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So,
Mista tries starting conversation in the relative silence of the car, I mean, I know Buccellati kinda knows but. Can I ask?
Ask what?
Giorno turns to Mista with nothing short of curiosity. No guardedness, no defensiveness.
It makes Mista smile, how open Giorno is for him and no one else. Mista became the one Giorno turned to most as a friend when he first joined their team. Now, they are well beyond, and consider each other lovers. Anything and everything is laid bare only between them. Mista is the only one Giorno trusts like this, and it makes Mista’s romantic heart burst at times.
Some song plays in the background on the radio. Something punk rock that Mista loves, because according to him, the driver is the DJ.
Mista shrugs. I dunno. Just wondered if you had any family.
Giorno pauses for a long moment before responding. It’s a heavy question, but Mista is known for asking random and, oftentimes, extremely thought-provoking questions. However, it’s a loaded question that Giorno isn’t entirely prepared to answer, even if it is Mista.
I did,
the younger gangster settles on, turning the question around on his boyfriend. What about you?
Ah, I had my mother and father. But they fought a lot, ya know? We were poor. I liked living simply, but my parents always argued over it. Father never made enough but mother wasn’t willing to work.
Giorno nods, absorbing the new information about Mista. Often as it goes with personal revealing questions, Giorno is the first to listen. Even if it’s a question Mista asks Giorno, the blond never divulges more than he wants to. Mista has just been so lucky that Giorno feels comfortable enough to answer most of his questions; although it usually takes Mista opening up first to do so. It’s a small price to pay.
Do you have siblings?
Mista asks again, one hand propped against his door and his other hand loosely guiding the wheel.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Giorno shift away to lean against the window. His brows pull together in concern. So this really is a touchier subject than he thought. Most of the gangsters will admit who they left behind or deny they even cared about their family in the first place. Of course, as with everything involving Giorno, it’s not that simple.
Not that I’m aware of.
His voice is uncharacteristically weak. Mista glances over at Giorno just to make sure he’s alright, quickly bringing his focus back to the winding road ahead of them.
Were your parents thinking of having more kids, or…?
Mista leaves open for Giorno to fill in. The blond shakes his head.
My mother was the type to… sleep around. She only settled with my step father when I was starting school for consistency and a stable income.
A lot of words come to Mista’s mind, but he wisely holds his tongue.
Do you, uh. Do you know who your father is, then?
Shifting in his seat, Giorno pulls something from his pocket. Mista recognizes his wallet out of the corner of his eye. There’s a slight flapping sound as Giorno pulls a small piece of paper out and shakes it out.
Apparently a man named Dio Brando. He, too, was notorious for having his choice of suitors.
Not that Mista is judging, but he’s really concerned for how all this inconsistency affects Giorno. Besides the point that Mista would threaten each at point blank range to shape up for the sake of their son.
What about your step father?
Mista spares another curious glance, only to find Giorno once again unusually reserved. What was he like?
Giorno doesn’t answer for a long while. Long enough that an entire song plays in between the stretch of silence and distracts Mista into almost forgetting the conversation. A new song starts that Mista is about to sing along to when Giorno finally speaks back up.
My step father used to beat me. It’s why I left. I had an exception to take a dorm on campus early for my age so that I wouldn’t go home.
Giorno sighs, as if already middle-aged and dealing with a dead-end job; alive but not living. It’s part of why I joined Passione.
I thought it was because you wanted to take drugs off the streets?
Mista observed. That’s what he had told them when they first met, at least, and Buccellati confirmed it. Besides, it’s much easier thinking of that than to think of Giorno’s home life. His hit list grows.
It was my best excuse to appeal to Buccellati. My main reason was to dismantle the gang from the inside because of their crimes. Then I learned that, at least with Buccellati, Passione isn’t all bad. In fact, I prefer the gang than to leave the streets to unorganized criminals and spineless police officers.
Mista had to raise a brow at that. He can only imagine that somehow Abbacchio, the miserable ex-cop, would actually agree with Giorno on that one.
My mother was said to have a few run-ins with bad cops,
Giorno mutters under his breath. Mista lets his silence prompt his boyfriend to continue. She… she was offered some drugs before she married my stepfather. She did some time for it. Cops were always after her for leaving me alone while she went to the club all night - I was still a baby.
It would kind of explain why she married your step father,
Mista theorizes, trying to ignore the way his blood boils at the thought.
His vivid imagination plays out before him. A baby Giorno laying in a crib, possibly crying into the night, completely abandoned as if he had no mother at all. His knuckles turn white gripping the steering wheel. He forces himself to take a deep breath and relax. Still, the thought of a woman carelessly stumbling home drunk, continuing to neglect her son who was likely starving, stabs at his chest.
Did your father ever know about this? Did he care?
His voice has a darker edge to it than he anticipated. He clears his throat, trying to tone himself down.
My father was never around,
Giorno shakes his head. I had Fugo try to find records of him, and he ended up interviewing a man who knew him.
And?
I want to doubt that any of it is true, but I believe this much. He was a man after his ambitions and no one was going to stop him. He would stop at nothing to get what he desired. A power hungry man with little to no morals. A murderer tenfold, and even worse once his Stand manifested.
Gritting his teeth, Mista adds it all up in his head. A neglectful mother, a narcissistic father, and an abusive step-father. It makes Mista’s fingers itch for his gun and tighten harder around the wheel.
In short, I don’t consider myself to even have parents.
Like hell you don’t!
Mista finally snaps. Staring resolutely at the road, his thoughts get away from him and his mouth moves faster than he can think. Screw it! I’m gonna be your dad now. And your mom! Your… dom.
They both let the word hang between them before Giorno’s face breaks out in a smirk. Mista’s face falls pale.
WAIT SHIT NO, NOT LIKE THAT!
he screams over Giorno’s laughter. The blond ruthlessly laughs in his face over his mistake, so much so that he leans back against the window for support.
Ha ha, very funny. We get it!
Mista tries to dismiss, but it only makes Giorno laugh harder.
Against his heated embarrassment, a smile blooms across his face. He loves Giorno’s bubbling laughter. It reminds him of birdsong in the summer. Light, airy, delicate, lively, beautiful. Just like everything else about Giorno.
Alright, that’s enough,
Mista jokingly chides, but Giorno wipes a tear from his eye and sits back up in his seat properly.
The chorus of a song Mista recognizes pokes out of the now comfortable quiet. He taps his thumb to the beat on the steering wheel, relaxing again. Arm on the door, loosely guiding the steering wheel. The past conversation is almost a memory when Giorno blinks up to Mista.
Hey don’t bring it up again-
Daddy?
Giorno is thrown against the door as the car swerves out of the opposite lane. Loud honking quickly fades from the car Mista almost crashed into. Wheels squeal as Mista desperately pulls off onto an outlook overlooking a coastal cliff. Giorno glances around to whatever derailed Mista before large hands snatch him by the shoulders.
Do not - and I can’t emphasize this enough - do not ever call me that again. Understand?
Of course,
Giorno agrees.
Good.
Mista releases Giorno and puts his hands back on the wheel.
Sorry, Daddy.
YOU LITTLE-