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In retrospect, it had been a really stupid thing to do. But by the time this thought passed through Mista’s head it was too late; her fist connected with the dude’s jaw and sent him flying backwards. The dude’s mouth dripped blood. He must have bitten his tongue or something. Mista turned to run. A hand grabbed her sweater neck, turned her around, and a tightly curled fist landed in the centre of her face. She went down hard onto the floor as everyone around them shuffled backwards. There was blood collecting under Mista’s chin – her nose was broken. Shit. She stood and raised her fists.
A minute later Mista sat on the curb of the club with a broken nose, split lip, black eye, possibly dislocated thumb, and a fucking terrible mood. She touched a finger to her lip and hissed. Everything hurt, but she felt no regret. The dude had been touching up a girl sitting across the bar like he knew her, the creep, and nobody else was doing anything about it. The dude had practically asked for it.
Just as Mista reasoned this, somebody’s footsteps approached her from behind.
“Are you okay?”
Mista turned. A girl, youngish, blonde, and very cute, clutched her bag and stared back at her. Mista blinked up at the girl.
“I know first aid. Can you show me your thumb?”
The girl was really cute, actually. She didn’t seem like the type to hang out in the bar, so she must have just been passing by. Her clothes looked expensive. As the girl crouched down to get a closer look at Mista’s injuries, Mista got a closer look at her. Eyes the colour of sea glass, hair the colour of honey, the perfume of a rose garden. For an instance Mista wondered if she’d been knocked out in the bar and this was just an elaborate hallucination.
The girl lifted Mista’s right hand and Mista yelped. “Hey! That hurts!”
“It would,” said the girl. “You managed to dislocate it. How did this happen?”
Mista looked away. The girl had a piercing gaze, like a hawk’s, and it made her heart jump. “I punched someone,” Mista admitted.
The girl hummed. “It looks like you took a few hits yourself.”
Mista felt her face heat up. It hadn’t occurred to her much of a mess she must look to this girl. Covered in blood, sitting on the curb, totally uncool. She cursed under her breath and then turned back to the girl. “You do this a lot?”
“What?”
“Treat random people’s dislocated thumbs outside bars.”
The girl shifted her grip on Mista’s hand and brought her brows together in thought. “Only the cute ones.”
Mista laughed, not knowing what else to do, since most of her brain had fizzled out of function in the presence of this girl. She responded, “Hey, you’re not so bad yours-” before cutting off into a choked scream as her thumb was relocated with a gross audible pop.
The girl nodded. “One down,” she said. Mista heaved a breath. One down???? The girl looked up. “What’s your name?” she asked, reaching into her bag with her free hand.
Mista flexed her hand. It certainly felt better now, but geez that hurt.
“Mista,” she answered, over the sound of her thoughts musing. “What’s yours?”
“Giorno.” Giorno pulled a small kit—white with a red cross on the lid—from her bag. “Giorno Giovanna. Is there an ambulance coming? The police?”
Mista shook her head. Thought better of it. A bartender or bouncer might have called emergency services at some point, but Mista was too focused on the fight to notice. “If they are, I didn’t call them.”
Giorno looked up at Mista through her gorgeously curled eyelashes. “Not even the ambulance?”
Mista snorted. “Can’t afford the hospital visit.”
Giorno clicked her tongue. “Shame.” She lightly set the first-aid kit on the ground, opening it. She reached up with her other hand. Mista was sure that her cheeks must be glowing by the time the tips of Giorno’s fingers lightly brushed and curled around her jaw. “Well, the good news is, you pull off scars very well. I bet you’ll look even more handsome with a few more.” The fingers of her other hand hovered above Mista’s face. “I’m worried about the broken nose especially, though. Are you having difficulty breathing?”
“Uh,” Mista tried. She swallowed. Giorno watched Mista’s face, patient but determined. On Mista’s: a lopsided grin slid into place, carefully skirting around bunching up muscles that would hurt her injuries. “Related to the nose? Nah.” She winked. “But something around here’s taking my breath away.”
Giorno smiled, something small and knowing in her eye. “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?” She reached down and grabbed a single-packed alcohol wipe from the kit. Mista’s face felt cold where Giorno’s hands had left it. “Is that how the fight started?”
Mista glanced away. “Nah. Intervened on someone tryna be creepy. Don’t worry about it.”
Mista winced when something sharp, wet, and burning touched his cheek.
“Please hold still,” Giorno said. She reached to dab with the alcohol wipe again. “I have to clean the—”
Mista flinched away again. Giorno pouted. “Mista.”
“I can’t help it,” she whined. “That shit hurts!”
Giorno raised an eyebrow. “More than a bar fight?”
“Well, no, but someone had to do something about that.”
“And someone has to do this. It’ll feel a lot worse if it gets infected. Here—” Giorno reached forward and took Mista’s hand in hers. “When it hurts, think about squeezing my hand as hard as you can instead.”
Giorno’s hand looked pale as baby powder between Mista’s fingers. It wasn’t small by any normal means, but Mista had been born with thick fingers, and her mom joked that callouses ran in the family. “Are you sure?” she asked. Mista certainly didn’t wanna hurt Giorno, especially since she’d stopped to— “Wait, were you going somewhere important? I’m not keeping you from something, am I?”
“Not at all,” Giorno's smile left Mista's heart lurching, someone this angelic should be illegal, “besides this place is far more important than anywhere else I could be.”
“Oh-” Mista blushed as those small pale hands went up and cupped her cheeks with the gentlest touch, before screeching as Giorno pressed her pretty thumbs hard into the sides of her broken nose, snapping the cartilage back in place. The pain had drained her flush in a heartbeat, and her wailing almost covered up the sound of Giorno's bright laughter. Almost- and boy Mista was glad she hadn't missed out. Unfortunately it had left her nose bleeding again, flowing all down her face and dribbling onto the pavement and onto the knee of Giorno's expensive looking suit pants.
“Oh shit, I am so sorry,” Mista spluttered around the gentle dabbing of the alcohol swab around her nose, absolutely mortified. It did very little to clean up her face, but damn did she appreciate the sentiment. And Giorno. “How can I make it up to you?”
Giorno arched a perfect gold eyebrow, “make it up to me? It's hardly your fault for getting a little blood anywhere.” It was more than a little and it would leave a permanent stain on such a light and fancy fabric. “I suppose there is one thing you could do for me though.”
“Oh yeah?” Giorno had such a devilish glint in her pretty blue eyes- it would have been worrying but she found herself more curious than anything. Maybe she had been put under some spell. Or she had a concussion. Maybe both.
“There's a coffee place nearby. You could share a cup with me.”
Mista had gotten Giorno's left knee soaked in blood, essentially ruining her suit ensemble, and then was invited on a coffee date . She really must've hit her head hard at some point- there was no way this was really happening. Giorno was still standing there though, smiling at her expectantly so, “of course, but it is pretty late at night. You really drink coffee right about now?”
Giorno hummed, “sometimes, especially when I'd like to stay up,” offering an arm.
Mista hid her growing blush with a lazy smirk, sliding her arm through Giorno's and walking along to wherever this golden dream would take her. Whether it was a coffee shop or somewhere else she didn't think she'd mind. “You don't have anywhere to be in the morning?”
“Not particularly,” Giorno winked and Mista almost swooned, “besides I've not met someone as interesting as you for a long time.”
She wasn't entirely sure if she would consider herself interesting, if anyone was it would be Giorno. “If you say so. I'd rather hear more about you. What's a girl like you doing, running around fixing people's noses in the dead of night?”
Another bright chuckle, “only if you tell me the details on how you needed your nose fixed,” Giorno replied, holding the door to the brightly lit cafe open.
A dozen pairs of eyes landed on them. Giorno, whose lower half was spotted with blood, and Mista, who looked like she’d run flat into a wall. Mista followed Giorno towards a small booth in the corner lit by a hanging nest of fairy lights. It would have been romantic, if it didn't feel like everyone else in the cafe was staring at them like they were criminals. When Giorno waved down a young waiter to get their drinks she paused to wipe blood from her hand off onto her trouser leg. The poor boy stared in horror as Giorno carried on giving their order like nothing was wrong. Mista barely held back her laughter; this girl was unreal. Maybe she really was falling for her.
Over a coffee Giorno explained she was a medical student. And no, she didn't carry the first aid kit around every day hoping to find a hot girl on the curb in need of treatment. She’d been on her way to an optional class when she found Mista.
“So, what do you do for fun?” asked Mista.
“I read, take long walks, I keep pet lizards and frogs.”
Mista thoughtfully rubbed her chin. “None of that sounds fun to me.”
“Because ‘fun’ according to you is starting a brawl in a bar in the middle of the week,” Giorno said over the rim of her mug. Mista scoffed and shrugged in defeat. Giorno added, “I also dabble in organised crime.”
Mista watched Giorno’s eyes for that signature glint, betraying a joke, but saw nothing. Well, whatever. So much about Giorno was already beyond belief. This may as well be true, for all Mista could care.
They talked some more. Giorno spoke mostly of her frogs and then moved on to complain about her large and chaotic family. Mista listened to it all happily. There was something captivating about Giorno’s voice and the way she spoke about anything, and Mista found herself hanging onto every word. Giorno could read her groceries out to her and Mista would listen like her life depended on it.
“Do you have family?” asked Giorno.
“Yeah, but I haven’t lived with them for years.”
“I’d love to see your place.”
Mista was glad she’d finished the coffee already, because she would have choked on it otherwise. “Uh, mine? You want- come to mine?” she stuttered out, as eloquent as ever. Giorno merely tilted her head and traced a fingertip around her mug. “Tonight?”
“Perhaps not tonight,” said Giorno. “I missed my evening class because of you. Another time.” She nudged a napkin towards Mista. “Until then, keep out of fights, okay? I won’t always be nearby to push your nose back into place.”
Mista unfolded the napkin to see nine numbers written in black biro. At the end of the phonenumber a tiny beetle had been doodled onto the tissue paper, impossibly neat and undeniably adorable. When Mista looked back up the opposite seat in their booth was empty and the café door was swinging shut.
She laughed to herself. What a way to end a shitty evening – by getting a cute girl’s number. Unreal.