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There was an unspoken promise between the two of them.
Every friday, Mista and Giorno would follow the same exact routine; they would get up by nine, have a quick breakfast together, and then, head to one of Giorno's favourite flower shop. It have been stablished like this since months ago, right after Passione was reborn from the ashes that Diavolo left behind.
The road to their friends place of rest was always quiet.
It have been hard, in the beggining. There were a lot of open wounds, a lot of words left unsaid. They had to start their lifes all over again, fixing up everything that had crumble beneath Diavolo's feets. Picking up the broken pieces and learning to move on.
Trish have been the first one to make her mind up. She was strong, Giorno always knew that. He understood all of her reason to fly away, to want to have a life out of the mafia. In the afternoon of a bittersweet saturday, the three of them hugged, laughed and cried on the floor of Napoli's airport. They shared their goodbyes and good wishes, promises for calls and letters. Ah, the youth had said Polnareff in a dreaming way. But Giorno felt much, much older.
"Here we are"
The cemetary was one of the most beautiful ones of Napoli. It was close to the sea, so close that the waves sometimes briefly knocked the white, exterior walls. There was a slightly smell of salt in the air.
The two of them walked in silence, enjoying the warm breeze of the Napolitan summer. Giorno held one bouquet of chrysanthemums in one hand, and Mista's hand in the other. Buccellati's tomb was almost at the end of the cemetary, closer to the walls that faced the sea. It was a beautiful sight.
The sunrays reflected on the grey surface, Buccellati's name shining bright, right in the midde of the stone. There was an old bouquet of red and white carnations in Bruno's tomb, dried because of the high temperature and exposure. Giorno took the flowers, dried petals merging together to transform into a soft pink butterfly. Mista placed the new, fresh ones in the vase, trying to cover them from the sun. They just stood there, listening to the voice of the sea.
"Don't you sometimes think... that this is all my fault?" Giorno suddenly said, voice so low that Mista barely heard him. A wave hit one of the walls, making a muffled sound.
"Why would i think something like that" Giorno wasn't looking at Mista. He hated when he was feeling like this, hated when the memories piled up on his mind and the guilt maked his stomach ache. Mista took the blond's face between his warm hands, fingers brushing against his cheeks.
"We talked about this before, none of this was your fault. Every one of us knew what we were doing, what consequences our acts could have" his voice was as soft as his eyes, and Giorno felt his stomach a little bit lighter.
"Yes, but... but if i wouldn't have convinced Buccellati that day, if i just have ran to Narancia faster, if i..." his head was spinning, and Giorno wasn't feeling air in his lungs anymore. Mista meet his gaze, holding him a bit closer.
"Giorno, hey, listen to me. Breathe, slowly" and the blond did, forcing the air inside his lungs "You did everything you could to help them. If there's someone that is guilty of all of this, that's Diavolo, not you, not anyone else" Mista's hands were still in his cheeks, and Giorno leaned on his touch "You don't have to feel bad for being alive. That's not what they would have wanted"
Giorno felt the weight of Mista's words sinking deep onto his heart. Certanly, that wasn't what they would have wanted. Don't worry about it, Giorno had said Buccellati, that one last time.
Suddenly, there was nothing but silence. Then, a bell ringed in the distance, announcing the midday. Mista grabbed his hands again, a little bit tighter.
"Did i tell you about that one time Narancia and i set the couch on fire, and Fugo screamed for like, two hours?" Giorno looked at Mista, blue eyes meeting bright black ones.
There was another unspoken promise between the two of them, made by kind word and warm touches. The bell made another sound, singing alongside the sea.
"I don't think so. But i would love to heard about that"
Baby steps. He would learn to live again, step by step, with his friends by his side.