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“Giorno.” Someone softly calls his name, a fairly cold hand on his cheek, a thumb brushing his cheekbone.
“Giorno.” The voice calls out again, and Giorno finally urges himself to open his eyes, fighting the heaviness on his lids away.
He opens them as the cool fingertips leave his skin, and he tried his best not to frown.
He raises them from the mattress and to those anticipating purple irises, then he lowers his gaze down to the other’s lips, which corners turned upwards as he greeted him, “I apologize for waking you, but you have a very early visitor.”
Giorno sits up while nodding and brushes his eyes to check if there‘s filth, thankfully there was none. He then confidently holds the other’s gaze and tries for a warm smile, “Good morning, Fugo.”
Fugo mirrors his expression and bows slightly, “Good morning, Giorno.”
In his mind, Giorno wishes that Fugo’s smile in the early hours of the day would be a part of his home.
After an exhausting morning spent on his desk and his comfortable seat that slowly becomes uncomfortable the longer he has sat on it, Giorno comes to the kitchen and sees Mista brewing tea on a ceramic teapot set, placed on a tray, ready to be delivered to whoever he was bringing it to.
The gunman turns and shows a slight sign of being startled as he faces Giorno, “Oh.” He huffs, embarrassed that he jolted away from the blond, “I don’t have to climb the stairs now.”
Giorno’s brows rise a tad bit, endeared by Mista’s caring antics despite having tons of work for himself as well. Giorno smiles, and he asks, “Are you busy? Do you mind joining me?”
Mista gives him a hearty chuckle, and Giorno’s heart melts as he takes a second tea cup from the cupboard, “We’re never not busy, but I’ll make time for you.”
Giorno blinks hesitantly, an apology at the tip of his tongue, but Mista pats his shoulder blades and winks at him, urging him towards the dining table. Giorno nods at the proposition, then he pulls a chair as Mista settles down the tray on top of the table and serving the two of them tea before sitting down beside Giorno.
There was nothing to see, nothing to view, nothing to admire, but Giorno feels at ease as he falls into the serenity which Mista’s simple presence envelops him in. They didn’t even need to talk, they just had to be side by side, an occasional glance, a coy smile, a lingering touch.
Giorno wishes his home would be filled with this kind of peace.
Everyone dips their head before him, they fall to one knee and ask for his hand in order for them to kiss the back of it either as a sign of loyalty, fear, or respect on his authority.
Giorno should be used to it by now, but when Mista comes back from a mission and kneels before him, seeking his hand and clasping it in a firm but gentle grasp, the way Mista’s eyelashes flutter close as he connects his lips onto Giorno’s fingers, the way his thumb smooths over his knuckles, the way he smiles and looks up at Giorno everytime, whispering three simple words.
“I’m back, Giorno.”
Giorno’s heart twists, and everytime he wishes Mista to say I’m home the next time he comes back.
Fugo was waiting inside his office, pacing from left to right as the door opened for Giorno to come inside. Purple eyes brighten at the sight of him, a relieved smile on his lips as he greets, ”You’re here.”
Giorno waits for Fugo’s lengthy, cold and delicate fingers to capture his left hand in a gentle hold, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the center of Giorno’s knuckles, his thumb caressing the base of his fourth finger, and it slides off as he brings it back down to Giorno’s side, leaving his palms a bit lonely.
“I’ll always come back, Fugo.” Giorno says, his eyes certain and unyielding, “I’ll always come back to you.”
“I know.” Fugo breathily responds, looking down on the floor, his hands in a fist, “But I beg you not to run off on your own again anymore. I know you’re a powerful Don, Giovanna, but I’ll scold you if you do this again.”
Giorno gives a lighthearted chuckle, “I will try.”
Fugo scoffs amusedly, then he looks away for a moment only to meet Giorno’s gaze with sincere irises as he uttered, “Welcome back, Giorno.”
At the same time, Giorno’s heart beats lively and achingly. He wishes Fugo would welcome him home the next time instead.
It was a peaceful Monday, but there was a huge rumor about the Don of Passione being way too cocky as he underestimated the enemies that are after his head. It is said that an assassin had wounded the leader of the mafia family critically and has been bed ridden for days.
The door to the Don’s chamber bursted open as his most loyal subordinates rush inside, finally back in the headquarters from a week long mission away.
“Giorno—“ Mista says, his eyes immediately searching as he passes the door, and he takes a breath when he sees the blond, “You’re unharmed, right? Tell me it’s only some stupid enemy propaganda.”
Giorno softly laughs as Mista kneels down onto the floor, his arms caging the younger into where he sat, his head tilted upwards as he stared at Giorno with deeply troubled eyes.
“I’m okay, Mista.” He says, placing a hand onto the bronze skinned man’s cheek, soothing his frown away with his thumb then resting it at the crook of his neck.
Fugo waltzed towards him in a slightly calmer demeanor, but Giorno heard him exhale a sigh of relief as he looked away and whispered to himself, “Thank god.”
Giorno looks up at the standing man, waiting for him to meet his gaze, and when he still didn’t, Giorno laced his fingers with Fugo’s, efficiently capturing his attention. Those eyes widened in an unspoken question, and Giorno hoped a genuine smile would suffice as an explanation when he said to the two of them...
“Welcome home.”
He mutters, glad and overjoyed that the two had come back to his side at last, safe and sound.
The two exchanged confused looks before they bloomed into a warm and cozy laughter. Fugo drops down to his knees as well, laying his cheek on top of Giorno’s other thigh that Mista had not occupied, then he says, “We’re home, Giorno.”
He can feel Mista smirk against his skin, then he hears a muffled voice saying, “Yeah. We’re home.”
Giorno chuckles and pets their hair as they stayed in their positions like domesticated felines. For Giorno, it was a beautiful day, a beautiful morning, a beautiful time to live in. His heart thumped against his ribcage in a rhythm it hasn’t made before, which is strange, but not unwanted, he found it even pleasant. He felt warm, he felt loved, he felt at home.
Giorno finally was able to take all the tiny pieces that meant so much to him and built himself his dream home. One wherein he only has to have Mista and Fugo — wherever they are, whatever they are doing, as long as they are kept within his heart, anywhere could be their home.
And Giorno swears that he would protect this home he has with all his might. Even from himself.