Work Text:
Giorno stared at the spread before him, a hoard of greasy cardboard boxes and styrofoam containers scattered across his bed. After sending Mista to grab them dinner, the gunman had returned twenty minutes later with enough food to feed the entirety of Passione, maybe even Italy. Giorno had thought they would have a quiet dinner, review preparations for their meeting tomorrow and call it an early night. Mista had other plans.
“How often are we going to come to America, let alone New York?” Mista reasoned, flopping on the bed beside Giorno, the food bouncing dangerously in his wake. “We have to try everything.”
Giorno rolled his eyes as he grabbed the nearest carton of food which contained two tacos.
In his ear, Giorno could hear Mista chewing on popcorn as he said, “They had tacos with seafood and figured you’d like those best.”
Giorno felt his heart jump for joy, not for the tacos, but rather that Mista remembering the little details of Giorno’s life, even something as trivial as his preference for seafood as opposed to red meat.
The two dug in, splitting each container. The New York street food wasn’t half bad but the company was better and the more they talked and ate, the more Giorno felt himself melt. He wasn’t one to eat much in a single sitting, but somehow the game of trying each dish had turned into a small feast of sort.
"You’re not gonna believe how much all this cost,” Mista whistled impressed. “Still have half the money you gave me.”
Giorno raised an eyebrow in between bites of kati roll. “And what are you going to do with that money?”
Smoothly, Mista stretched an arm out and around Giorno, yanking him closer until the sat together snug. Giorno would have been happy to stay there for the rest of their short trip.
“Treat my Boss to breakfast. Spied an All-American Diner we got to try. Don’t worry; they are open 24 hours so we have plenty of time before your meeting.”
“Suck up,” Giorno pushed Mista away and reached for the next container. Upon opening it, he sneered at what greeted him. “They call this pizza?”
“A real shame,” Mista agreed with a grimace. “I mean, I’m still going to eat it but-”
“Have it,” Giorno passed the box aside. He had to admit, he was already stuffed. He wasn’t sure he could stomach anything more.
“Full?” Mista asked, his mouth already half full with pizza and looking too cute for Giorno to handle. “I got us dessert too.”
Giorno perked at that. “Dessert?”
Mista scrambled to the edge of the bed, half slice of pizza dangling from his mouth, snatched the cardboard container and pressed it into Giorno’s hands.
“You’re gonna love it,” Mista said, his words slightly muffled by his pizza.
Giorno eyed Mista skeptically before opening the box. He was met with pastry dough and mountains of powdered sugar. “What is this?”
“The dude called it an ‘elephant ear,’” Mista explained excitedly. “Reminds me of these.” With that, Mista gently flicked Giorno’s ear. Before Giorno could retaliate, Mista added, “I asked him to fill it with chocolate.”
“You really are a suck up.”
A small, child-like grin came to his face and he wasted no time in taking a bite. It was horribly greasy and sugary. No doubt, powder sugar was all over his face and chocolate all over his hands, but Giorno couldn’t care less.
“Good?” Mista grinned, eager to see if his pick had gone over well.
“It’s disgusting.” Giorno said, before adding, “Great job.”
“Knew you’d love it, Boss. I know you like the back of my hand.”
He did. No one had ever known Giorno half as well as Mista had. It was one of the many thousands of reasons Giorno counted himself lucky to have Mista by his side.
“Oh, wait,” Mista yelped as he begun to reach into his pant pocket, twisting around on his back in an efforts to fish something out. “I got you something.”
Giorno blinked at the gunman, butterflies waking up from their slumber to flutter around in his chest. “You got me something?”
“Well, technically you bought it since it’s your money,” Mista admitted. “But I picked it out so I half-got you something. It’s not much,” he warned, “but, well-” a faint flush filled his cheeks “-I don’t know. I just saw it and thought you’d like it. You know, to remember our trip. It’s stupid but here.”
Mista held out his hand and resting on his open palm was a tiny Statue of Liberty, barely even two inches tall.
Gently, Giorno grabbed the tiny figurine and held it up for inspection. Due to the sizing, the details were vague and blurred. As he turned it over in his hands, he felt a rough edge at the base. Flipping her over, Giorno chest burst at the scraggly carved handwriting clearly made with a dull knife.
G.G. + G.M.
23/09/2002
G.G. + G.M. It was impossible for Giorno to look away. He didn’t want to even if he could. His eyes continuously traced letters of their initials, put together so simply, yet so clearly connected.
“Figured you’d want the date and uh, well, I don’t know. It’s dumb and kind of weird to put both of us on it…it’s stupid-”
“I love it,” Giorno cut Mista off before he could take it back.
Reasonably, Giorno knew the figurines couldn’t have cost more than five dollars. But it wasn’t about the money, it was about the gesture. No one had ever given something to Giorno, nothing as simple yet as meaningful as this.
Mista was right. He knew Giorno better than anyone else. It wasn’t just important things; it was the silly, nonsensical stuff to. Stuff no one else would bother with. But Mista broke down all barriers in Giorno- the serious, the deep, the emotional and the nonsensical.
“Thank you,” Giorno murmured. He wasn’t sure he could quite trust his voice without betraying his true emotions. He felt like he was floating. No one else could ever elicit such a feeling from him.
Mista grinned, softer than he did with most others. “Anything for you.”
It was that look: the soft and tender smile, the eyes filled with an emotion Giorno hoped reciprocated what he was feeling, the warmth that radiated from him like he was the goddamn sun. Giorno swallowed the lump in his throat.
As smoothly as an awkward teenager- who just happened to be the Don of Passione –could, he slid his free hand over the crumb covered comforter and found Mista’s hand, clammy and twitchy. He just about moved it away before the gunman snatched it, holding it clumsily yet secure in his own.
“I’m glad you are here,” Giorno said, hoping Mista could read every possible meaning into it.
He leaned in, his forehead just brushing against Giorno’s curls. “Me too, Boss. Me too.”