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If you were to ask Fugo when he was thirteen that in the near future he was going to get married, he would have scoffed at you. At that time, he’d never thought he’d live to see next week, let alone have time to fall in love and be loved in return.
But life is unexpected in that it gives you more than you think you deserve. He never thought he’d find a purpose after being disowned by his family. He never thought he’d live to his sixteenth birthday in Passion. He never thought he’d see his family again after they parted ways in Venezia. He never thought the most brilliant and beautiful boy he’s ever met would return his feelings.
Now here he is at twenty-six, alive and relatively healthy aside from his bouts of insomnia. He’s surrounded by the people he loves and who loves him, his family that against all odds triumphed over the devil and welcomed him back with open arms. Now he’s here moments away from marrying the love of his life.
If you were to ask Fugo when he was thirteen that in the near future he was going to be undeniably happy, he would have scoffed at you. At the time, happiness was a farfetched dream that died with his grandmother. Now, happiness was within his reach and he had so much of it that it’s a wonder his body had the capacity to hold such feelings.
“Nervous?” Buccelatti asks. He’s running his hands in Fugo’s hair in soothing motions, tucking back curls from where it came loose from his short ponytail. The ladybug hair tie came from Giorno because of course he wants to wear matching hair ties.
“To be honest? I’m feeling pretty good.” And he is. All the nerves leading up to this day, all the stress of planning a wedding while keeping Passione under control, are gone. His heart is calm, his breathing is steady, his hands aren’t shaking. He already anticipated a breakdown in a bathroom stall somewhere, but it never comes.
“That’s good to hear. Oh...oh look at you.” Buccelatti sounds a little choked, like a mother of the bride on their child’s wedding day. You know what? That’s exactly what he is.
He steps away from him, lets Fugo see himself in the mirror. Abbachio and Trish tag teamed his outfit with Abbachio handling the suit while Trish did his make-up, his only input was keeping his usual earrings on. The rest of his family has also contributed something. Those two were in charge of the outfits and aesthetics. Mista handled the food and venue. Sheila handled the security. Narancia flew them out because it’s a destination wedding. Buccelatti is…
Buccelatti is walking him down the aisle.
That’s when everything comes crashing down. Because he made it this far from Buccelatti picking him off the streets to handing him off to Giorno on his wedding day. Because Buccelatti has been the parent that he’s always wanted.
“Oh honey.” Fugo’s shoulders are shaking. Buccelatti places his hands on them, grounding him. He tries not to cry because Trish will kill him if he messes up his carefully applied make-up. “You’re going to be fine.”
“Just try not to cry when reciting your vows,” Abbachio pipes up from where he’s lounging on the couch in the room. Buccelatti shoots him a dry look.
“Says you. You cried before you could even walk down the aisle in our wedding.”
“Because I was marrying you. The kid is marrying Giovanna. If I were him I’d be formulating an escape plan right now. Runaway groom and all that.”
“No way in hell,” Fugo says, voice nasal from the tears he’s keeping down. “I’m done running. I don’t care if I cry or have a breakdown. As long as I’m marrying Giorno at the end of the day, I’ll be fine.”
Abbachio quirks a smile, proud, “That’s the spirit.”
Buccelatti dabs his face with his handkerchief, “Everything will be fine. Forget everything else. As long as you both say “I do” at the end, nothing else matters. That’s what got me through my own wedding.”
Fugo reaches a hand up and squeezes Buccelatti’s hand. He takes a deep breath in, releases it, feels his heart settle in his chest. “Let’s go.”
You see, calming down Fugo’s anxieties takes one to two people. Any more than that and he’ll get overwhelmed by too much love. Hence, Buccelatti and Abbachio as his de facto parents were the only ones in the room with him.
On the other side of the villa, in a room similar to Fugo’s, it’s a different story.
Because a few days ago the entire Joestar clan flew from different parts of the world and descended upon Italy for Giorno’s wedding, and now he has to suffer the fate of having too many people in a tiny dressing room. Four generations of Joestars and their friends, too many triggers for arguments and enough Stand power to level the whole place. It’s not good for his nerves, but he loves this bizarre family anyway.
He observes them from his perch on the stool in front of the vanity mirror. Shizuka is sitting on her father’s lap, Joseph and Suzie Q are quietly conversing on the couch. Jotaro and his wife, Lyna are standing by the windows, posture tense and coiled, ready to spring into action even though Giorno’s security team has the area covered. Polnareff is trying to calm him down where he’s perched in Lyna’s arms, looking unperturbed by a talking turtle. Holly is at the other vanity table, trying to tame Jolyne’s hair while she squirms, her two girlfriends videotaping the process with huge grins.
“Are you okay, dude?” Josuke, his great grandnephew (?), asks as he leans against the vanity mirror. Giorno wants to warn him about leaning too much because this is an expensive place, but his words are stuck in his throat. His usual eloquence is gone.
“Never better. Why?”
“Your hand is glowing.”
He lifts his hand, finds a purple emperor butterfly where a napkin used to be. The butterfly beats its wings and takes flight. “Oh.”
“Butterfly!” A 12-year old Shizuka calls out before climbing out of her father’s lap and chasing the newly born butterfly in the room. Joseph follows his daughter with a smile before settling his gaze on where Giorno is sitting.
“Are you okay, kiddo?”
“I’m okay.” Josuke yelps, jumping away from the vanity that’s poofed into a dozen of frogs. They start hopping around on the floors.
Jotaro directs his attention at him, “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Foo Fighter lets out a delighted yell as the other vanity turns into tall, vibrant wildflowers, much to Jolyne’s chagrin.
“Dude, can you get your stand under control?”
“He is.” Golden Experience manifests, as if trying to prove him wrong, and proceeds to turn Giorno’s chair into a patch of grass. The impact of him landing on the shakes his control, makes his carefully held breath quiver.
Mista perks up from where he’s been standing quietly in the corner and takes a long look at his boss. “Alright folks, Trish says the venue is ready now. So if you could head over there while I talk with Giorno, that’ll be great.”
Josuke and Jolyne gets the cue and starts to usher everyone out of the room, taking care not to step on the frogs. Shizuka pouts at not getting the butterfly but lets herself get pulled out. They all holler well wishes at him, loud voices echoing in the hall, before the room plunges into silence save for Giorno's too loud heartbeat in his ears.
Giorno’s breath shudders, covers his face in his hands. It’s a good thing Joseph and Suzie stood up when they did because the couch bursts into more butterflies. They land on the flowers, trying to pollinate. The frogs croak, chasing them down as a kind of snack. The room converts itself into a mini-ecosystem.
Mista kneels down next to him, squeezes Giorno’s shoulders. “Tell me the truth, are you okay?”
Giorno shakes his head, voice gone.
“Okay. Just tell me yes or no. Need me to get someone?”
Another shake of the head.
“Is it something about you?”
No.
“Is it something about Fugo?”
No.
“Is it because Trish wouldn’t let you wear that pink suit you liked?”
A tense laugh. The tight feeling in his chest dissipates just a little.
“Are you worried something will go wrong with the wedding?”
N--Yes.
Mista takes a seat next to him, not caring if it will crease his pants. He’ll face Trish’s wrath any day. He presses their shoulders together, a constant presence in Giorno’s life before and after becoming don.
“Can you tell me why?”
Giorno tries to find his voice, his long-winded essay about how marriages usually go in the Joestar family, all that comes out is,” My father’s wedding got invaded by vampire zombies in the 1800s.”
To his credit, Mista doesn’t laugh. Though he is smiling a little. “If it makes you feel any better, Sheila E is guarding the outside right now and she’ll love nothing more than to bash a zombie’s head in.”
Giorno laughs again, feels his breathing relax little by little.
“And even if they make it inside you are the don of a the most powerful gang in Italy, and both of your families happen to have dangerous stands in their arsenal. What’s there to worry about?”
“I really don’t know. It’s just...being here today…it’s a lot to take in.”
“If there’s too much happening, then what is the one thing you want in the world right now?”
The answer comes easy, like it’s been waiting in Giorno’s mouth the whole time. “Fugo.”
“There you have it,” Mista says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Maybe it is. “You’ll be hitched to Fugetto at the end of the day. Who cares about anything else?”
The tight feeling in Giorno’s chest disappears completely. His heart returns to its normal rhythm. He can breath again.
“Thank you, Mista.”
“Eh. It’s what any best man would do.” Mista jumps up, dusts the grass stains from his pants and holds out his hand to Giorno,” Ready to go?”
Giorno takes his hand and lets himself be pulled up.
Giorno is set to walk first, focuses on Mista and Sheila’s back as they walk up to the altar and bicker with each other. Some things never change.
“If you turn anything into frogs, I have permission from Trish to smack you.”
Giorno bites back a smile as Abbachio slides up next to him. With Buccelatti walking Fugo, Abbachio had been the perfect choice. He was there when during Pompeii after all, where everything between him and Fugo started. The fact that Abbachio got a little misty-eyed when Giorno asked him sealed the deal.
“Well, I was there to smack sense into you during your wedding so I suppose this is fair.” Abbachio locked himself in his room until Giorno turned the door into a raccoon and scared the shit out of him. It took him, Narancia and Trish to successfully drag the man out of the room and to the aisle.
Abbachio holds out his elbow and Giorno tucks his hand in it. The groom’s march plays. They start to walk. As everyone’s eyes turn to him, Giorno steadies Gold Experience’s buzzing under his skin. He has no doubt Abbachio will make do on his promise.
The next thing Giorno knows Abbachio is squeezing his shoulder as he lets go of him at the altar where Murolo waits.
He doesn’t wait long. The groom’s march plays again and Buccelatti appears in the doorway, Fugo[s arm tucked in his.
Giorno realizes why Abbachio warned him. Looking at Fugo makes his heart start beating faster again, makes the world run slower, tunnel his vision all for his future husband. Shizuka claps in her seat when Murolo’s hat explodes into butterflies. Abbachio stands up to make do on his promise but Narancia tugs him back down in his seat and locks him down with his legs in his lap.
In a matter of moments, Buccelatti is handing Fugo over to him. His eyes are misty as he takes a few seconds to look at the two of them, pride and happiness in his eyes. He walks to his seat next to Abbachio who immediately pulls him into his arms and hands him a tissue.
They look at each other with wobbly smiles.
“Hi,” Fugo says, smiling softly at him. He is washed by the light of the stained glass windows, colors softening the features of his face.
“Hi,” Giorno says back, heart bursting with love and warmth. Fugo's hand reaches for his and when their hands twine, he feels the palpable life that's running in their vines.
They both burst into tears.
“Oi, save it for after the ceremony,” Murolo chides over the sound of their sniffles and the audience's laughter.
“It’s okay! I used waterproof mascara and eyeliner!” Trish shouts.
Narancia heckles them. “Hurry up you two! I love you both but I’m getting hungry!”
Jolyne has her phone out, already recording everything.
“Are you okay?” Fugo asks, through teary laughs.
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?” Giorno says through teary laughter of his own. “I’ll always be fine now that I get to be with you forever.”
That only makes Fugo cry harder. It takes them a few minutes to compose themselves before the ceremony actually starts.
The next minutes are a blur. Murolo conducts a lovely ceremony, but if he’s being honest Fugo doesn't hear him anymore. All he can focus on is the feeling of Giorno's hand in his and blue eyes looking at him with undivided attention and adoration.
Fugo has never believed in love at first sight, but he does believe in love at second sight, and third sight, falling in love over and over again, an endless stretch of time and devotion. He says as much during his vows, and ends it with the same words he said to pledge himself to Don Giovanna all those years ago. Now those words carry a different meaning as he pledges himself to Giorno Giovanna, his future husband and his one true love.
When it's Giorno's turn to speak, he thinks back to all the talks he's handled as a don-partnerships, negotiations, interrogations, small talks with citizens. None of that holds weight to the words he says now. It’s their love story starting from Pompeii, to that pocket of their world in cafe, to their first date, to the many dates after that, littered with references of all their favorite books. He ends it with a simple "I love you" because speeches need an ending and there is not enough words to describe the capacity of his love for him.
After their vows are said and done, there’s not a dry eye in the room. Polnareff is sobbing loudly while Jotaro pulls down the brim of his cap, Jolyne teases him about it with tears in her eyes. Abbachio has hidden his face in Buccelatti’s shoulder to muffle his tears. Mista pulled out a tissue box from out of nowhere and is sharing it with the rest of them.
“Do you Pannacotta Fugo--”
“I do.”
Murolo shoots him an annoyed look. “I’m not done yet.”
“I already answered. Move on.”
He sighs. “Fine. Do you Giorno--”
“I do. Sorry for interrupting you.”
“You two really are made for each other.” Murolo says with fond exasperation. He clears his throat. “Then, by the power vested in me by the city of Naples and Passione, I now pronounce you husbands. You may kiss each other.”
Fugo cups Giorno’s cheeks and presses their lips together. He can vaguely hear their guests cheer and applaud, but he’s focused on the feel of Giorno’s lips against his, the weight of gold bands on their fingers and the crashing realization that Giorno is no longer his boyfriend, but his husband.
They pull away. Just because he can, Giorno goes back for another kiss, and another, and another, and another, pressing kisses all over Fugo's face. Fugo laughs through every one, places a hand on his shoulder to finally stop him.
Hand in hand, they turn to face their families and start to walk down the aisle to their cheers and hollers. Giorno lets Golden Experience go loose. Something glows gold above them and flower petals start falling on them like a springtime snow, a flurry of yellow lilies and purple lilacs.
For all the half-steps that it took to get them here, it’s all worth it to finally reach this point.