Chapter Text
It's a beautiful day, though he considers most days beautiful. But today is warm, and his little office that's so cluttered full of plants and objects is comfortable and he never wants to leave. He basks in the rays of the sun from his open window like a cat, eyes closed and just taking in the light.
He's drawn back to the present by a gentle knock, one that was too quiet to be Mista and too calculated to be Sheila. "Come in." A knock he anticipated most days, though.
He watches the gold door handle twist, and the door open. Smiles at the sight of Fugo. The other boy is wearing a red, cut up shirt today, and the hair that's not acting as a curtain in front of his face is drawing back into a small ponytail. He avoids eye contact, and Giorno doesn't mind, and hasn't minded that ever.
The older boy shuffles forward and sets the neatly stacked report on the wood surface of his desk. He moves like he's afraid to break something, as if one wrong move will get him in trouble and it hurts Giorno to see him like that.
He sits forward and grabs the paper, not missing the way Fugo tenses when he reaches. He wants to tell him to close the door to keep the warmth inside of the room, but knows how he hates cramped, closed off spaces. The exact opposite of what Giorno likes.
"How are you?" He tries. He's tried to make small talk with him before, but some days he'd get a glare and a grumble in response, and others he'd get a monotone reply that showed no interest. But, he wasn't going to give up because Giorno Giovanna doesn't quit.
"The interrogation went well. I managed to get some details from the bastard, and it's all in that report and then some. Still, it took a few punches and a knife to his throat."
Giorno listens, and he's annoyed because it's not what he asked but he's patient and he just lets him talk. He hums a response, and skims through the first page of the packet of reports.
"And how are you feeling? Anything interesting? You said you were feeding the stray cats that live close to your apartment complex, right? How are they?" He tries again, and he tells himself this will be the last time he repeats himself but for Fugo he'll say the same damn thing over and over if he needs it.
This time he gets a cold silence. And he can only hear the soft hum of life outside his window and the occasional breath.
"You don't have to ask. If I'm your new little fix-it project, fucking drop it. You're not entitled to my mental health, and I won't let you be my godsend savior from above. I'm not your charity case," Fugo suddenly snaps. It's different than his other responses, and Giorno restrains a flinch because he thinks he can see the blur of a hand move.
They both recoil, and Fugo looks horrified and guilty and he had indeed lifted up a hand to hit something. Giorno is the first to relax, and he slides back into his mask easily, pretending to study the contents of the reports.
"I don't see you as a project, Fugo. We're all going through this grief together, you, Mista, and I. We obviously deal with it very differently, so I just don't want you to be alone. But, if I am being too pushy, I'll stop."
He'll change every ideal of his for Fugo. He will and he won't regret it because he feels understanding and love for him. He's never been in a relationship, or felt this way for anyone else, but he's sure what he's feeling is actual love.
Fugo laughs suddenly, and it's enough to startle Giorno and he blinks and looks up at him.
"I'm not Bucciarati, or Mista. I know when someone is trying to manipulate me, boss, and you're not fucking subtle. You just don't want me to rebel, because you're scared I might succeed."
Giorno is reeling. He couldn't tell if Fugo was just so far in denial that he can't accept the fact that someone cares for him, or if he's actually subconsciously manipulative. He can't find words to respond and all that comes out is a breath.
"But I swore my loyalty, and I won't take back anything I said. My entire being is yours, and I'll follow your every command like an attack dog. I'll kill anyone for you, and I'll do anything for you and only you. The only thing I want to ask is that I don't want your bullshit impromptu therapy sessions, boss."
He meets Fugo's eyes, and sees him shaking. Angry and filled with so much rage but unable to attack. Giorno blinks, and he has to take in all of the sudden information.
"Just call me Giorno while we're alone, please," He starts, forcing a smile on his face that might look too stiff but he swears it's genuine, just not natural. "And, I'm honored and confused, I'll have to admit, but I hold anything you say with value, so I'll stop. Thank you for being honest, Fugo."
He can tell the adrenaline is wearing off, and that Fugo is coming into realization of the things he had said, and he can see the immediate guilt. Watches as his eyebrows pinch up, his mouth pulling into a thin line.
But no words are said, and Fugo turns and walks out, closing the door behind him. Giorno is left to sit, breathing slowly. He decides it could have gone better, but the fact that the older boy had been willing to request something was a step. Though, Giorno Giovanna never quits.
"I yelled at him! I fucking yelled at him and told him that he was manipulative to his face!" Fugo says into the phone as he paces. He's in his apartment, and he's trying to be quiet because the walls are thin and he doesn't want the old lady next door to hear his breakdown.
He hears Trish laugh, her voice smooth but scratchy from the digital device. Of course she'd laugh at his problems, because she always does but it's so comforting and he can't stand it. He could barely handle having one crush, let alone two.
"You're acting as if you don't know Giorno. He's going to forgive you, no matter what. He's infatuated."
Fugo grumbles quietly, and he barely remembers where the cat food he now keeps is. He presses the phone between his ear and his shoulder, shuffling through the cabinet. "I just feel like everything is going to be awkward now. Mista already doesn't think I should mourn for their deaths, and I don't want him to reprimand me about hurting Giorno's feelings."
"If he has any."
"Giorno has feelings," He scoffed. He brought the cat food bag to the window that leads to the roof of a neighboring building, one where cats hung out thanks to him. He refills the two little dishes he keeps out, and shuts the window again.
"I was kidding! Maybe next time, you should try to interrogate him for a change. Seems like the type to bury his feelings."
"Oh, yeah, sure. 'Uh, hey boss. Are you mentally stable? You don't look like it. Ever.' He'll take that pretty well, I bet."
Trish laughs, loudly. Her laugh isn't like Giorno's. It's breathless and light, while Giorno laughs like he's trying not to, cut off and awkward, like he doesn't know how. He loves both of them and it's painful.
"You foolish, foolish idiot. I love you, but I have to go. I have more things to do than help you get us a boyfriend, you know."
"Hey-"
The call ends, and he just huffs, annoyed. He sets the phone down and walks to his living room, hoping something interesting was on one of the TV channels.