligence and his charisma. He didn’t know what to think about everything else. Giorno had gotten a little bit taller, somewhat broader and he hadn't stopped growing his hair but he would never, ever look like the men of his family.

“Sorry, sorry.” Polnareff said quickly as Giorno continued to quietly collate paper. “It’s not a bad thing. I met your dad. Very…handsome.”

Giorno stacked the paper neatly and slid it into his briefcase. “What do you think I should do about the Gonzales family?”

“Right back to business eh?” Polnareff said, crossing his arms. “Look, that family is so far beneath your attention right now. I heard you tell off their leader. He’s absolutely rattled by now. Get one of your Capo’s to handle the rest. Send Murolo. They will forfeit their casino and brothel to you in no time and you’ll have them under your thumb.” Polnareff pointed at Giorno’s briefcase. “You have enough dirt on the family to blackmail them for five generations.”

“Thanks to Trish’s sleuthing.” Giorno said softly. “Yes, I suppose Murolo could deal with the fallout. Then I’ll have Marzipan and Mascarpone handle the acquisition.” Giorno went to stand up. “I should issue their orders right away.”

“Giorno, it’s ten at night. Come, sit with me. Rest.” Polnareff patted the spot beside him. “Surely you could enjoy a night cap with me.”

Giorno hesitated but Polnareff had that “won’t no for an answer” look in his eye. “I’m still perplexed by how you can actually drink, but alright.” Giorno brushed nonexistent dust off his suit and sat down. “Just some wine I suppose. White.”

“A nice chardonnay then.” Polnareff said, reaching into the refrigerator. Giorno fetched the bottles and turned the cork into butterfly, rather than dealing with locating the bottle opener. Polnareff smiled a little as he watched it flutter around the room. “So has anything been on your mind, Giorno?”

“Nothing but the usual.” Giorno swirled his glass around. “This past month has been somewhat hectic, as you know. I’ve had to issue some unsavory orders.” Giorno looked down at the golden color of his drink. “I sometimes wonder if I made the wrong call. Whenever I have to put a hit out I weigh all my options for hours and hours and sometimes still I am left wondering if there was some other path I could have taken.”

“I know those weigh on you.” Polnareff said. “God knows I do. But you’ve handled it with poise.” Polnareff sighed and took a long drink from his glass. “I can enjoy the taste, but I can't get drunk anymore. After a month like this, I wish I could.”

Giorno took a slow sip of his wine. He drank with dinner and with company. His stepfather had been a drunk. Giorno refused to associate with that kind of behavior. “Here's to more peaceful days, Jean. As peaceful as men like us can experience, that is.”

Polnareff clinked his class to Giorno’s and they drank to that frail prayer. “You’re braid has fallen down.” Polnareff commented. “Here, let me fix it.”

Polnareff had a sister once. It explained why he doted on Trisha and Sheila like he did but his weakness seemed to extend to all of Giorno’s inner circle. And especially Giorno himself. Polnareff fussed over him nigh endlessly and seemed to take great joy in braiding Giorno’s hair. Giorno indulged him. Despite his technically incorporeal form Polnareff had kind hands and Giorno was more than happy to sit for him.

“Fugo came back last night, right?” Polnareff asked. “I’ve been kinda worried, but he normally forgets to check back in after long missions, doesn’t he?”

“He’s been asleep all day.” Giorno confirmed, shutting his eyes as Polnareff fixed his hair. “I hate to send him so far away to do recon but he was the only man for the job.” Giorno hated having any of his friends do anything more dangerous than attend a meeting, but this was the life they chose and like Mista, they got bored if they weren’t allowed a little more action.

“Does Italy know a group of teenagers control the country?” Polnareff wondered aloud in a hazy voice.

“Oh please, I don’t have control of all of Italy.” Giorno stiffened as he felt Polnareff pin his braid in place then kissed the top of his head. Polnareff's life had been stolen by Diavolo as well. He’d never have anything that he had longed for. No wife, no children, no future beyond this. “Not yet.”

“Oy, Giorno, you in there?” Mistas voice suddenly boomed. “Come on out, we got an emergency meeting to go to!”

“Emergency?” Giorno set his glass down and exited out of the turtle. He was used to landing on his feet by now, but Mista took his arm anyway. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry, it's nothing big but it needs your attention.” Mista picked the turtle up. “You too.”

“Where’s this meeting taking place?” Giorno asked warily. He eyed Mista and looked for any signs of a Stand influence. Mista looked the same as always but his eyes had a steely glint to them and Giorno’s breath hitched.

“Your office parlor, c’mon.” Mista took Giorno’s hand just for a moment to take him out the door. “It won't take long, I promise.”

Giorno walked behind Mista through the now empty hall. Giorno had a bit of a flair for the dramatic, he admitted, and he had bought this lavish mansion in Capri as his personal home and his base of operations. It was wrapped in golds, bronzes and blues and the curtains and rugs were heavy and thick. There was art on the walls and he had made sure each and every bathroom came with marble appliances. There were plants in every room. Ivy crept in from the garden and Giorno did little to disturb it’s path. It smelt heady and perfumed during the long days and Giorno liked to draw the curtains to keep the smell in. His visitors had described it as otherworldly under their breaths. During the day he hosted his Capos and visitors and distinguished guests. This was where he read reports and issued orders and controlled Capri and beyond. And his friends each had a bedroom they could call their own, though only Mista and Trish lived with him full time. He was glad for that. The house became so empty at the end of the day otherwise. What would I do without you, Giorno looked at Mistra’s back and felt that strange swoop of pain in his stomach. Guido…

Giorno had always been attracted to Mista’s courage and his unconquerable grace under fire. It had drawn him to the other man since the very beginning of their relationship. Mista was strong, cool and calculating. He was a worthy ally and Giorno felt safe by his side. More than that, Giorno knew Mista would never betray him or the gang. He was truer than blue, Polnareff had once said. And just as clear and pure , Giorno thought. And while Giorno was attracted to Mista’s resolve and decisiveness, he was in love with the things that made him soft. His kindness and his easy going attitude and his loud laugh. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled or how he rested his hands on Giorno’s shoulders when he knew Giorno needed a supportive touch. Giorno had the sickening desire to reach out to Mista and wrap his arms around him and press his face in between his strong shoulders. Giorno craved touch and he wanted Mista’s hands all over him. He’d felt this way for a while now and it killed him because Giorno could not bring himself to give in.

When Giorno thought about confessing a million thoughts stopped him. Names too. Sorbet and Gelato. Tizzaino and Squalo. Bruno and Abbacchio. They had fallen in love with their partners and watched them die. Giorno already couldn't imagine what losing Mista would be like. Bruno had been doomed to die anyway but Giorno had seen what little light he had left in his eyes go out when Abbacchio was murdered. Mista had even offhandedly mentioned at their funeral he was almost glad Abbacchio had died first. He was sure Abbacchio wouldn’t have been able to live without Bruno. Giorno had already experienced more pain in his life then most grown men had. He didn't want any more. He knew that with this line of work he would continue to suffer, but if he could keep Mista and himself just a little bit safer from that pain....Giorno swallowed past the lump in his throat. Giorno was ambitious and grabbed every single thing he had wanted but he couldn’t...wouldn’t have Mista.

“Here we are,” Mista opened the door and bowed Giorno in. “Milord…” He snickered and Giorno had to smile. Giorno was described as golden, but Mista was truly bright.

Giorno grew even more suspicious as soon as he entered his office parlor. Trish, Sheila and Fugo were there, sitting side by side on the couch. Mista and Giorno sat on the one opposite of them and Mista placed the turtle on the end table. Giorno narrowed his eyes and leveled a truly devastating look on each one of them. “I’m only going to say this once,” Giorno said stiffly, crossing his leg. “Tell me what’s going on, right now, in no unspecific terms.”

Sheila answered first. She was still so eager to please. “Giorno, we mean no disrespect with this meeting. But we are all a little worried about you.”

“Worried?” Giorno said sharply. Giorno took a deep breath. These were his men. He was their leader. If they were worried about him, it meant he was acting far weaker then he had thought.

“Gio,” Fugo said, leaning on his elbow. “How long has it been since you took over Passione?”

“A little over three years. Three years and four months if I am being specific.”

“Ok, so when was the last time you took a break?”

Giorno cocked his head, almost confused by the question. “What do you mean? Yesterday. I normally take Sundays for myself.”

“You still work your ass off every Sunday though. We mean like, a vacation.” Fugo waved his hand around. “Like, away from the gang, maybe even outside of Italy.”

Giorno was absolutely flabbergasted. “I simply couldn't do that. Passione needs my attention. You all know what was sacrificed to get me into this position. I cannot flippantly cast off my responsibility or risk my control by...vacationing.” Giorno cleared his throat. “Though I do know none of you have had much time to yourselves. And for that, I apologize. I will schedule time for each of you and make arrangements to send you wherever you want.”

“Giorno, sir, this isn't what this is about.” Sheila said hastily. “We want you to take a break. You work harder than any of us. You’re tired and you’re stressed. And for the good of Passione, we need you healthy and relaxed.”

“There is no shame in that, Gio.” Trish said. “You have done so much in the past few years and we can tell its draining.”

“You can?” Giorno said tonelessly. “That’s disappointing.”

“Believe me,” Mista said clapping his hand down on Giorno’s shoulder. “It wasn't easy. You got that stone cold bitch face down. You could probably be dying and keep it together. But we’re friends...right?” Giorno reluctantly faced Mista. He was grinning. “And we spend  a lot of time together, all of us. So we notice things. Tiny tiny things.”

“I also watched you throw up in the garden last week.” Fugo added with a casual shrug.

“We were thinking we could all take a trip together.” Trish said, taking out her laptop. “Look, there’s this lovely Villa on the coast of France we could visit. I already have it rented for the next two weeks. It’s in Basque, on the beach. We could go sailing, and shopping or catch a play. I think it would be really good for all of us.”

Giorno pressed his tongue to his teeth. Despite what Mistra said, he didn't like the idea that anyone had noticed he was suffering. It left him vulnerable. “Who is going to control Passione then if we all leave? Unless if one of us will be running it remotely.”

“That would be me.” Polnareff said, resting his arms on the turtle’s shell. “I can handle any of your business and I’m sure Murolo would make a fine representative.”

Giorno raised his eyebrows. “I have no doubt that he would do a fine job, but the idea of leaving the gang to go on vacation...you’d surely allow me to stay in contact--”

“Nope.” Mista said. “Tech free for you. You need to disconnect. Look, no one's gonna take over while you’re on vacation.”

Giorno blinked and looked around the room at his friends faces. Have I really made them all so worried? Over me? I can’t have such discordinance in my men. I...I can't believe I’m the cause of it . “And you all have worked diligently as well. I insist that you take this vacation, no matter what. As for me…” Giorno went to stand up. “Give me an hour to think things over and I will give you my answer.”

Before anyone could protest, Giorno swept out of the room and hurried down to the garage. He wasn't thinking very clearly and he knew that. He was being emotional and irrational and he knew that too. But his friends only knew half the reason why Giorno was reluctant. He wasn't just uneasy about potential power struggles. Giorno was trying to keep this hurt secret, but he was still somehow disappointed Mista didn't seem to know.

Which is ridiculous, Giorno thought, hopping into his car. I can’t expect him to read my mind. He won’t know unless I tell him…that’s the hard part.

Giorno normally had a driver, but tonight he didn't bother calling the man. He still didn't have his license, but he would never get fined for anything anyway. He drove aimlessly around the sleeping city, wrestling with his thoughts. Giorno didn't know what he wanted to do. The idea of luxuriating in a French villa was so foreign to him. Had he really earned such a privilege? Giorno didn’t know. I’ve never even been on a single vacation now that I think about it , he thought, circling around the same neighborhood again. It hadn’t exactly been in his family’s wheelhouse. My friends are concerned about me, Giorno took a left and suddenly picking a destination. What’s this feeling? It’s...warm.

Giorno’s thoughts gave way to silence as he pulled into gates of the cemetery. He parked his car and pulled his jacket close. It wasn't cold though. It was May and the air was sweet with the smell of blooming buds. He shivered as he shuffled along the familiar path and wished he’d have to forsight to find some flowers.

Bruno Buccellati and Leone Abbacchio were buried side by side, as requested by their wills. Giorno felt a little stupid that he hadn't noticed their relationship during the brief time he knew them. He didn’t learn about it until he helped Mista clean out their former apartment and first of all, learned they had been sharing one and secondly, found a box of love letters Abbacchio had written Bruno. It shattered Giorno to see what he had taken from them. Narancia was on Bruno’s left side. They assumed he’d rather be with the man he admired so much than in his home town where no one might even visit. Giorno reached out a shaky hand and touched the three graves in turn.

“I’m sorry.” Giorno said, stuffing his hand back in his pocket. Giorno took a breath. These men had died three years ago all for the sake of this . Giorno had dispatched Diavolo, taken over Passione and dismantled the drug trade. He was turning Passione into a force for good, like he had dreamed of. Like he promised them. I can’t waste their gift, Giorno thought, lowering his head. I’m older than Narancia ever was. In a few years, I’ll be older than Bruno or Leone would have ever been. They will never get to see what their sacrifice brought. I won’t betray their memories by ignoring my duties. I can’t.

Giorno heard the crunch of tires behind him. Mista and Trish were pulling up a few feet from him on Mista’s motorcycle. Giorno turned back around and stared hard at the engraving on Bruno’s grave. He didn't look at Trish as she joined him. They stood there quietly for a few minutes, while Mista waited by his bike. Giorno wondered how they had found him so quickly. Maybe there was a tracker in his shoe.

Trish took a deep breath. “Do you blame yourself?”

“I do.” Giorno said plainly. “If i hadn't put the idea of rebelling against the boss in Bruno’s head, he and Leone and Narancia would probably still be with us. I know Bruno was never fond of Passione’s drug trade, but I spurred him on. You know that I have killed to get here and I will continue to do so if I need to. But I never wanted to climb the bodies of the righteous to get to this place.” Giorno licked his lips. “I could not live with myself if I take it all for granted and…”

“And what? Enjoy yourself?” Trish interrupted. “Giorno, do you know who I blame for their deaths? My father.” Giorno huffed. “But also me.” Trish’s voice got soft and almost timid. “When my father abducted me in the elevator, Bruno turned heel. If he hadn't wanted to protect me he could have survived. And maybe you all would have had the time to regroup and plan a real attack against my father.” Giorno looked at Trish through the corner of his eye. She had her arms wrapped around her middle but her head was up high. “Instead we had to keep running. We never had time to rest. Maybe they would have lived if Bruno would have just abandoned me. But Giorno, I know that Bruno was in his right mind when he did it. And Abbacchio and Narancia were too when they decided to follow him and believe in you. You’re worried about throwing away the opportunity they gave you? That’s what you’re doing. You’re slowly killing yourself.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, isn’t it?” Giorno said, suddenly uncomfortable. “You shouldn’t ever blame yourself Trish. You were always innocent. You were always Diavolo’s victim.”

“We all were.” Trish grabbed Giorno’s arm. He wanted to pull away but he couldn’t bear to be rude to her. “And I’m not going to waste my life, because they wouldn’t have wanted that. They were good men, Giorno.”

Giorno took a deep breath. He had heard this before. At their funeral, at every anniversary of their deaths. Trish had always been there to comfort him. “Guido.” Giorno called. “Come here.”

Mista trudged up the little hill to the graves and Trish took a step back. Mista looked solemn and focused, like he was preparing to enter a battle. “Do you blame me?” Giorno asked point blank. It was something Giorno had never been able to say to him before no matter how many times he tried. “Did you ever blame me?”

Mista didn’t answer Giorno right away. Giorno watched his eyes twitch as he read the inscriptions on the grave stones. They hadn't been in contact with Fugo when their funerals were held, so the duty of coming up with the epitaphs had fallen to Mista. “They were brothers to me. All three of them.” Mista said, his voice thick. “I never told you this but after they died I used to walk around Capri for hours thinking I just might see them. Like I’d go to our old restaurant and they would all be there at the back table. And I sit with them and everything would be back to normal. And it fucking sucks Giorno. It still sucks they died the way they did and I don’t think I’ll ever be over it but you know what? That shit happens when you join a gang. They were fully prepared to die as soon as they signed up.” Mista blinked a few tears away. “I don’t think it’s your fault, Gio. I never have.” Mista put his arm around Giorno’s waist and held him close. Giorno held his breath. Mista had been using the same cologne for years now, ever since Giorno gave it to him for their first Christmas together. Giorno loved the smell so much. “You know what Bruno and Narancia saw in you. Also if Abbacchio saw how’d you’ve been moping around lately he’d smack you upside the head. He’d probably be pissed you haven’t been enjoying yourself with all the perks and money you got now.” Mista squeezed Giorno. “K?”

Giorno sighed a little. It didn’t matter how often he heard it, or told himself the same thing. He still felt the same. “I’ll come with you on the vacation.”

“Really!?” Trish grabbed onto Giorno’s free arm and hugged tightly. “Awesome! I know you will have an amazing time! We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.” Trish opened up her phone and started typing away. “Which plane should we use?”

“The smaller one.”

“And uh, Trish?” Mista said. “Would you mind driving the car back for me? I’ll take the Boss on the bike.” Mista thumped Giorno on the back. “You know I hate it when you wander alone at night. It’s like you wanna get murdered.”

Giorno shot Mista a look but Mista just rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Trish left first, already issuing orders on her phone. Giorno and Mista lingered a little by the graves. Mista kept his arm around Giorno, like he had forgotten it was there. It was a small comfort. “I’m sorry. I feel like I wasn’t as attentive to you as I could have been in your grief.” Giorno said softly.

“You gave me a new goal and a new mission. You kept me focused and working.” Mista gently slid his hand down Giorno’s arm. “You’re my friend, it was enough.”

Giorno couldn’t think of anything to say to Mista as he got onto the motorcycle and pulled the helmet on. Giorno was suddenly very close to the other man. He could practically feel the warmth radiating off of Mista’s back and Giorno felt that hollow ache again. His fingers twitched. Giorno wasn't a romantic. He preferred philosophical works and nature poetry, as well as American comics. But he did wonder if having his affection returned would feel the way people described. Giorno had never really known anything that was as soft and welcoming as the promise of love.

“I know Giorno. You really should try my laissez faire lifestyle once in a while.” Mista turned around and playfully poked Giorno’s chest. “Hakuna Matata and all that. Oh right, you still haven’t seen the Lion King!”

Giorno just sighed affectionately and held onto Mista hips as they drove away. Mista took the long way, through the park Giorno loved and down by the harbor where they often went for walks. The cool, salt tinged breeze had Giorno calming down. Maybe this is for the best. My friends are smart and they carry a similar pain in their hearts. Maybe we all need to let go of this albatross. Giorno felt a little chill run through him and, without thinking, put his arms around Mista’s middle. Giorno shut his eyes and felt as serene as he looked for once and rested his chin on Mista’s shoulder. Mista was so solid and strong under Giorno’s hands and Giorno had to bit his cheek to keep his traitorous mouth from smiling like a fool. Giorno didn’t want the ride to end and he asked Mista to go around the neighborhood just a few dozen more times.

“Of course, Gio.” He only went two more times, but Giorno’s eyes were heavy by then and his jacket was warm from Mista’s body.

You know what’s great about France, Gio?” Mista asked as they came to a stop in front of the manor. “The nude beaches.”

“Guido,” Giorno shook his head. “We have those here.”

“Really?” Mista pulled Giorno’s helmet off and playfully fluffed his messy curls. “Well then France is fucking useless.”

France was beautiful but that wasn’t surprising. Of course Trish had found a exquisite manor right on the shore where the sand was so perfectly white and the ocean a piercing blue. The town was wonderful too. It looked soft and warm, the people seemed unhurried and calm. There were boutiques and cafes and everything Naples already had but here Giorno was just supposed to think of himself as an average citizen with few cares in the world. His cellphone and laptop had been forfeited and given to Polnareff, who was the only one of their envoy allowed to communicate with Murolo, who had been less than thrilled to hear how much extra work he would have to do. But there was no saying no to Giorno Giovanna.

“But you will tell me if anything serious happens, right?” Giorno asked Polnareff again, holding him level with his eyes. Everyone else was claiming their rooms and unpacking, but Giorno was a little cranky. He hadn't slept at all last night and Trish had insisted they board the plane at 8 sharp. Giorno wondered what the point was in having your own plane if you were still forced to leave at uncomfortable hours.

“Depends on your definition of serious.” Polnareff said loftily. “If the gangs about to be taken over by hostile forces, sure I’ll tell you. But that’s about it.”

“Jean!” Giorno said curtly but Polnareff had already withdrawn into the shell.

“Drop me off in the office on your way!”

Giorno held back a huff and did what he said. Giorno had gotten to pick his room first, as he supposed this vacation was for him. He picked the room with the best view of the shore. The beach was private, so there were no other tourists in sight. Giorno stared out at the crashing waves and wondered why they looked so different from the ones at home.

Giorno moved slowly as he unpacked and freshened up from the trip. He tried to be mindful about everything he was doing to keep his brain from itching. He felt like he should be doing more. Making calls, having meetings, issuing orders. Giorno didn’t know how he was supposed to do this for an entire two weeks. There was nothing to fill the empty spots in his heart. There was nothing to quiet the demons.

I won’t disappoint my friends, Giorno thought, angry with his own tangled emotions. He painstakingly folded his clothes like he was dressing a hospital bed. Tight, with crisp and harsh lines. I’ll relax even if it kills me . Giorno sprayed his flyaways down and tried not to notice how gray he was looking. Giorno had been fighting every day of his life and he always won. It made sense that the one person he couldn’t defeat was himself.

Giorno shook his head hard and got changed. He had some summer clothes he had been dying to break out since he bought them during fashion week and even when Giorno was contemplating the bottle he always enjoyed dressing up.

First thing on Trish’s agenda was to get acquainted with the town and find a nice place to eat. She was at ease here, so was Mista. They were laughing and pointing out places they wanted to go like normal townies. Meanwhile Sheila, who was always suspicious of every new place, held onto Trish’s arm and Fugo had a tight grip on Polnareff.

“It is kinda weird to take a break.” He said to Giorno. “It was easier when I was younger to take a couple days off here and there but I can't shake the feeling that this is just another mission.”

“You guys need to lighten up.” Mista called over his back. “We’re gonna go get sandwiches and they are not gonna try and kill us.”

“They might.” Giorno deadpanned and Mista giggled, hanging back so he could drape his arm around Giorno’s shoulders. Giorno held his breath for a second. He loved when he managed to make Mista laugh and now he felt just a little more at home with Mista at his side. “Could be Stand Users.”

“Wait, are the sandwiches the Stand or the User ?” Fugo added. “That makes a big difference.”

“Do we defeat the User if we eat the sandwich?” Sheila asked while Trish hid her smile behind her hand.

“No, that’s the trick.” Giorno held his finger up. “The Stand is in the sandwich.”

“Ah, clever.” Mista laughed and pulled Giorno closer as he did. Giorno wanted to shut his eyes and lean in. Giorno thought about how nice it would be to sit somewhere with Mista. It didn’t even have to be a quiet, lovely place. Giorno would be more than happy to sit on Mista’s lap and rest his head while the other man played video games or yelled at sport matches on tv. Mista suddenly seemed to notice how tight his grip was and quickly apologized. He let go and Giorno wasn’t deluding himself when he noticed the blush on his cheeks. It made his throat get a little dry. It must be the sun…yes, just a little pink from the sun.

They ate outside. The day was perfect for it and the waitress didn’t even bother mentioning the turtle. Mista sat next to Giorno and fed Sex Pistols the table bread, which Giorno had grown to truly enjoy watching. “Hungry today, huh?” He muttered. Giorno gazed at Mista’s profile and how his tongue stuck out in concentration as he tried to evenly divide the food amongst the six.

“Boss!” No. 5 appeared at Giorno’s hand and clung to his finger. “They are taking all the bread!”

Giorno smiled and ripped off a bit of his own roll. “There you are,” Giorno brushed the side of No. 5’s cheek with his thumb and then stopped once he realized what that meant. As independent at they seemed, Sex Pistols was still Mista’s Stand and Giorno might as well have stroked Mista’s face. He cast a glance at the other man and felt something indescribable when he saw that Mista’s ears were redder than before.

Giorno lost his appetite swiftly and could feel himself crumbling back up in self pity and blame. Here he was making gaga eyes at Mista like a schoolboy when he should be doing…well now he had a conundrum. They took his phone from him so he couldn’t actually complete any work. Passione was out of his reach, he had no responsibilities right now. That was the whole point of the trip and Giorno felt like a fool for it all. He couldn’t distract himself from anything, and now that included his feelings for Mista. Remember what Trish and Guido said , Giorno thought, attempting to force a few bites of bread down. They would have wanted me to be happy. They were good men, the best of men. They’d hate to see their legacy acting like this . The bread tasted like sand and Giorno ordered the smallest salad he could find on the menu. He knew it wasn’t enough and he believed his last proper meal had been breakfast yesterday which he only ate half of.

“So there is a local theatre.” Trish said with a sneaky grin. “There’s a showing coming up.”

Mista narrowed his eyes. “Of what?”

“Cyrano. Oh Mista stop making that face! You could use some culture.”

“Oh yes!” Polnareff’s voice echoed from the turtle. “It is a marvelous play! It’s very funny, you will like it Mista. I remember seeing it when I was very young.”

“The next showing is in an hour, we could try one of those local boutiques first.” Trish fiddled with one of Sheila’s braids. “I know you mentioned you needed a hat.”

“You all can go on ahead.” Giorno said. “I’m not feeling too well and I think I want to lie down until dinner.”

“Giorno,” Trish pouted, “We only just started our vacation! You can’t be feeling sick!”

“Must be this unbearable 72 degrees weather.” Fugo said, nudging Sheila. “Maybe you got food poisoning from the lettuce you just had.”

“It’s only a headache. I just need to close my eyes for a few hours.”

The table exchanged glances, aside from Mista, who was looking up at the cloudless sky. “C’mon, Giorno.” Sheila said quietly. She was always the least willing to disagree with him. In fact, it had only happened four times. “You should stay with us.”

“Hey,” Mista said. His voice was even and still. Just like how he confirmed his mark to Giorno before he pulled the trigger. “If Gio doesn’t feel well he doesn’t feel well. We got two weeks out here, don’t hassle him.”

Even while he was saying this, Mista didn’t look at Giorno. It stung. Is he ashamed of me? Is he disappointed? I can’t bear the thought. “Right, then I’ll call a cab. I’ll meet you for dinner.” Giorno went to get up at Polnareff’s voice rang again.

“Take me back to the house with you. There’s some work I’d like to get done.”

Giorno bit his tongue. “I’d rather you stay. You sounded excited about seeing Cyrano.”

Polnareff laughed. “Oh I’ve seen it before. I can always see it again some other time too.”

Still, Giorno felt very uncomfortable as he sat in the back of the car with the turtle on his lap. I just wanted all of them to have a good time. I wish I could have persuaded him to stay , Giorno thought, lightly running his fingers over the grooves of the turtles shell. He silently carried him into the house and went into the office that he was using as his room. Of course Polnareff couldn’t really use any of the furniture but it felt rude to not give him his own space.

“On the desk by the window alright then Jean?” Giorno asked, setting him down. Polnareff emerged from the key. Giorno had gotten used to this sight frighteningly fast. “I’ll be in my room then if you need me.”

“Giorno, sit down.” Polnareff gestured to the desk chair and Giorno froze. “Come one, I know you well. You never get sick. I swear, Golden Experience has something to do with it.”

“It’s just a headache. Nothing serious.”

“Giorno.” Polnareff said again and Giorno grit his teeth. The tone was strict and he said his name sharply. It was like the crack of a whip and Giorno thought of his step father. He thought of his biological father whose picture he still kept on him. How would he have spoken to Giorno? He had been a cruel man it seemed. But sometimes even the cruelest of men were tender to their children. How would he have treated Giorno? What would he have thought of me...would he be proud of what I’ve done? Would he have beat me too? Would he have loved me? “I’ve heard what your friends have been talking about and I know exactly what you are dealing with.”

“I know.” Giorno said, keeping his voice level. “Survivors guilt. I know all about it. We’ve talked about it before. We could talk about it again, if you like.”

“I think we have talked about that enough.” Polnareff said. “Let’s talk about something else. Do you know that the Joestars actually offered me a home after…well you know.”

After you murdered my father, Giorno thought. Not angrily, it was just a fact. “Yes.”

“And you know I didn’t take them up on that offer.”

“You wanted to stay in France.”

“No,” Polnareff shook his head. “Oh no I wanted to go with them. So badly. I had no family left in France and I was an empty and broken man who had just watched three of his only friends die.” Polnareff didn’t look away from Giorno and Giorno found himself being stared down. It was an impressive feat. “It’s only now I know why I went back alone. I didn’t think I deserved to have a home. Not after what I did. I wanted to hurt. I thought it do…something. I still don’t know. Bring my friends back? Maybe if I punished myself day after day I’d feel better over what happened. It didn’t matter what anyone said to me about all of it. I didn’t believe them. I stayed isolated enough that when Diavolo came for me the only friend I had was half the world away and I almost died. I don’t know, maybe it’s what I wanted.” Polnareff hadn't blinked yet and Giorno remembered he didn’t have to. “Are you scared to live your life, Giorno?”

“That’s a ridiculous question.” Giorno said. “I’m living my dream. I have everything I could ever want.”

Polnareff snorted. “You’re still just a clueless teenager at the end of the day, aren’t you? You work . It's all you do. You pull away and isolate yourself. You’re doing it right now! You have everything you want but you’re not enjoying it at all, are you?”

Giorno swallowed. Talks like this had been popping up over the last few years but there were normally months in-between them. Now Giorno was being chipped away by his friends cutting concerns. Giorno did well hiding his emotions from everyone, even himself. These little talks dredged up too much and he was overwhelmed by just how much he hurt. “This isn’t going to get us anywhere. With all due respect, I do not enjoy having my actions questioned like this.”

“Giorno,” Polnareff said in a pleading tone. “Are you afraid of living your life? You act like you already died. I’m the ghost, not you.”

“Have a nice afternoon, Polnareff.” Giorno let the door swing shut. Giorno refused to entertain that conversation any longer. Giorno didn’t understand why his friends couldn’t simply leave him be. He didn’t know why they insisted on this ultimately futile attempt to convince Giorno he hadn’t used the lives of three good men for his own advancement. Giorno was angry over it. He was sad over it. These were not shocking facts. Thinking about the reasons why was just twisting the knife and Giorno stopped in his tracks.

I can’t do this. I can't be like this. Giorno rubbed at his face. I want to be stronger than this. I am. I have to be. Giorno stood there, his heart beat beginning to pick up. Giorno wasn’t one to cry.  He couldn’t even remember the last time he did. Now, Giorno felt it all start to happen piece by piece. His face got hot and his shoulders started shaking. His stomach and heart twisted and he could barely breathe. What am I doing? He thought, even as his jaw trembled. Am I so easily overwhelmed? How can I keep leading Passione like this? Why won't this stop? How can I make this stop!?

Giorno heard the front door open and suddenly he wasn’t 18. He was four again, panicked at the sound of someone coming home. And they couldn’t catch him crying. Giorno wouldn't face the consequences of that. His head started ringing with pain and humiliation as the scattered memories flashed in front of his eyes and he ran away.

Giorno hurried into his room and slipped into his closet, slamming the door shut. He sat on the floor and pulled his knees to his chest and became as small as he could. Gold Experience was called out, unprompted as usual. Giorno hid his face as he felt his Stand wrap its arms around him and held him tightly. Giorno started to cry in earnest. He tried to be quiet and covered his mouth with his arm but there was no use. He wanted to fix this. He wanted to be in control of everything but especially himself. He wanted Bruno, Abbacchio and Narancia to be alive and with him. He really was acting like a child, wishing for and wanting everything he knew he couldn’t have and feeling all the more awful for it. It was the same as it had always been.

The door opened a crack and Giorno pushed himself into the corner. He could have fought to get away and keep running but his legs were shaking badly. It been years and years since Giorno had rescued that gangster and his life of abuse ended but Giorno couldn’t forget it, hard as he tried. Neither could his body. Gold Experience tensed up around Giorno, then relaxed once the door opened all the way. Giorno slowly lowered his hands and saw Mista in the doorway.

Mista didn’t say anything and Giorno wanted to dissolve into the floor. Mista was his right hand, his bodyguard and he had already seen Giorno weak. But Giorno had never felt so low before and it hurt worse that it was happening in front of the man he so respected. He was hiding in a closet and sobbing for god sakes. It was humiliating.

Mista wordlessly sat beside Giorno and Gold Experience began reaching for him shamelessly. Giorno quickly withdrew his traitorous Stand and hoped Mista hadn't noticed. They sat there for a little bit and Giorno tried to stop carrying on like this, but he knew it was useless. He’d finally broken down and it just have to run its course. He cried long, and loud.

“Y’know,” Mista said. “It’s kinda comforting to know you’re an ugly crier too.”

Giorno laughed weakly through his tears. He was tender and vulnerable and settled against Mista’s side. The other man held him closer by his waist and sat with him as Giorno started to calm down. Sex Pistols were buzzing around them again but Mista didn’t lecture them this time. Giorno focused on the warmth of Mista’s arm around him and how his shoulder felt against the curve of his cheek. It was enough to help him catch his breath. Mista’s fingers played with the bedraggled hairs that fell down Giorno’s back and Giorno ached every time his fingertips brushed the nape of his neck. He listened to his own gulping sobs subside and didn’t speak until he could breathe again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Giorno shut his eyes. “Why are you here? Was the play cancelled?”

“Oh no, that’s still going on. I just really didn’t wanna go, y’know? It’s not really my thing. Thought I’d just crash here till dinner.”

Giorno knew he was lying. Why else would he have come straight to Giorno’s room if he hadn't come back for him? “Thank you, Guido.” Giorno leaned heavily against him, suddenly exhausted.

“You wanna watch a movie or something?” Mista asked. He was tracing Giorno’s spine with his hand and Giorno felt terrible for enjoying it so much. It was hard being this close to him and yet so far. It would feel natural to be kissing him right now, Giorno looked up at him and Mista’s expression went soft and so fond. Even when everything is a hurricane around me Mista is here, and steady. He knows how badly I'm hurting . Mista seemed to finally notice his wandering hand and quickly pulled it away. “There's a…uh like theatre room on the second floor. Yeah, it's there.”

“Yes, that sounds nice.” Giorno wiped his face dry with his sleeve and Mista helped him to his feet. Giorno wanted to be back in his arms. It felt like such a selfish desire and Giorno knew Polnareff had been right. He was denying himself life and love but Giorno couldn’t stop himself. He was so quietly out of control and spiraling inward and in a desperate breath he reached out and grabbed Mista’s hand. Mista did not stop or startle. He laced his fingers with Giorno and continued leading him along. Giorno’s heart sang and he wondered if Mista could feel his fluttering pulse in his fingertips.

The movie room was sheltered by dark velvet curtains and the couches were soft, luxurious leather that invited you to curl up and sleep. Giorno wondered if he should find the person who designed this room as he found it almost unnaturally calming. Like a womb or some other soft place Giorno didn’t remember. Or maybe never knew. Mista settled beside him. The couch dipped just so that their shoulders and hips were touching. Giorno wondered if Mista felt loved and calmed by his touch as well. I’m too withdrawn for that , Giorno thought in a self pitying way. I had to be cold to survive and now I don’t know anything but that. But I can learn. I’d learn for him. Mista turned on the massive tv and started playing whatever had been left in the disk. It was a French film and while Giorno was fluent he knew Mista’s French was a little rusty at best.

Giorno sagged against Mista, tired. “I promise I’ll spend time with you and the others. I’ll have fun and I’ll laugh and drink with all of you. I’ll try to live happily, I swear.”

“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself.” Mista said. It was dark, and the flashes from the screen played beautifully on his face. “I think I got it. You’re not just y’know, grieving. You’re still heartbroken over it. And there ain't no cure for a broken heart. No five stages or medication or any of that. It just takes time. I’m still going through it, Trish and Fugo are too.”

Giorno sighed softly and rested his head on Mista’s shoulder. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted all of Mista, but he would settle for this small bit for now. “I’m so tired of talking about it. I have to repeat myself over and over again and it isn’t helping me in any way shape or form.”

“You don’t gotta talk about anything, Gio.” Mista said. “Y’know? I never make ya talk, do I?”

“No, you just drag me out of my house and make me go drinking and dancing.” Giorno smiled softly. “You make me laugh. You make me feel at peace with what I’ve done. Mista, I haven’t told anyone this but…” Giorno clucked his tongue. “I don’t want you telling anyone, alright? Our friends have their own lives and hearts to worry about and…” Giorno sighed. “It’s a little embarrassing.”

“You don’t gotta tell me if you want to.” Mista said, stretching his arms out across the back of the couch. It was how he normally sat but if forced Giorno closer. “I can tell you’re tired.”

Giorno slowly shook his head and went on. “You know what my upbringing was like. I always longed for a close family. I would sometimes fantasize about my father coming for me and taking me away from my mother and stepfather. I wondered if he would bring me somewhere safe where I would be loved and cared for. He never came, obviously, and I was content to simply live and achieve my dream. When I met all of you…” Giorno swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I saw that family. You and the rest of the squad argued and teased each other and protected each other. I saw that love so plainly. It seemed to glow. My dream was always my top priority but I also wanted to be apart of what you all had. For the few days we spent together…it almost felt like I was.” Giorno’s mouth was so dry. “My grief is not simple.”

Giorno kept his eyes fixed on the movie. Unpacking all of this was absolute misery, but maybe everyone had a point. He had given his monsters faces; he could possibly fight them off now. Giorno sank further into the couch like it could open up and swallow him when Mista suddenly pulled him against his chest. He wrapped his arms around Giorno gently, cradling him to his body. Giorno was used to Mista touching him or grabbing onto him. Mista was affectionate and loved hugging people. This touch felt different. There was such a gentle, careful tenderness to it. Mista’s voice was tight when he spoke.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” Mista’s voice was trembling and just hearing that almost made Giorno cry again. “I mean, I kinda wondered about it but I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t wanna think about you being in pain like that. I’m sorry, Gio. I shoulda noticed.”

“No, no don’t say that.” Giorno murmured, holding the other man back. Giorno loved how the other man smelt. “I tried to hide it from you.”

“But you have a family, Giorno. Everyone here is your family. I’m your family.” Mista held Giorno’s head by the back of his skull and Giorno shut his eyes. There was no place better than right here. “You’re my family.”

“Guido,”

“I swore that to you, three years ago. I’ll swear it everyday Giorno, I’ll never leave your side.” Mista kissed the ring on Giorno’s finger but his lips lingered.

Mista pulled back and he was a furious shade of red. He awkwardly cleared his throat and it sounded like he was choking on his own tongue. Giorno decided to pretend he hadn't noticed any of that and let him save some face. They went back to the movie but neither of them were very interested in it. Giorno curled up like a cat against Mista and shut his eyes. He hadn't slept well in days and finally let his exhaustion pull him under. The last thing he was aware of was Mista’s shaking fingertips neatly tucking his stray hairs back into his braid.

Giorno kept his promise. He faked no more headaches and spent that vacation out and about and indulging himself completely. Strangely enough, he felt lighter after he spoke with Mista. Mista’s devotion to him was so strong it was almost tangible. It was a rope, and Giorno didn’t feel like he was free falling anymore. Besides, he dearly wanted to be with his friends. He wanted to see them to smile.

Giorno thought he would quickly become restless through relaxing but Trish seemed to have foreseen that and packed their days tight with activities. There was no shortage of restaurants to eat at or boutiques to go to. Giorno was never happier for his unlimited black credit card even though he knew, somewhere in Italy, his accountant was crying. There were theatres and small shops where people played music and strange little sundries and vintage shops. Giorno had a weakness for antiques, he admitted. There really was something for everyone in the city and soon they started using the parlor as a place to hold all of their purchases and the kitchen was never used. They have four separate spa days and one very memorable night at a terrifyingly neon karaoke. When they weren’t on the town they stayed on the beach. It seemed as if Trish had not only rented out the villas portion of the beach but the entire stretch and they had the shore all to themselves. Giorno took the books from the villa’s library and read them under an umbrella on a blanket while Trish suntanned and Sheila, Fugo and Mista played like children and built terrifyingly shoddy sandcastles. They almost lost Polnareff in the tide once, but that eventually was settled. And when the sun set and the shore got a bit too cold they retreated to the villa and opened up a few dozen bottles of wine. The house had a balcony and a garden where Giorno spent the early mornings sitting quietly. He wouldn’t exactly call it meditating, but it was close in concept.

Giorno was having…fun. Mista was right. He was still heartbroken and sometimes he’d be standing in a dressing room mirror or sitting down to dinner and he’d be hit with a sickening wave of guilt and misery. But he managed to take a breath and bring himself back. He didn’t ignore it like he had been doing. He didn’t try to pretend like he had moved on. He let his grief live in him for now, tempered. He knew it would be a long while before it finally left him and it was difficult, but he accepted it. That gave him a small sense of peace he hadn't had before.

His friends seemed to notice the slight change, but they didn’t comment much on it. Polnareff would sometimes smile knowingly at him, but they didn’t try to have anymore little chats with him. Giorno was infinitely relieved. He preferred this anyway. Just being near his friends and laughing with them was more than enough to ease his soul and before he knew it, the final days of their vacation were upon them.

“We should do something different tonight.” Mista said from his sprawled out position on the couch. “Turns out I guess you can get bored of shoppin’ and eatin’ and nappin’ and getting massages.”

“Blasphemy.” Trish said from her perch on the oversized armchair. She had a stack of magazines beside her. “I’ve only bought ten pairs of shoes.”

“We could go to the beach.” Shelia suggested, not bothering to look up from her gameboy.

Fugo just groaned. He was playing chess with Polnareff (he had to move the pieces for him) and sporting a terrible sunburn. “There’s this club a few blocks down the road.” Mista said, shooting Giorno a pointed look. Because if Giorno said he wanted to go, everyone would come. “We never get to do shit like that at home. Cause y’know, we own all of them. It’s not that fun. It’s like going to work.”

“Clubs aren’t really my scene.” Fugo muttered.

“Of course not, old man.” Shelia said. “But dancing is kinda fun. So it drinking.”

“It’s been so long since we went dancing, right Sheila?” Trish said. “It’s a nice club though, right Mista? I’m not going somewhere with sticky floors.”

Mista just shrugged. “Looked pretty nice to me. I didn’t like…inspect it or anything but uh, Gio? You interested?”

“I suppose it might be amusing, at the least.” Giorno slowly nodded and Mista beamed at him. Giorno glanced out the window and hid his blush. “We’ll leave around ten then. Well, anyone who wants to come that is.” Giorno cocked his head at Fugo. “No forced attendance.”

Fugo sighed loudly and shrugged, already defeated. Giorno never had to demand anything from anyone. They gave in naturally.

“I finally get to cut loose!” Mista cheered and kicked his feet up. “And break out some of my dance moves!”

“Fine, but I’m not taking the car back with you.” Trish sniffed. “You’ll sweat too much and I can't tolerate that smell after I drink.”

“Trish!” Mista exclaimed, sitting up. “Giorno! Defend me!”

“I mean it doesn’t bother me, but I can’t speak for everyone else.” Giorno tried not to laugh too much as Mista gaped at him, utterly betrayed. Everyone else did and eventually Mista giggled too. Giorno stared at him as he snorted and he just loved every bit of him so much at that moment. Mista noticed his staring and quickly looked to the side. He looked weirdly pleased and embarrassed at the same time and Giorno was effervescent seeing it. It was a light, youthful feeling he wasn’t used to. Even without their duties, Giorno and Mista had still spent nearly everyday at each other's side. But there hadn't been any stress or politics or murder to distract them from each other. Giorno’s head felt up in the clouds when they were close and he kept catching Mista staring at him. His touches lingered now. They were soft and almost shy compared to the way he was with everyone else. No more bear hugs or back whacks. Giorno was almost half tempted to fake a nightmare so that Mista would come and hold him while he slept.

“Giorno,” Trish called and Giorno jumped. How long have we been staring at each other? He thought as Mista hurriedly went back to his laptop. Trish and Shelia were at the doorway and Fugo had taken over playing video games. “Come upstairs with us, we want to start getting ready.”

Giorno normally got dressed up with the girls but he still prepared himself for whatever they were planning. He had a feeling it had to do with Mista. He almost wished for a lecture over his maladaptive mourning practices instead. He stole another glance at the man anyway. Mista was laying on his stomach with his feet up in the air. Giorno wanted to run his fingers over the dip of his spine and kiss the small of his back. Giorno liked the delicacy of that part of him when the rest of him was well built and hard in all the ways Giorno wasn’t. He held back a wistful sigh and followed the girls up the stairs.

Trish’s room resembled a luxurious boutique that had been hit by a vengeful tornado. Of bombs. Clothes, shoes, towels, make-up and magazines littered the floor, bed, dresser and every other available surface. Giorno wondered if he would be able to hide under the pile of coats on the couch. He had a little time to plan an escape as well. Trish had a system. She’d invite Giorno somewhere private and comfortable and they would do what they always did together. Get dressed and do each others hair and make-up and chat about movies and music. Maybe even break open a bottle of wine to really get Giorno relaxed and warm and then she’d dive into the subject at hand. Giorno always knew it was going to happen, but she somehow managed to underhand him every time. Not that Giorno ever revealed more then he meant to. Though it was very, very rare Sheila was ever present. She was a wild card in this situation, and Giorno was worried.

“I don’t do trashy clubs,” Trish said distastefully, looking through her shopping bags. “I don’t know anything about this place. How am I going to dress? Sheila, what are you going to wear?”

Sheila shrugged. “Whatever you pick out for me.”

“Oh you’re no fun.” Trish pouted. “Giorno, what about you?”

“Oh, I was going to say the same thing. I’m not one for dressing for clubs…can’t I wear a suit?”

Trish looked mortally offended. “No, how are you supposed to dance. Actually…” Trish sat beside Giorno and rested her chin on her hand. “How would you dance with Mista if you’re all tied up in a suit.”

Giorno blinked. Ah, she’s launching right into it. She’s caught me off guard. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Trish rolled her eyes. “Sheila, back me up on this. He won’t listen to me.” Trish turned her piercing stare back onto Giorno. He didn’t recoil, but he wanted to. “He never does.”

“I always listen to you about everything else. But you know I don’t indulge in fantastical theories.”

Sheila snorted and blushed after Giorno glared at her. “With all due respect sir, this really isn’t all that far fetched. I mean…you two look at each a lot. You actually stare at each other and I always see Mista smiling like a goof after he talks to you.”

Giorno blinked twice. “Yes, and?”

“What, do you expect that from everyone who looks at you?” Trish snorted. “C’mon, it’s obvious you like him. Well, obvious probably isn’t the right word to use with you. If I hadn't spent the last three years of my life spending nearly everyday with you I wouldn’t have noticed the signs. You know you stare at him and you visibly relax when he’s near you. Whenever he's away on a mission you get so tense and stressed out I can barely deal with it.”

“You should tell him.” Shelia said while Giorno blankly stared at Trish. “You’d be happier together then apart. Life’s too short to keep all this to yourself.”

Giorno decided there was no point to deny his feelings for the other man. Trish wouldn’t believe him anyway. “I’m so in love with Mista.” Giorno said plainly. Trish’s jaw dropped open and Sheila choked on her drink. He guessed they hadn’t been expecting that frankness. “I have been for two years.”

Trish grabbed Giorno’s hand, her eyes alight. “Why haven’t you told him? He definitely feels the same way for you. I caught him trying to write poetry the other day. At least,” Trish tapped her chin, “I think that’s what it was supposed to be. Maybe it was just a very emotional grocery list.”

Giorno just shook his head. “It’s too hard Trish. I could lose him any day because of Passione.”

“That’s why you should tell him now.” Trish said. “It’s going to hurt either way. And if you don’t tell him, you’ll always wonder. You’ll always long for him and if you do lose him you’ll regret not telling him.”

“You know this for a fact?”

“You’re gonna look down on Trish’s instincts?” Sheila added. “She’s right. I wish I had spent more time with my sister. I wish I had told her I loved her everyday.”

“Before my mother got sick, the last thing she asked me to do was go shopping with her.” Trish said quietly. “I said no. I had plans that night with girls from my school, and I figured I’d always have another chance to go with her.” Trish looked to the side. “It’s different kinds of love, but you should never hold back when its true. Mista loves you too. I know he why he’s been keeping it a secret.”

The peaked Giorno’s curiosity. “Why?”

Trish smiled a little. “You are so scary, Giorno. You’re too beautiful and sublime. No wonder he is intimidated.”

The way Trish said this made Giorno suspicious. Did Guido tell her that? Giorno thought as Trish stood back up and started sorting through her clothes, tossing an article to the side every now and then. They are close. I suppose it isn’t out of the realm of reality. Giorno leaned his head back and mulled things over. Guido is…intimidated by me? But he knows me best. He’s seen me cry and lose my temper. He’s seen me at my weakest moments and he’s touched me enough to know how thin and small I am. I understand everyone else being afraid of me, but Guido? I thought he knew me. Giorno rubbed at his neck, Though it is probably my own fault. I still keep secrets from him. And I’m never open on purpose with him. I should be. I do trust him .

“If I were to tell him, do you think he would believe me?” Giorno asked slowly. “It seems he won’t be telling me any time soon if he feels like I’m above him. I never meant for something like that to happen.”

“Oh Gio, we know that. But you can’t help it. You just have that aura about you. It’s why people are drawn to you as well, it’s not all bad.” Trish patted his shoulder as she walked by. “Mista is no exception.”

“He’s a little clueless too.” Sheila smiled. “You’re gonna have to be pretty blunt.”

“Just go for it!” Trish urged. “It would make you happy! You deserve it too, Giorno. So so much.” Trish took his hands and squeezed them tightly. “Mista deserves happiness too, and I know he wants it from you.”

“Trisssh,” Sheila said. “Stop, you’re making him blush!”

Giorno touched his suddenly burning cheek and modestly looked away. “When I’m with him, everything does seem brighter and warmer. I laugh so easily when he’s around.” Giorno rested his hand on his heart. “I never want to lose that.”

“We won’t let you.” Trish said. “I’ll protect him and you, with my life.”

“Me as well.” Sheila added. “Your happiness is our happiness right? After all,” Her smile was small and shy. “We’re a family.”

Giorno shut his eyes and felt warmth wash over him. “Yes. Yes we are.”

Giorno let the girls dress him and play with his hair and make-up to their heart's content the rest of the night. He had a lot to think about and for once, very little of it had to do with gang life. What Giorno did in his personal life wasn’t up to scrutiny. He had no problem permanently removing those who would ever dare to insult Giorno or Mista or their potential romantic relationship. Mostly, Giorno had to seriously consider what it would mean to admit his love and have it returned. It would make him happy. It would put Mista in even more danger. It could complicate their relationship beyond repair or it could maybe become the greatest thing either of them had to call their own. It was a delicate decision, one Giorno knew he’d have to figure out sooner rather than later. Because if he ultimately decided a relationship would be too dangerous to pursue, he’d have to break Mista’s heart and pray he moved on quickly. He wouldn’t let the man pine any longer then he already had. Such behavior didn’t suit him anyway. He was direct and no nonsense. Giorno almost couldn’t imagine him wringing his hands and longing for Giorno instead of just taking him.

If only Mista would just take Giorno by the waist and kiss him into submission. Then he wouldn’t have to agonize over such a decision. It be made right then and there because Giorno knew once he had Mista like that, he’d never be able to let go.

“You’re hair looks good down.” Trish said as she fluffed Giorno’s hair across his shoulders. “And it’s gotten so long!”

“You should unbutton your shirt a little more.” Shelia added. “I have it on good authority that a certain someone really likes it when you wear low cut tops.”

Giorno knew it had been risky letting the girls take over but he hadn't quite expected that they would dress him up like a present for Mista. It seemed Mista had told Trish quite a lot and she knew every little thing that Mista was into. Giorno’s hair, his neck and collarbones and when he wore soft eye makeup and dark colors. Giorno didn’t care whether Mista wore a hat or boots or sandals or even showered that night. He just wanted to see him.

“So are you going to tell him tonight?” Trish asked, spritzing Giorno with a flowery perfume.

“Probably not.” Giorno said. “I need more time to sleep on it.”

Trish groaned. “I think a couple years is more than enough time. C’mon, we are in France! On vacation! It would be romantic.”

“I’m not particularly romantic.” Giorno said blandly. “But even I know a dance club isn’t a very classy place to confess.”

“Fine, but you should still do it before we leave. On the beach or in the gardens or out to dinner.” Trish sighed. “He’ll never admit to it, but I know Mista likes those kind of things, deep down. He’s so traditional.”

Giorno just shook his head. He couldn’t picture Mista ever getting flustered by roses or flowery confessions by the moonlight. He came from a lower class, practical Catholic family. He’d be happy if Giorno just finally got over himself and told Mista clearly and loudly that he loved him. Giorno wished he could say it so easily. Doubts and fears still wrapped around him like thick vines and emotionally, he was already thoroughly spent.

Later, maybe , Giorno thought as he and the girls made their way downstairs. Soon though. No matter what I decide to do we should have a discussion. I fear I’ll lose him either way, but it be unfair to keep this from him for much longer. I can’t betray our trust like this anymore. I will tell him. I’ll tell him everything. Just not now, not yet .

Mista and Fugo were waiting for them in the foyer and when Mista glanced up to look at Giorno they both froze. Mista wasn’t wearing a hat, for once and it pained Giorno to admit just how much he loved his dark curly hair. He was dressed nicely, as he always was. Mista had expensive tastes and some people might say he had no idea how to put his pricey pieces together but Giorno found his clashing colors and patterns charming. He skin was darker from their days spent in the sun and he looked relaxed and loose. Warm and solid as the earth and when he smiled at Giorno he just about swooned.

“I called us a limo.” Fugo said, snapping his phone shut. “That ok.”

“Of course!” Mista put his arm around Fugo and hugged him around the shoulders. “We’re riding in style tonight! I’m gonna treat the whole club tonight! It’s about time we started living like Capos!”

“Like the mansion and gold jewelry wasn’t enough.” Sheila said to him while Giorno just gazed quietly at Mista. He looks so happy . He’s been in so much pain these last few years…I should have taken more time to care for him as well . I’ll do it from now own. And I’ll be sure we are happy together. That’s my new dream.

Trish tugged on Giorno’s ear and he knew he must look zoned out. He wasn’t willing to be put on the spot so he quickly pulled himself together.  “Well let's go then.”

They packed themselves into the almost painfully ritzy stretch limo and Mista had two bottles of champagne open before they even pulled out of the driveway. “Cheers!” He said, smiling brightly. “I’d say this vacation was a success?”

“I’m definitely feeling relaxed.” Fugo said. “Actually, I’m almost a little sad we have to get back to work. It’s nice to goof off sometimes.”

“I can't believe you of all people are saying that.” Sheila said, her eyes wide. “We need to get the fuck outta France as soon as we can.”

“Breaks increase productivity,” Trish said as she delicately sipped at her champagne. Her bright red lipstick left a smudge. “So I suggest when we get back we take over Rome. Maybe even the Vatican.”

“Lets wrap up dismantling the Gonzales and their ties to Sicily.” Giorno said. “One step at a time.”

The club did not turn out to be sticky and dank and crowded with the many lowlifes that Trish had feared. It looked expensive, exclusive, and the line of good looking and well dressed patrongs wrapped around the building. Giorno was moderately impressed by Mista’s find, but not surprised. Out of all of them, he had spent the most time living on the streets. He had learned to listen well and pick up on things others might not notice. It was incredibly useful in lifting tips and evidence and sniffing out dangers and in finding very nice dance clubs.

They cut to the front of the line. Giorno wondered for a second if a random French doorman would know enough about the Italian underground to respond to the Giovanna or Passione name. Diavolo hadn't gotten to this area of France anyway, but whatever Mista whispered in the man’s ear seemed to do the trick. He unhooked the rope and welcomed them in.

“Did you bribe him?” Giorno asked as Mista and Fugo immediately started scanning the club for any potential danger. Sex Pistols buzzed around but no one seemed to see them, which was a good sign.

“Nah, just let him know crossing you meant ending up dead.” Mista chuckled and pulled Giorno in close. “He almost laughed then he looked at ya. Somehow, everyone believes me when I say that after they take a good look into your eyes.” Mista’s face was close to Giorno’s and he had to hold himself back. He wanted to kiss him so badly it felt like an ache. “I don’t think you’re that scary.”

“That’s because we’re partners.” Giorno said with a sly smile. “What if I was your enemy? Would you be scared then?”

“I’d never be dumb enough to make any enemy of you, GioGio.” Mista nudged Giorno’s side. “C’mon, I’ll snag us a vip booth. Keep up those scary eyes for me.”

Giorno’s stomach did a little flip flop as Mista pulled away from him with a sneaky grin. Giorno managed to keep a passive face but he was screaming on the inside.

Mista held good on his promise to buy shots for the entire bar and then tripled down on drinks for their own group. Giorno kept to the vinyl couch of the vip section, drinking slowly and happy to just watch from the velvet rope. Fugo hung back with him while Mista, Trish and Shelia downed their shots and hurried to the center of the dancefloor. Giorno watched them dance fondly. Mostly, Mista just danced around the two of them to make sure no man tried to approach them and it definitely worked. Everyone was afraid to get near the Italian throwing out high kicks as dance moves. But he was smiling so brightly and laughing with the girls and Giorno could have stared at him for hours. He was only a dozen feet away, so why did it feel like Giorno would never be able to reach out and touch him? He imagined himself getting up and walking that distance to the other man. He’d let Mista take him by his waist and pull him into a crazy dance that would make him laugh and forget all his sadness and heaviness for just a few minutes but it be enough. Mista was always enough for Giorno.

“It’s loud.” Fugo sighed, setting his glass down with a clink. It startled Giorno out of his daydream. “But the dj is pretty good and the drinks are nice. Guess I’m glad I came.” Fugo glanced at Giorno. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

“You know I can't dance. It’s my one failing.” Giorno shrugged. “But what about you? You like to dance and there are some pretty girls looking your way.”

“Idiot, they’re probably looking at you.” Still, Fugo blushed a little. “Guess it feels kinda wrong to go dancing without Narancia. It was one of his favorite things to do, y’know. He helped me loosen up enough to even get out there in front of people and not get embarrassed.”

Giorno clenched and unclenched his fist. Narancia should be here. That much is true. But he isn’t, and I can't bring him back. Giorno took a deep breath and offered Fugo his hand. “Come on, you can dance with me for a while.”

Fugo’s eyes bugged. “An order?”

“An offer.”

Fugo sighed a little, because he knew he would follow any offer like a command. He grasped Giorno’s hand as he got to his feet and followed him a little ways to the dancefloor.

“You really can’t dance.” Fugo said as Giorno desperately tried to find the beat in the hammering song that filled his head with bass and little else. “That’s kinda funny.” Giorno huffed and ignored him. “You know,” Fugo went on. “I bet it be easier for you if you were being led by a partner.”

“If you want to lead just ask.”

Fugo rolled his eyes and placed his hands on Giorno’s shoulders. “All I’m saying is, Mista looks like he could use a partner. Besides, I’m no where skilled enough to try and sort out those movements you call dancing.”

Giorno looked over Fugo’s shoulder at Mista, who was dancing with Sheila now, Trish most likely getting more drinks. Mista’s cheeks were flushed red and he held an empty vodka bottle. “When did he get that?”

“Here, I’ll try and teach you how to not constantly step on his feet.” Fugo winced as Giorno did just that. “Maybe you should just not move your feet at all.”

Giorno huffed. “What says I even want to dance with Mista?”

“Everything about you, really.”

Giorno let Fugo try to teach him proper club dancing for about two songs before decided he’d had enough of the crowded sweaty space. By that time, Fugo was having too much fun to stop, which had been Giorno’s goal all along. He felt rather uncomfortable honestly, out of place and so stupidly love sick over Mista. He started to make his way back to their table when he spotted the bar out of the corner of his eye. Giorno hesitated for two split seconds before he turned around and delicately moved people out of the way with Golden Experience. Giorno didn’t like to get drunk, but he knew when the situation called for it. Somehow feeling sad and lonely in a club with all his friends was a problem that practically begged to be solved with alcohol.

Giorno ordered a few shots of what was most expensive and knocked them back without taking a breath. He leaned back in the booth and watched the pulsating crowd swirl into a nauseating array of lurid colors. The liquor hit him quickly and soon he felt like it had sunk into his very bones. He knew this wasn’t like him, and he didn’t feel like himself. But that was the point.

Giorno saw Mista from across the crowd, rather blitzed himself. He really did look so carefree and wild. Sweat dripped from his curls and sparkled under the flashing rainbow lights. Giorno was breathless. He got up and tripped a little, already a little unbalanced by the booze. Giorno pushed his way through the crowd, and almost got knocked over by a woman’s rather large, swinging handbag.

“Woah there,” Mista said, catching him. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” Giorno said. “Fugo said I suck at dancing, do I?”

“Hm? Well I don’t know.” Mista’s speech was slurring a bit. “Haven't really seen it.”

“Dance with me then and let me know.” Giorno ordered. His head was fuzzy and somewhere his conscious was begging him to reconsider everything he was doing at that moment but then Mista placed his hands on Giorno’s hips.

“First you gotta start moving.” Mista said lowly, leaning down to talk in Giorno’s ear. “But I really don’t think anything you do will suck.”

Giorno swallowed past the lump in his throat as he moved into the other man's space. He wrapped his arms over his shoulders and swayed in time with him. Mista kept his hands on Giorno’s waist and held tight. He was watching Giorno move intensely and Giorno burned under his eyes. His mouth was dry now and his stomach got tight as Mista pulled him closer until their hips were touching and brushing against each other.

“Move with me,” Mista muttered, hands on Giorno’s back now. He could feel his heat through his thin shirt. “That’s it, that’s it. You’re an amazing dancer.” Mista rolled his hips against Giorno’s and he couldn’t. “I might be biased though.”

He’s drunk . Giorno thought as he touched Mista’s chest. So am I, so we should stop this . This isn’t how friends dance. I know that much. “Guido…”

“I like it when you say my name.” Mista’s voice was hoarse. His hand was up the back of Giorno’s shirt now and Giorno trembled. “I hated it until you started calling me Guido all the time.”

“It’s a good name.” Giorno ran his hands up and down Mista’s chest like he had been desperate to for years. He wanted to cry, it all felt too good to be real and he knew he should stop. Or maybe keep drinking until he forgot about those worries. “Fits the man.”

Mista fingers dug into the notches of Giorno’s lower back and he turned him around. Giorno held his breath as Mista got his arms around his middle and kept him moving along with the music. Mista’s body seemed to radiate warmth and his cologne was heavy. His fingers brushed against the bare skin of Giorno’s hips as his shirt rode up and Giorno didn’t even hear the music anymore. He just felt its bass rattling his chest and Mista’s heavy breathing against his ears.

Mista hands slid down Giorno’s legs and pulled him up against his hips and Giorno bit his lip. He still wasn’t too sure what he was supposed to do with his own body. He just did what felt good and it was almost euphoric to not plan his moves or worry about consequences, just for a moment. He reached back and gently touched Mista’s cheek with his hand. He made Mista look him in the eyes and their noses touched. Giorno’s entire body felt tight. Like he was going to rip out of his skin at any moment and he wanted everything from the other man. Mista laughed low in his throat once Giorno tried to grind back on him and he held him tightly.

“You’re so beautiful, Gio.” Mista nuzzled into the joint of Giorno’s neck. “You’re the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my entire life. If you look at me like that any longer…” Giorno wanted what his amorous tone was suggesting. He licked his bottom lip and turned back around. He pushed his leg in-between Mista’s and moved into his space. Giorno was desperate to kiss him all over. Giorno wasn’t sweet or soft. He didn’t think he was particularly comforting and he had grown up with no real love or affection so sometimes he didn’t know how to show it. But he needed Mista to know how much he loved him. I’ll kiss him, Giorno thought hazily, the room spinning around Mista. I’ll kiss him and let him take me anywhere he wants to go. I just want to be with you, Guido. I don’t want to feel so lonely anymore .

Giorno’s lips had just barely touched Mista’s when the other man quickly jerked back. Giorno almost lost his balance and for a second, he didn’t realize what had happened. He looked up at the other man, stricken. Mista’s eyes were wide and lidless and he seemed horrified. “Oh, oh no I can't…I can't do this.”

Giorno stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant when Mista shook his head and stumbled past Giorno. He couldn’t walk straight, not that Giorno was much better off. Giorno was too shocked to go after him. He couldn’t even move until people started to jostle him.

He staggered off the dancefloor. He couldn’t feel his legs very well and he didn’t see any of his friends anywhere. Giorno managed to get himself back to the bar so he could sit down at least but it didn’t help him with anything else. What happened? He thought, absolutely bewildered. What was I doing…dancing with him like that? But why didn’t he let me kiss him? Why did I try to kiss him now of all places! God, he’s drunk. I’m drunk. What was I doing?! Giorno dug his fingers into his sweaty hair and he really wished he could disappear. Trish said he liked me though! I feel like a fool! Like a…teenager . Giorno wanted his gang boss problems back right now. He wanted to worry about executions and drugs and brothels. He didn’t want to think about Mista’s rough fingertips touching his stomach anymore. He didn’t want to think about how shocked he looked when Giorno tried to kiss him. And he did not want to think about the crippling, savage pain that ripped at his chest and made his stomach feel cold.

So Giorno ordered himself the stiffest drink he could swallow and sat quietly. His face betrayed no emotions and he kept his back straight. In fact, Giorno was too shocked and hurt to do anything but sit in silence and force himself to feel nothing. It came so naturally. He didn’t even taste the gin.

Giorno had put away another drink before anyone else approached him. A man, maybe just a few years older than him sat down next to him. His dark hair was perfectly coiffed and he was dressed in a slick black suit. Giorno felt like he could see the man’s entire life in the knot of his tie and cut of his jaw. This was a dangerous man with cold eyes. Someone not too dissimilar from Giorno.

“Names Markus.” He said in French. “What’re you drinking?”

“I-I’m not sure at this point. I’m trying to go through the whole list alphabetically.”

Markus chuckled a bit and signaled the bartender. “Cute accent. Italian right? I used to vacation there when I was a kid.”

The bartender poured out a drink that contained about four different kinds of liquor and pushed it across to Markus, who offered it to Giorno with a smile. Giorno wasn’t a fool and this wasn’t his first time in a bar or the first time a man tried to pick him up. Before Passione, Giorno would let them and flatter them back and knick their watches and wallets while they tried to grope him. It been a while since anyone had been bold enough to approach him. Giorno took the drink and downed it as quickly as he could.

“Rough day you’ve been having there?” Markus laughed a little. “I think I could help you let off a little steam.” Giorno didn’t agree to that proposal, but he didn’t say anything. He stared at the man, void of anything. “What’s your name then, gorgeous?”

“Giorno.”

“Ah, that means ‘day’, doesn't it? Suits you, you’re as beautiful as the sunrise.” Markus seemed almost emboldened by Giornos lack of reaction. Giorno couldn't find it in himself to do anything right now. He wanted to disappear. He withdrew, further and further until he barely noticed how the man was rubbing his shoulder. Giorno’s mouth was bitter and the only thing he was thinking of was the look in Mista’s eyes when he pulled away. Mista had never, ever looked like that and now Giorno felt cast into a black, churning sea. “You want to dance?”

“Fine.” Giorno said, slipping off his stool and nearly falling flat on his ass. Markus took Giorno by his arm and all but dragged his pliant body back to the dance floor. Giorno’s skin crawled as the man touched him like Mista had but there was nothing but lust in his hands and Giorno hated it. He hated it so much. But with this much anger and disgust in his heart there was no room for sadness, or guilt and Giorno let the man dance on him to his heart's content.

“You here alone?” Markus muttered into Giorno’s neck. His lips were cold and wet like raw fish and his cologne made Giorno want to vomit. Markus didn’t wait long for an answer. “You’re a quiet one, huh? i like that though. Better than a bitch who runs their mouth all the time.”

Giorno vaguely realized Markus was slowly leading him back towards the entrance of the club. Into his car, maybe, and back to his place. Or maybe just to the car.  His touch and breath were so unwanted it filled Giorno’s mouth with bile but Giorno still wondered if he could just vanish into this man. He had no expectations of Giorno. He only knew his name and that he was pretty. He wouldn't make him confront his grief and he wouldn't pull away and break his heart.

I’ve lost control . Giorno realized as Markus fondled him shamelessly and Giorno hung limp against him like a pretty doll. His mouth was all over his neck and Giorno was too drunk to care however. He’d just keep punishing himself in new and interesting ways until he didn’t feel anything else.

Markus was suddenly ripped off of Giorno and he struggled to get his footing back without a sleazy pickup artist to lean on. Mista held Markus by his shirt collar and before the man could say anything Mista reared back and punch him in the nose.

The crowd immediately stepped back. Furious, Markus looked up at Mista. His nose was gushing and had already covered his chin and throat. Mista kicked him in the head with his heel and drove him back into the floor. Mista glanced at Giorno and he flashed him a pretty smug grin before another man jumped up and smashed a chair over his head.

Giorno was knocked backwards as chaos erupted. He lost sight of Mista as he was jumped by two different men, and a very sharp boot made contact with Giorno's skull. He scrambled to his feet and elbowed that man in the eye. Gold Experience flickered to life but it was weak and hardly there. Giorno wildly scanned the crowd as the fighting spread across the dancefloor. The bouncers didn’t seem interested in stopping the brawl. More like they were excited to finally start throwing some punches themselves. Giorno spotted Trish by her vibrant hair. Sheila was leading her out by her hand, shoving people aside like they were nothing. Giorno could hear Fugo shouting over the din but he couldn't see him, even in his electric blue pants. Golden Experience vanished as Giorno stumbled against the wall to try to catch his breath. The room was spinning fast now and Giorno wasn't sure if he was going to vomit or pass out first. The room swirled as he felt himself be grabbed and lifted up. There was a gunshot and whoever was holding him started running.

Cool air hit him like a wall and Giorno threw up hundreds of dollars worth of fine alcohol down Fugo’s back. He finally recognized those horrific pants. Fugo unceremoniously dumped him in the back seat of the waiting limo. Giorno curled up on the fine leather interior, praying he would never have to move again. Sheila was anxiously looking out the window, saying something to the driver. Fugo tossed his ruined jacket out the car door and suddenly yelled, pointing wildly. Trish was dragging Mista by his arm, Spice Girl picking up some of the slack in the back. As soon as Fugo helped the both of them inside the driver hit the gas and pealed out of amassing crowd as fast as the car could go.

Mista was bleeding from a gash on his head. Trish had a wad of napkins pressed to his forehead and Giorno tried to summon Gold Experience. He’d just have to change one of those napkins to a swatch of skin and Mista would be fine but now there was just a glimmer of golden light that quickly vanished. Giorno moaned as he swooned and the bottom of the car turned upside down as he toppled over and blissfully, blacked out.

Sometimes, Giorno was still scared of the dark. The trauma of being left alone through the night clung to him. Those memories and the feelings they carried with them were carved into his bones now. So when he woke up in a pitch black room panic set into his chest until he smelt Trish’s perfume.

He stretched his arms out first and felt around the piles of clothes he had settled into. His entire body ached and he was so nauseous it took him a very long time to manage standing. Giorno stumbled to the wall and felt around for the curtains. It was cloudy out, but what little light broke through the sky and window hurt Giorno like he was on fire. He quickly drew the curtains closed and used the light of his phone which was still in his back pocket. He was in Trish and Sheila’s room and the pile of clothes was their bed. The girls were nowhere to be seen but the glass of water and bottle of painkillers on the bedside table suggested that they had been here.

Giorno took 4 pills and downed the glass of water. His mouth still tasted disgusting. He felt like a wrung sponge and refilled his glass three more times in the bathroom before he supposed he should try to eat something. He stopped by his room first to peel off his clothes and take the worlds hottest shower. No matter how hard he scrubbed he felt itchy in his skin and slowly, he remembered last night.

“Holy shit.” Giorno said at his reflection in the mirror. He had been...a complete and total idiot. Giorno didn't think he had ever acted like that before in his life. Getting ridiculously drunk, dancing with that strange man, dancing with Mista , and that fight? Giorno stared sadly at the welt right next to his left eye. He couldn't hide that with even the most perfectly blended foundation. He threw on his recently bought Chanel sweats and drugstore flip flops and forced himself to go downstairs to face the blistering shame.

It was quiet and all the lights were off. Giorno didn’t hear anyone, but he smelt coffee and followed it, hoping to find signs of life. The kitchen was empty aside from the dripping pot and mug in hand, Giorno went into the last room, hoping his friends hadn't already left for Italy.

Fugo was at the chess table, alone. His lip was a little swollen and Giorno assumed he has been hit in the fray. “I’m sorry.” Giorno said immediately.

“Eh, don’t be.” Fugo said, moving the pieces around. “Apparently, that guy Mista hit was the club owner. That’s why everyone went nuts. He’s also part of the Milieu, but Polnareff smoothed things over with them.” Giorno grunted and sat opposite of him. He sipped at his coffee and watched Fugo aimlessly push around the pawns for a while.

“I made a total idiot out of myself.”

“Well, yeah.” Fugo laughed a bit. “But I think you’re allowed to have a couple benders here and there.”

Giorno knew he had already been forgiven for his behavior. It made him confused and a little angry that he wasn’t being punished by anything other then this horrible hangover. “Where is everyone.”

“Well, Polnareff is resting after dealing with the Milieu all night and Trish and Sheila took off for the day. Trish pushed our flight back to tomorrow. And uh, Mista is on the beach. He got stitches last night and he’s also completely hungover so he was in a real bad mood. He said something about needing some salty air and he's been outside all morning.”

Giorno heaved a sigh as loud as a swelling sea. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t blaspheme.” Fugo said vaguely.

Giorno picked up one of the pieces from Fugo’s mock game and quickly kinged him. Fugo just grimaced. “Did I...do or say anything after I blacked out?”

“You just sorta ranted but no one could understand what you were saying. You kept switching between French, English, Japanese and...I think German?”

“I’ve been taking lessons.” Giorno answered, twisting his fingers together.

“I guess I don’t have to tell you no one had ever seen you so upset before. You were angry and sad and scared and then you curled up in Trish’s lap and went to sleep.” Fugo smiled at Giorno a little as he reset their chess pieces. “But I think that’s good. You got everything that was bothering you out. Maybe now you won’t hold it in anymore.” Giorno didn’t feel like answering. He was thoroughly demoralized. “But, y’know, I learned all that the hard way. I used to lose my temper over stupid shit and I just...pretended that nothing bothered me. I wasn’t honest. I didn’t wanna be weak.” Fugo twisted the Knight around in his hand. “You should let people know what they really mean to you before it's too late. In this line of work, any day could be the day you lose someone. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

As silent as Giorno had been over his grief, Fugo had somehow been even more mute. Giorno knew they shared similar guilt and regret but this was maybe the most Fugo had spoken about it since Giorno recruited him back into the gang. Giorno would sometimes catch Fugo clinging to Narancia’s knife, stroking the groves of it methodically. He’d pocket it without a word and Giorno could almost feel his agony from across a room. A look of understanding passed between them and Giorno got to his feet.

“Thank you, Fugo.” Giorno said as the other man grasped his hand and kissed his ring.

“But you do owe me 300 dollars for my jacket you puked on.”

Giorno offered him a quick smile and made his way to the shore. Thunder came from across the ocean and the clouds were swollen with rain. The wind carried a chill and the entire stretch of beach was abandoned. The cold and the salt cleared Giorno's head and chest and he felt better, until he spotted Mista out in the surf. Suddenly he was full and heavy with love and fear and that same miserable ache. Giorno gazed at him from across the shore as he swam and caught his eye. Mista stared back. Giorno slid his shoes off and walked into the ocean.

Giorno wasn't a very strong swimmer and the waves were choppy. He admitted to himself that maybe this had been a mistake but he felt like in a trance. Mista hurriedly swam to meet Giorno and grasped him by his arms, holding him up and against his bare chest. Mista’s eyes were two, huge circles and for once, Giorno didn’t know what to say. Mista’s steeleness was gone and he looked defenseless. Giorno felt as if he was going to suffocate on his love.

“Please, Guido, end this agony.” Giorno wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say or mean, but Mista did. He stared into Giorno’s eyes and Giorno felt like a mouse in front of a snake. More than that, he wanted to be consumed. Mista buried his fingers in Giorno’s hair and kissed him with no unsureness and no hesitation.

Giorno melted . He gasped against Mista’s mouth like he hadn’t breathed in centuries and threw his arms around his neck. Mista cradled his skull in his strong hands and kissed him breathless. Giorno’s knees shook and his lip quivered in between Mista’s. His mouth was hot and even though Giorno could barely keep up with how fast he kissed, he could tell Mista was holding back. The waves crashed against their backs and Giorno would gladly let the ocean sweep the two of them away to a warm and wet grave if it meant that this kiss would never end.

Mista picked Giorno up and carried him back to shore. Giorno pressed his face into Mista’s neck and sighed. Mista had carried Giorno a few times, most noteworthy the one time he got shot too badly to heal himself. Mista had cried that day. It was to this day the only time Giorno saw him shed tears on the battlefield.  Mista had a look on him Giorno had never really seen before. He was tense, like when he aimed his gun but the unending tenderness in his eyes was entirely new. Giorno knew his mouth was agape because not for the first time, he was overwhelmed by the light inside of Mista.

Mista sat down beside Giorno on the beach and pressed their brows together. He was clinging to his hand “We were drunk last night.” Mista said. Water clung to his eye lashes. “I shouldn’t have touched you.”

“But I wanted you too. I have for so long now, Guido.” Mista took his time processing what Giorno had just said. His eyes were wide and it made Giorno smile a little. Giorno traced the lines of Mista’s palm and his knuckle bones and every knotch that made his hands. He kissed his fingers one by one, drunk on adore already.

“W-what do you mean by that?”

“I was drunk but I wasn’t going against my nature. I always long for you. God, you’re just too special to me. Now you’re everything to me.” Giorno rested his cheek in Mista’s palm and listened to the ocean. The other man still seemed stunned, like this wasn’t what he had been expecting at all. Giorno wasn’t flippant with affection. He was only a little annoyed Mista seemed to doubt  him. “I love you.”

Mista stifled a gasp and tried to act as if he had been clearing his throat. He squeezed Giorno’s fingers before he looked down for a beat. When he lifted his face, he was beaming and his voice was thick as he answered. “Oh my god...I...I love you, too, Giorno. Holy shit, I didn’t really think I’d ever be saying that out loud.” Mista licked his lips nervously and Giorno shamelessly stared at his tongue. “Oh my God, I-I was never really sure if someone like you could ever feel like this for me.”

“Someone like me…” Giorno gazed up at Mista’s mouth. He lightly touched his fingertips to his bottom lip and relished in how it trembled. “Is so blessed to be with someone like you.”

Mista blinked and a few tears dripped down. Giorno kissed them away and Mista made a short pathway to his neck. Giorno bit his lip as pleasure sank into his skin. Mista pulled Giorno onto his lap, Giorno’s legs around the other man’s waist. Giorno was suddenly very aware that Mista was shirtless. He watched the beads of water run down his throat and shoulders, catching in his chest hair. Giorno loved Mista’s broad chest and his stomach and the lines of his hips and the curve of his back. And after keeping his hands to himself for two years he let them wander.

“Gorgeous…” Giorno muttered more to himself then anything. Mista stopped kissing Giorno’s collarbones and looked up at him shyly. He cupped Giorno’s face and brought their lips back together. “So gorgeous…”

Mista tasted like mouthwash and the ocean. His hands were pushed up the back of Giorno’s shirt but his touches were so gentle Giorno doubted he’d even leave a mark. Though it was hard for Giorno to even think about potential scratches as Mista cautiously slid his tongue into his mouth. Giorno squirmed .

Mista groaned and Giorno found himself on his back. Mista laid in between Giorno’s legs and he was heavy, but the weight was comforting as always. Mista pulled back from the kiss, their lips just barely touching. Giorno slowly opened his eyes. Mista was running his thumb back and forth over Giorno’s cheek, but he seemed unsure. “I uh...never really thought this was gonna happen.” He said. “Like I’ve been into you for a while...I always thought you were cute but recently...I don’t know. Something changed this year. I figured out that you are my favorite person. And I wanna be with you like this.” Mista shook his head. “I don’t know what I was so worried about, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I’m real sorry I didn’t. But god, this all feels so crazy.”

Mista still looked confused. “This is real,” Giorno whispered to him. He tangled his fingers in his thick curls and kissed his forehead. “And I’m yours. Guido, you’re the only one for me.”

Mista sniffed a little and then smiled brightly.  That goofy grin gave way to his eyes getting heavy when he noticed how Giorno was looking him up and down. Mista’s stubble was rough on Giorno’s neck and chest. Giorno shivered as the other man’s tongue touched his skin and caressed the lines of Giorno’s throat and collarbones. Giorno trailed his fingers over the curves of his shoulders, the bumps of his spine and the dip of his back. He wanted to worship him and confess every thought and desire and longing that had tortured him since that hazy summer day two years ago when Giorno looked at Mista as they watched the ships in the harbor and realized he was pitifully and completely in love.

“But God, Gio.” Mista regretfully stopped kissing him. Giorno did not move his hands off his ass. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought I was gonna lose my mind if I had to get in your bed one more time and not do this.”

Giorno looked to the side. Flowers were spreading across the beach as unwittingly he had been bringing life to the dead shells. “I’m so afraid of losing you. It will hurt worse now. I know I won’t survive it.” Giorno shut his eyes. “I can already see our matching graves.”

Mista chuckled a little and sat up. He held Giorno to his chest and Giorno nuzzled as close to his pounding heart as he could. “You’re so grim sometimes. But you know, I’d rather die tomorrow than live till I’m old without this. Without knowing what it's like to kiss you.”

Giorno frowned. “You aren’t allowed to die.”

Mista just smiled at him and hooked his hair behind his ear. “Is that an order, Boss?” Mista touched his nose to Giorno’s. “You’ll never get rid of me now.”

Giorno’s throat was tight. Mista’s smile was open and so innocent. Like this, they were just two men who had fallen in love sincerely and simply. The gang and all the bloodshed and their own shredded pasts fell away to make room for this. Sometimes, Giorno was afraid nothing he had was good. It didn’t matter how virtuous his intentions were. He ran a crime empire at the end of the day. Everything he touched had a risk of turning into nothing but ash. But this? Giorno reached forward and laid his hand on one of the scars that peppered Mista’s skin. This was pure and golden.

Giorno kissed Mista’s chin and nose and his left eyelid before shyly running his tongue over his lips. Giorno had kissed a few other men here and there and he wouldn't deny that it had been pleasurable but he felt Mista’s kiss throughout his entire body. It made him want to sing and dance and praise God. It made his toes curl and his stomach hot, and tight. Mista deepened the kiss and Giorno made a desperate, breath gasp.

“You can’t make those sounds…” Mista pulled away, spit trailing between them. “It’s not fair. My heart's gonna explode.”

Mista did little to stop helping Giorno make these noises. He pulled the other man back in and kissed him hard. Mista’s hands were up his sweatshirt, counting ribs and scars. Giorno felt like he was losing an unspoken contest and tried so hard to keep up with Mista’s furious adoration. So he grabbed his chest and sucked on his fat bottom lip, determined to make Mista make just as many embarrassing, lusty noises as him.

The mood evaporated though as with their tell tale screech Sex Pistols flew out from the holster of Mista’s abandoned shirt and swarmed Giorno.

“Boss! Boss!”

“We love you!”

“I love you!”

“I love you the most!”

Mista looked completely horrified as Sex Pistols covered Giorno’s face in kisses but Giorno laughed loudly. “I’m sorry, sorry,” Mista muttered, plucking them off one by one. No. 5 tried to hide in Giorno’s hair. “I’ve been trying to hold them back but I guess since they’re me they just wanna shower you in affection.” Giorno couldn’t stop laughing. He felt it now. Relief. He would never have to hold himself back again around this beautiful, wonderful man. Mista watched him happily, before leaning forward to kiss him again. While Mista was distracted with pulling his henley back on Giorno pressed his hand to his pounding heart. “You wanna go inside? Get into some warm clothes?”

Giorno nodded and let Mista lead him by his hand. Giorno held onto Mista’s arm and rested his head on his shoulder as they walked. He felt like there was a flower blooming in him. He was giddy, scared, electric and calm all together when Mista leaned down to kiss his forehead.

They turned into the main room by the kitchen, Mista grumbling over how hungry he was, and they were met by a round of applause. Fugo was there with Polnareff, Trish and Sheila, spread out across the couches. They clapped and cheered and Giorno hid his face against Mista’s arm.

“Oh fuck off.” Mista said to them with no bite.

“What, we’re all just relieved we don’t have to deal with anymore ‘will they won’t they’ tension.” Fugo said lightly, sipping his tea. “Now I’ll never have to hear you bitch about being lonely again.”

“Or get drunk and cry and pine for three hours in my bathroom.” Trish added.

“Guys…” Mista sounded weak. “He doesn’t gotta know all that…”

“Oh my god,” Sheila muttered. “Gio’s blushing .”

Giorno was very pink to the tips of his ears. He was rather embarrassed. He and Mista’s shy circling of each other was honestly laughable and it did pain him to realize everyone had figured out his secret.

“Sheila, don’t point it out!” Trish said as Mista turned himself and Giorno around in a red faced huff and stalked off towards Giorno’s room.

“You never blush.” Mista said as he shut the door. He laid the pads of his fingers on Giorno’s flushed cheek. “It’s really cute.”

Giorno wasn’t used to being called cute. And now Mista had done it twice. Giorno was discovering he rather liked it. “I thought you were hungry?”

Mista crossed his arms and pouted. “I don’t wanna deal with their teasing right now. Make’s me feel unmanly.” Mista slowly looked around the room, to the bed, to Giorno, back to the bed. “You wanna make out?”

“Guido…”

“What?” Mista said in a drawn out voice, putting his hands around Giorno’s waist. “It’s not like I got a lot of experience being romantic.”

Giorno shut his eyes as Mista softly kissed his neck. “No, but you do listen to all those sappy songs and watch those saccharine movies.” Mista just hummed and went on to where Giorno’s jaw met his neck. Giorno sighed in mock defeat and pulled Mista over to his bed. They were still sandy and salty from the ocean and Giorno could feel his headache creeping back. He really didn’t care. He just wanted to kiss Mista.

Despite his full body ache, Giorno was all but glowing. For once, his hands weren’t just tools for conquering and grabbing power. They looked so much better combing through Mista’s dark curls or splayed against his chest. Giorno was almost intoxicated with the thought that his body could be an instrument used to love Mista. Giorno’s nerve’s were electric and he knew his skin was hot and red to the touch.  He tried so hard to keep composed and quiet, but Mista would pull Giorno’s hand away from his mouth so he could hear him. And when Giorno covered his face Mista would gently ask why and kiss Giorno’s knuckles.

“You know this is so crazy for me too...you’re the only one I’ve touched like this.” Mista admitted as Giorno ran each of Mista’s curls through his finger and thumb. “Being in the gang didn’t leave a lot of room for dating…”

It was so much more than that for Giorno. Just being close and open with another person was already a steep hill to climb. Mista had that. Loving people seemed to come easy to him.  Giorno was still getting used to the concept. He hadn’t loved anyone but that shadowy gangster before he joined the gang. And now he straddled Mista’s hips as the other man kissed bruises on to his neck  and told him over and over how much he loved him. It was so scary it almost hurt to say it. It hurt to hear it back. That small, ignored child still sat in the pit of Giorno’s stomach. Knowing he was unloved, and knowing he’d never be able to give any real love either. Giorno wished he could tell that child that all that wasn’t true.

Giorno fell asleep curled up in Mista’s arms. He was still hungover after all. His nap was short though, and when he woke up the shower was running and Mista was conspicuously absent.  Giorno felt sticky from the ocean and the sheets were full of sand. To busy himself, he stripped the bed and remade it with sheets he found in the dresser. He fluffed the pillows and he could hear his friends laughing and talking downstairs, but Giorno was content here. Mista was taking a rather long time though, and Giorno’s clothes and skin were crusted with salt. With a shrug, he undressed, and stepped into the bathroom.

Mista screamed shrilly as Giorno slid open the door to the shower. “It’s just me, calm down.”

“Oh Gio...Giorno!?” Mista immediately stared up at the ceiling as Giorno casually joined him. They had seen each other naked before, in communal saunas and sometimes when they had to quickly change for a mission. Giorno wasn’t too sure why Mista was panicking. “What are you doing?”

“I feel gross.” Giorno said, letting the hot water run over his hair. “And you were taking so long. And…” Giorno gently placed his head on Mista’s chest. “I missed you.

“Oh…” Mista hugged Giorno close and it was heaven to feel his skin on his. “Is this...all you wanna do?” Giorno nodded and Mista hummed. “Guess I should put my boner away then.”

“Guido,” Giorno said, almost surprised by the amount of affection in his voice. Who was this Giorno? So soft and giggling and shyly pressing his nose into Mista’s chest. “Lord, I really do adore you.”

“I’m still making my mind up about you, babe.” Mista teased, plopping a handful of shampoo on Giorno’s head. He massaged his fingertips into Giorno’s hair and his eyes nearly rolled back. It felt so incredibly good. Mista rubbed his thumb against Giorno’s temple, holding his head in both hands. Mista’s gaze was painfully, heartbreakingly soft and Giorno glanced over the other man’s shoulder at the bathroom mirror. Through the steam he could make out the two of them in the mirror, so entwined, and Giorno couldn’t believe how...lovestruck he looked. We make an attractive pair, Giorno thought, allowing himself to be quite pleased with landing such a gorgeous man. Mista titled Giorno’s head up and sweetly kissed him. “I love you, Gio.”

“I love you too, Guido.”

“And you really don’t mind how hairy I am?”

“Mind it?” Giorno nuzzled back into Mista’s chest. “I quite like it.”

They spent the rest of the day with their friends. Mista took their teasing gracefully. Though he blushed so brightly whenever Giorno leaned in to kiss him. The rain didn’t let up, so Fugo and Sheila attempted to cook, and Trish, Mista and Giorno attempted to eat it. Trish reminded them  all to pack and Giorno wondered how on earth she was going to deal with the small fortune of designer skirts and heels she had hoarded up in her room.

Giorno and Mista were the last two to head upstairs. It was a little odd to wordlessly head into the same bedroom instead of separating for the night. But there was no reason to sleep apart now that the veneer was gone. Mista had found a soccer game he wanted to watch and Giorno rested his head on his shoulder. Mista kept his hand on Giorno’s hip and was absently stroking the bit of exposed skin with his thumb. Sex Pistols had slipped out of his control and now were happily nestled in Giorno’s lap. It was the simple domesticity Giorno had always viewed as a strange and faraway thing. He’d never have a normal life with Mista. He knew that. The gang has shortened their life spans terribly but these moments would be enough.

Mista slumped a little as he began to nod off in the gentle blue light of the tv. Giorno stared at him in the way that unnerved so many people but would make the other man flustered. For once, Giorno wasn’t trying to analyze or intimidate. He just wanted to remember this quiet, still happiness.

Giorno took the remote from Mista’s limp hand and shut the tv off. He moved Mista closer to him until his head was in the curve of Giorno’s chest. Giorno figured it was about time to hold Mista as he slept.

“This’s nice,” Mista slurred, nuzzling closer. “You smell so good. And you’re so soft.”

Giorno slid his fingers into Mista’s hair. “You’ve spent three years losing sleep over me.”

“Yeah?” Mista kissed Giorno’s chest. “Not really. I slept good with you, Gio. Even before I got all these feelings for you. I had just lost all my friends. I was so lonely. I was having nightmares too. Not with you though.” Giorno felt as if his heart might burst, and he was sure he did when Mista said so plainly, “I’ve always felt safe with you, sweetheart.”

The next morning their bags were packed, their numerous puchuses organized and placed into several new suitcases and Giorno hung in the doorway, watching Mista and Fugo struggle to load up the cars. Trish was happily modeling her new sunhat for Sheila and humming prettily, and both were ignoring the fact that most of the extra boxes and cases were Trish’s.

“You certainly looked relaxed ,” Polnareff said, floating up out of the turtle Giorno held.

“Don’t be crass.” Giorno said, not looking away from Mista. “I’m not the kind to kiss and tell. Or sleep with someone before they at least take me to the opera.” Polnareff snorted good naturedly and reached down into the shell. He pressed a small, brown envelope into Giorno’s palm. “Fugo picked it up for me. He was quite curious.”

Giorno curled his fingers around it. “Thank you,” He said, handing the turtle off to Sheila who bounced after Trish. Giorno squeezed the package and took a deep breath. “Mista, come here a moment.” Giorno said.

Mista glanced at Fugo who just smiled and shrugged as he shut the trunk and got in the car. Mista joined Giorno’s side and immediately wrapped his arms around him. “What’s wrong baby? Forget something?”

“No, no I actually have something to give you.” Giorno gulped. He was very glad for his poker face.

Mista’s cheeks went red. “O-oh really? Wow, I actually got you something too.”

Giorno perked up. For some reason, he was almost ridiculously excited at hearing that. “Really?”

Mista rubbed at the back of his head. “Yeah but...well it might be kinda stupid. And it's cheap...I was kinda debating not even giving it to you but I guess that be rude now huh.” Mista dug around in his pockets and pulled out a small white package. “I-I saw it the other day when we were shopping downtown in some little roadside stand.” Mista nervously explained as Giorno pulled a ring out. It was made of sea glass and hung on thin gold chain. “I know it's cheap and shit but the color made me think of your eyes. Y’know, they’re so gorgeous.”

Mista was red to his ears now and Giorno handed the necklace back. Mista looked stricken. Giorno just smirked a little and turned around, holding his hair up. “Put it on for me.”

Mista sighed in relief and fastened the necklace. He kissed the nape of Giorno’s neck before he let him go. “And uh, you got something for me?” Mista smiled like an expectant kid on Christmas.

Giorno handed him the small envelope. Mista cocked his head as he shook out a small, brass key.

“Key to your heart?” Mista winked. “You are the best present I can think of. You would look good wearing a lil bow.” Mista leaned in close. “And nothing else.”

“Guido,” Giorno said, trying to hide his pleased smile. “It’s the key to the front door. I bought this place.”

“...huh?”

“When I went upstairs to pack, I talked with Jean. I had him put in an offer to this properties owner and about an hour ago they dropped this off.” Giorno could tell Mista was confused. “These past two weeks have been good. For me, for all of us. And now it’s a place we can go to when we need it. When we need to forget about the gang and be happy. You and I can come here, or we can bring the rest of our friends but...this was all your idea, wasn’t it?” Gioro took Mista’s hands in his. “Trish put it together but you are the one who planned that little intervention right?”

“You were suffering.” Mista said plainly. “I’d do anything to stop that.”

“I’m still in pain but...” Giorno looked up at the other man and his breath caught for a second. “I don’t want to mourn anymore.”

“I’m right there with you, Gio.” Mista held Giorno’s face in his hands. “And I’m gonna kiss you until Fugo runs in here and tells us to hurry up. Then I’ll kick his ass and kiss you some more.”

Mista pinned Giorno against the wall and did just what he promised.