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When Giorno was still in high school, you know before he was the most powerful man in Italy, there used to be a place he goes to when everything was too much. Off the roads that connected Naples to Rome, there was a small valley that stretched out endlessly. If you walk straight ahead for ten minutes you’ll reach a hidden meadow dotted with flowers and greenery as far as the eye can see.
It was the closest he could get to nature in the urban bustle of Naples. Out there in that meadow the life he feels thrum in his veins is not from humans, it belonged to nature, to the old, towering trees that hides him, to the rainbow field of wildflowers growing on the grass, to the insects that buzz around him. Giorno has never felt more at one with Gold Experience than he is at that little meadow. It was his safe haven. It only makes sense to introduce it to the two people who have become his own form of haven.
Getting Fugo and Mista to come with him was honestly difficult. Between their positions within Passione, trying to find someone they can entrust the gang to for a few hours was risky. Right now Murolo was interim head with Polnareff close by and Sheila E grounded from field work to assist them. He promised to give them raises only for Sheila E to huff and insist he go on his date already, no penance required.
He didn't expect how being a boss would make arranging dates so complicated, but then again if he didn't walk down the path to becoming boss he wouldn't have met his boyfriends in the first place. You win some, you lose some, and Giorno has always been the type of person to look at his victories instead of his losses.
Fugo and Mista set down a blanket they brought along for the trip. Giorno prefers sitting on the grass itself but he still sits in between them, close enough for their knees to bump and shoulders to touch, despite the large space the blanket offers.
“Are you sure it’s okay for us to be gone?” Fugo is squirming in his seat, eyes glancing at the meadow as if an enemy will come out of nowhere and attack them. “I feel guilty leaving Polnareff and Murolo to cover for all of us.”
“Don’t worry about it, they’re chill,” Mista assures him. “They were happy to give us the day off.”
“And we’re one phone call away should anything go wrong,” Giorno says smoothly, reaching out to squeeze Fugo’s hand to comfort him. His shoulders relax from the touch. Giorno is determined to make sure he looks that way the whole day.
For that reason Giorno went here a few days ago and grew some more trees to surround them, like a wall to ward off the outside world. Even on the off chance that someone makes the mistake of attacking them, they'll be prepared.
"Forget about that for now, darling. Today is just for the three of us to spend some time together. I made us lunch." Giorno sets down the picnic basket he's been lugging around all the way to the meadow. Fugo and Mista look at it with levels of trepidation.
"You...made lunch?" Mista asks carefully.
Giorno purses his lip. "I asked the chef to make us lunch with my input."
Fugo and Mista let out twin sighs of relief. Giorno is too high on affection to call them out on it. He makes a fine cook if he does say so himself. If you can kindly forget the one time he accidentally set fire to the kitchen for attempting to bake a cake on Mista's birthday. And the other times after that. His head chef has threatened to ban him on more than one occasion.
Okay so maybe he does understand his boyfriends' hesitation. That just means he needs to work harder. He's determined to make them smile from his food, but that's a story for another day.
Their head chef has prepared them a set of finger sandwiches entirely made of vegetables per Giorno's request. It's paired with macarons in their favorite flavors-strawberry, hazelnut chocolate and peach. The drinks are bottles of homemade lemonade. She's even taken kindly to prepare food for the Sex Pistols and included bite sized slices of fruit and nuts.
Giorno raises a bottle of lemonade as if it were a glass of wine instead. Fugo and Mista pick up their own bottles to indulge his bouts of aristocracy. "A toast," he starts, smiling at their amused gazes. "To the people I cherish most in his world."
"To the people I entrusted my heart to," Fugo says as he smiles a soft, small smile reserved only for both of them.
"To the people I'll jump in front of a bullet for," Mista declares as the Sex Pistols chirp from his hat in affirmation.
They clink their bottles together. The sound makes Giorno think of other couples, how Valentine's day is for wining and dining at the best places possible to show your partner a good time. He can't say he's blind to those affections, having been the giver and receiver of extravagant dates, expensive gifts, and then some. With his position he could have easily booked the best restaurant in all of Italy and reserved the entire place just for them, hired the string quartet Fugo likes and clear out floor space because Mista likes slow dancing. Maybe he'll do that some other day.
Right now he's content watching the satisfied smile spread on Fugo's face as he takes a bite out of a strawberry macaron and Mista distributing the fruit pieces to the Sex Pistols like a doting parent. The sight makes him feel warm bursts of life sparking under his skin. He's come to learn that there is a difference between a life that's physical-it's in the trees he grows, the wildflowers that dots the field, the smell of grass and dew-and the life that plays out in front of him-it's in Mista brushing a smear of cream on Fugo's cheek, in the careful way Fugo is cradling Cinque and Sette and feeding them strawberries, and in how Giorno has never felt more alive when he has them within reach.
He just loves them so, so much.
“Hey Fugo, I want a strawberry too.” Mista says with a grin.
Fugo doesn’t look up from where he’s busy feeding Cinque and Sette in his palms. “You have hands.”
“So do they! How come they get special treatment?”
“Because Panna loves us!” Sette chirps.
“But he loves me too, right?”
Fugo is frowning but his real feelings are betrayed by the redness of his cheeks, something he’s unable to hide due to the paleness of his skin, which makes it wonderfully easy for them to know how affected he is by their words. “Of course I do. That’s something you should never doubt.”
Mista can hide his blush better than both of them, but that’s what that the Sex Pistols are for.
“Wow, Mista’s heart is beating so fast!” Una says, clutching at Mista’s sweater.
“And his ears are getting red too!” Tre exclaims as he tugs on Mista’s ear.
Mista swats them away as they cackle. Once they’ve had their fill of food, the Sex Pistols nuzzle up to Fugo and Giorno and disappears back into Mista. They don’t laugh at him but the matching grins between the two blonds has him tugging his hat to his cheeks to block his face.
Fugo picks up the last strawberry and holds it out. “Come out here, you dork.”
Mista peeks an eye out before opening his mouth, lips curled in a mix of victory. He leans forward across Giorno to meet Fugo in the middle.
Giorno thinks Fugo would just pop it in his mouth and that’s what happens for the first half. Fugo smirks as his fingers lightly close Mista’s mouth over the strawberry. Mista hums appreciatively.
Then, Fugo promptly yanks Mista by the neck and presses their lips together.
Mista squawks, arms shooting out and almost hitting Giorno if he didn’t duck in time. Fugo breaks the kiss and laughs. Giorno wishes he had a camera on hand just to capture that precious moment.
Fugo turns his attention to him, still with the same mischievous glint in his eyes. “Want special treatment too?”
Giorno hums, glances at the picnic basket. “We are out of strawberries.”
“Not a problem.” Fugo’s hand is warm on Giorno’s cheek as he presses a sweet peck on his cheek. Mista recovers quickly from the surprise kiss and he leans forward to press a kiss on Giorno’s other cheek.
His heart positively bursts.
A whiff of something sweet fills his nose. When Giorno opens his eyes, there are visibly more flowers than when they first got here and there are no more traces of their little picnic.
“Giorno, dear...” Mista says in that exasperatedly fond tone that he uses when Giorno has yet again accidentally turned his office supplies into ladybugs.
Fugo blushes easily, Mista’s stand betrays his emotions and Giorno sprouts flowers and insects. They really are made for each other.
Giorno clears his throat and plucks one of the flowers, a bright yellow sunflower with full petals. It will look good against Mista’s dark hair. He sees the patch of violets just behind Mista and thinks it will match Fugo’s eyes.
“Giogio what are you-”
“Tell Fugo about the song you found the other day,” Giorno deflects easily. He has Gold Experience collect the flowers that caught his eye and pile them up on his lap.
Mista turns his attention to Fugo and starts babbling immediately,” So I called Trish the other day, right? Because she’s touring in the US right now and I wanted to find out if they really do put ketchup on their fries because we usually put mayo in ours and that shit is freaky, man.”
“Of all the questions you could ask, it had to be that?” Fugo is looking at Giorno quizzically, eyeing the flowers on his lap.
Giorno deflects again,” It’s a long story. You may want to lie down.”
“Oh, great idea!” Mista tugs Fugo down and Fugo lets out a surprised ‘oof’ as his head hits Mista’s lap. His fight dies down when Mista starts running his fingers through his hair, messing up his carefully parted bangs. “So anyway, I call her up and she’s in her dressing room before her concert. She’s got this girl with her. I asked if she was her girlfriend but she yelled at me. Trish, not the other girl, she was hella nice.”
Giorno nods along to Mista’s story, knows that Fugo is slowly relaxing the more that Mista touches him. His hands are gentle as they weave the flowers together, making sure not to break the stems. He’s only ever made a flower crown once in his life (a school project for mother’s day that quickly made its way to the trash when school let out) but he remembers the movements, interconnecting the stems like chains, centering the flowers in the bands. Gold Experience continues to gather flowers as his boyfriends get absorbed in Mista’s story next to him.
“So the girl was apparently her opening act? Some rising star that needed the boost. She wanted to get input for a song she’s releasing so, get this, she wanted to play it for me!” Fugo hums noncommittally, eyes half-closed“And the thing is, the song is pretty damn good. I said it, Trish said it, and you can practically see the girl shine from it. But you wanna know the most amazing part?”
“What?”
Mista looks bashful all of a sudden. “The song reminded me of both of you.”
That gets Giorno to look up from his work, Gold Experience hovers and takes over for him. Fugo’s eyes are wide and attentive as they look up at Mista. There’s a question in them that he’s hesitating to ask so Giorno decides to do it for him.
“Sing it for us?”
“No way!” Mista gets his hand off Fugo’s hair to make a crossing gesture with his arms. “I am not a good singer!”
Fugo grumbles as he pulls Mista’s hand and silent demands for more head pats. “That doesn’t stop you from singing in the shower every morning.”
“You always make fun of me when I do that!”
“We won’t make fun of you,” Giorno promises. “We just want to hear the song. Please?”
Mista looks conflicted. For good measure, Giorno inches closer and tucks his chin on Mista’s shoulder, blinking slowly at him. Beneath them, Fugo is looking up at Mista with his mouth turned into what resembles a pout.
He folds. Like he always does.
“Fine, but if you make fun of me I’m leaving you two here and taking the car home.”
Giorno meets Fugo’s eyes and the two of them share a victorious grin.
Mista clears his throat and sings.
“I love everybody because I love you. When you stood up, walked away, barefoot and the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape I looked over it and I ached. I love everybody because I love you. I don't need the city, and I don't need proof. All I need, darling is a life in your shape I picture it, soft and I ache.”
Mista looks at them as he pauses in between lyrics. A dazzling smile fills his face, full of love and awe. Giorno feels the palpable beat of his heart as he looks at Mista’s eyes. He’s filled with unbridled emotion, overflowing and bursting that it’s a wonder that his body even has the capacity to contain such emotions.
“Keep going,” Fugo requests, voice soft and relaxed, lulled into the warmth that only exists when the three of them exist together.
Mista keeps singing.
“Look at you, strawberry blond. Fields rolling on. I love it when you call my name. Can you hear the bumblebees swarm? Watching your arm. I love it when you look my way.”
The song is light and airy. Mista isn’t the best singer, but he more than makes up for it by the sheer feeling he puts in the words, like he didn’t learn the song from a stranger across the world and it really is meant for Fugo and Giorno only.
Fugo has his eyes closed, but Giorno can tell by the quirk of his lips that he’s absorbing every part of the song intently, knows that he’ll probably look the song up later so he can recreate the tune on the piano.
Gold Experience shifts. He gently places the sunflower crown on Mista’s head and the violets crown on Fugo. The two of them smile at Giorno like he’s precious and it’s the best sight he’s ever laid his eyes on that day. Giorno wants to make sure all their days are like this, just full of love and happiness and warmth, full of songs and naps and flower crowns. He knows it’s impossible given their positions, but it doesn’t stop him from cherishing the memory in his heart and wishing for more.
“You sounded beautiful, sweetheart,” he says when Mista finishes the song.
“You really think so?” Mista isn’t looking at him, brushing his nose with his fingers in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. “Sounded better when Mitski and Trish sang it.”
“It wouldn’t sound the same anyway,” Fugo says. “They’re singing for an audience. You’re singing just for us. That means more to us than the fact that you’re tone deaf the whole time.”
Mista makes a noise of protest, but there’s a smile on his face as he pinches Fugo’s cheek. Fugo goes for his weak spot and brushes his fingers against the bare skin of Mista’s hips, earning him a high-pitched shriek of laughter. He grabs Fugo’s hands in his to stop his attacks, but then Giorno swoops in and tickles Mista’s side. He lets out another shriek as he jerks back and bumps Giorno, the two of them landing in an ungraceful heap on the ground.
Their eyes meet and they burst into laughter.
For a while, the three of them just breathlessly laugh as they stare up at the vast, blue sky, at peace with each other’s presence.
Once they’ve calmed down, chests heaving from the effort of laughing so much, Fugo pins Giorno with a look.
“Yes, darling?”
“Pink gardenias,” he says. “It will look good in your hair. Do you think Gold Experience can grow some?”
Giorno cranes his neck to look at him. “Why?”
“Because you need a crown too, dear,” Mista says as he bumps their shoulders together. “We need to match. All three of us. It’s the rule.”
“There are no such rules.” But Giorno grows some gardenias anyway, a dark pink flower with large interwoven petals pops out next to Fugo’s head and by Mista’s waist.
Fugo sits up and busies himself with making a crown for Giorno, inexperienced hands fumbling the fragile stems until Mista sits up too and helps him, used to the motions on account of his little sisters.
Giorno watches them fondly. There’s no place else he’d rather be than this safe pocket of space he found with the loves of his life right next to him.
He closes his eyes, feels the life beneath him, interconnected roots, crawling vines, soft grass and wildflowers, rushing up to him in a wave of sheer power.
Something settles on his head, two different hands brushing across his face. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know how they look at him, how they feel for him. He can feel the two life forces that’s intimately part of his senses as his own stand.
Giorno breathes in the love of the people with him right now, and in that moment he is undeniably, irrevocably, alive.