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It started on Tuesday.
When Bruno decided Passione was a free for all and picked some blond kid off the street, Abbacchio had begrudgingly been dragged to meet him. Giorno Giovanna, he said his name was with a disgustingly polite tone. Not even his hazing plan worked. This kid seemed to be two steps of everyone at all times.
How did he acquire that skill, anyway? And why did he have such a strong stand at his age? It pissed Abbacchio off. This kid had no right to have that much vigor over joining the mafia.
In some ways, it reminded Abbacchio of a certain kid he knew. One that could hardly wait to join the police force.
But Abbacchio pushed those thoughts away then as he did now. Not helpful, he’d remind himself.
Despite their meeting at lunch, Bruno still insisted they would all have dinner together later that night. Break bread, make peace, some other lame shit Abbacchio didn’t care to remember.
The meal started with Giorno arriving late- fashionably so- as he made it a point to apologize directly to Bruno for how long his hair routine takes. For a moment, Abbacchio was impressed, but it didn’t last long until he, inevitably, was mad again. Who was this kid to think he could hold up a meeting? Even more so, just for his hair ?
Narancia was so excited to have another crew member, he offered to share his CDs and his comic books with Giorno. Fugo pretended to act indifferent, but it was evident how excited he was.
Mista hadn’t been any better than Fugo at acting. He leaned back in his chair, hands in his pockets, and tried to be much cooler than he actually was. Abbacchio wondered if Mista knew how quickly everyone picked up on him avoiding direct eye contact with the newbie. Kinda cute.
Everyone went around sharing a bit about themselves. The first round of discussion had been how they found their way to Passione. From there, it sparked a conversation about families.
“You mentioned your mom remarried,” Bruno spoke from around his wine glass. “Do you know your biological father?”
Giorno reached for his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He looked around before pulling out an obviously dated Polaroid, handing it to Bruno face down.
Bruno examined it closely. His voice was uncertain as he asked, “The Dio Brando?”
He heard that name when the Boss put out an order to retrieve his stand arrow. There were even rumors of him somehow possessing a stone mask. Bruno got well acquainted with the history of Dio since.
Giorno only nodded as he took the photo back. “Never met him, though,” he added.
Why did Bruno put so much importance on this man’s name? “I’m not following.” Abbacchio didn’t get it, and from the looks on Mista’s and Narancia’s faces, they didn’t either.
Fugo shrugged, but Abbacchio got the feeling he might’ve been just as confused.
“Have you never heard of Dio?” Bruno said so casually, as if they were on first name terms. “That’s a surprise. You know, he was a vampire-”
It was at that point that Abbacchio was torn into such a shock, he was sure his soul temporarily left his body.
Wait a second…
Those words repeated over and over in Abbacchio’s head. He glanced between Bruno and Giorno.
Was this kid… a vampire, too? Abbacchio could hardly believe it. He balled his fists as he narrowed his eyes at Giorno. This boy, adorned in pink and sparkles, was a vampire- or at least half. Some preppy kid- this random boy on the street- just had to be a vampire.
It almost felt mocking that Giorno sat across from him. Giorno Giovanna was a vampire, and Leone Abbacchio was not.
Abbacchio, who had dedicated himself fully to the goth lifestyle and aesthetic, was not a vampire.
Giorno smiled at Abbacchio as he caught his stare, and from the corner of his mouth, tiny bits of fangs poked out.
That was enough to send him into a blind rage.
It was all a blur from there.
Abbacchio vaguely remembered a table flipping, but he couldn’t recall if it was intentionally flipped, or if he got up and kicked it. He felt like Bruno went through every swear in the Italian vernacular, maybe. Narancia definitely watched in awe, though for the wrong reasons. “Just like my comics…” Abbacchio could hear Narancia’s voice echo, from the action to Bruno’s strong language.
That night on, it all went downhill.
Wednesday was painfully awkward. Giorno tried to ease any tension, but to no avail.
Thursday wasn’t any better. Abbacchio opted to stay in his room. He stared at the plastic black bats hanging from his ceiling and wondered where he went wrong.
The records hanging on his walls felt mocking. What did Giorno listen to? Did he know even one band that was hanging on Abbacchio’s wall?!
Friday, Abbacchio wanted to say he was in love, but no. He was in pain. Bruno knocked on his door, pulling out any bargain he could to get Abbacchio to leave his room. To which, he only responded, “I’ll only leave if I get turned.”
Abbacchio could hardly look at Giorno without feeling intense jealousy. Bruno’s watchful eye hardly moved from him the rare moments he wasn’t sulking left to drink wine and pretended it was blood.
And then, Saturday rolled by.
The blackout curtains in Abbacchio’s room kept the morning light out. It ensured he wouldn’t get any unnecessary wake up calls from the sun. Just like a real vampire .
Of all things, Abbacchio expected the least to be woken up from a knock on his door. His eyes could hardly stay open. He grunted a ‘fuck off’ before pulling his blankets over his head.
“Bruno sent me here?” The muffled voice spoke with uncertainty.
Fuck. It had to be Giorno .
Abbacchio quipped back. “What part of ‘fuck off’ do you not understand?"
Giorno noted the ‘NO PREPS ALLOWED’ sign- which was a piece of paper taped to Abbachio’s door- and had no doubt it was only recently put up. “Sounds like you’re going against Bruno’s orders to me. ” He had made a mental note to tell Bruno about the sign later, too.
“Leave me alone,” Abbacchio hissed from under his blankets. “I’ll be down in a bit. Just-- just don’t bother me, ‘kay?”
This child either didn’t get the hint, or understood exactly and wanted to make Leone’s life hell.
On the tip of Gio’s sharp tongue was an insult. He wanted to lash it out in the sweetest tone, but he decided to drop it altogether. Each word was more clipped than the last as he walked away.
“Kitchen. In ten. Bruno’s orders.”
Giorno took a deep, grounding inhale, and exhaled with a curse muffled into his palm. He understood he wouldn’t hit it off with everyone. It’s not that he expected all of them to flock to him.
This bitch, however - Giorno snapped his neck back to narrow his eyes at Abbacchio’s door. He was not going to make anything easy for him.
Fine. Game on, then.
He took one last glance back, and ripped the low effort sign right off Abbacchio’s door.
In the kitchen of their residence, Bruno looked over his shoulder at his team members.
Narancia finished his breakfast entirely, which surprised Bruno, considering he snuck vegetables in it. Mista willingly offered to help out with the dishes- and he could hardly pass up the extra help.
Fugo read, as always, though Bruno saw through his tricks. He held two books, one to cover the book he was actually reading: Who Was Dio Brando? History For Dummies.
And then came the new recruit. Giorno sat on a window sill. He waved as he caught Bruno’s gaze on him. “I tried to wake him up,” Gio said with a frown. He thumb tossed in the direction of the stairs. “Is he always this grouchy in the morning?”
Bruno understood exactly what Giorno meant. “Leone’s-”
He couldn’t even finish his sentence before he got cut off.
“Leone’s what ?” Abbacchio grunted out as he sleepily wobbled in his way into the kitchen. “Why was I called down here?”
Giorno was quick to smile and wave at Abbacchio, too. “Well, good morning,” he chirped.
There was a pause before he added, “ ... Leone.”
Every hair on Abbacchio’s body stood. His jaw dropped. “What did you call me, you little-”
Bruno had to intervene.
“Nevermind that.” Bruno spun around on his heel to face Abbacchio. “I have a personal mission to give you. We’ll say it’s off the records.”
Abbacchio raised his brows at the aspect. The little shit was still going to get it, but that would come later.
What was it going to be? Something exciting, he hoped. Bruno always had Abbacchio doing some sleuth work. “Shouldn’t we clear the room?” Abbacchio gestured to the rest of the squad members around them.
Bruno only smiled. “No need to,” he began, “because your mission is to spend time with Giorno.”
Though everyone tried to act disinterested, it was impossible to not notice how still the room went.
Giorno’s eyes went between Abbacchio and Bruno. Not even he could’ve seen this coming- which did bother him- but not enough to say something.
He cleared his throat and straightened his back. Sat up a little taller. Pushed his chest out a little further, and made his shoulder broader. Anything to paint the picture of a perfect, confident recruit.
Giorno smiled. “Sounds fun, doesn’t it ? ”
Abbacchio was quick to run through the list of his go-to curses. Twice.
“You had your chance to bond with him, Leone ,” Bruno said his name with extra emphasis. He could tell Abbacchio was fuming over the fact he couldn’t say anything. He did give him permission to use his first name, after all.
The petty part of Abbacchio didn’t want to admit Bruno might’ve been right. Why did he have to bond with him, though? Did people join the mafia to make friends now? “Bond with someone else, I’m not doing this shit.” Abbacchio headed back to the stairs.
Giorno smirked, watching Abbacchio storm off. His feelings towards Gio were more than mutual. And it was because of that, Giorno couldn’t help but make things worse.
“Bruno?” he called out sheepishly- faux innocence ringing. “Were you aware of the interesting ‘No Preps Allowed’ sign on Abbacchio’s door?”
It took one call of Abbacchio’s full name from a steaming Bruno and a very colorful rant, until Bruno shoved them both out the door.
As it turned out, Abbacchio was doing that shit.
“I don’t want to be here,” he had grumbled for the umpteenth time that hour. The mall was loud, it was smelly and gross. Worst of all, Giorno dragged him by his hair out of Hot Topic. His head still hurt.
Their day had been exactly as Abbacchio expected- awful. Did Giorno know how much he hated malls? Did he purposely drag him out here just to make him suffer? The food court was far overcrowded. Abbacchio could practically feel the grease in the air.
Giorno slurped on his smoothie like there was no care in the world.
And also like he didn’t just make Abbacchio buy him a soda, only to dump it out, as he said, “Actually, I hate soda.” For him to turn around and make Abbacchio toss an ungodly amount for this smoothie.
But that was a subject for another day.
For Giorno, he was delighted to see Abbacchio, dressed in all black and sweating, look the most miserable he’s ever seen him. Gio flashed him another fang-baring smile. “Sounds like a personal problem if you ask me.”
“Can we just bond and get this over with?” Abbacchio fanned himself with a hand.
“Didn’t you hear Bruno’s orders?” Giorno rolled his eyes. His question would’ve been punctuated with such had he not continued, “We have to be out until dinner.”
Right. Because when Giorno got the cute idea to snitch, Bruno went into a rage over Abbacchio’s own childish behavior. “I can’t even say ‘go to your room’ and put you in time out,” he told Abbacchio. “That’s the only thing you’ve been doing!”
His version of time out was amended. It was now time spent out- with Giorno, nonetheless.
Sometimes, he forgot why Bruno was in the mafia. Sweet Bruno, who protected local businesses and was a friend of the neighborhood.
… Until he remembered how damn cruel he could be. Abbacchio cringed at the thought.
Giorno took a long drink of his near-empty smoothie. The sound of air getting sucked up through the straw made Abbacchio’s skin crawl- and Giorno was way too aware of that. “Why do you have it out for me, anyway?”
“We’d be here all day,” Abbacchio grunted.
The prep stared at him with some uppity gleam in his eye. Gio was wearing a ridiculous pink get up, which seemed to be the only color in his wardrobe, but today he had little plastic butterflies tucked into his rolls, and roses woven into his braids. Abbacchio didn’t doubt those roses were real.
His shimmery, glossed up pink lips smacked as he spoke. “You’re jealous of me, aren’t you?”
“You have a ton of nerve.”
Giorno flipped his braid over his shoulder. “Goths instinctively hate preps, right? Is that it?” He knew he was poking and prodding in dangerous places.
It was then that he really drove a stake into the heart of the issue. “In fact, you hate that I’m a vampire and you aren’t.”
If Abbacchio rolled his eyes one more time, they’d get stuck in the back of his head. “Congratulations. You cracked the case. Do you want a trophy or some shit?” God, did it kill him to admit that.
Giorno’s lips pursed and turned into a satisfied smile. Abbacchio was expecting some shitty remark to go past his lips. He wasn’t prepared to hear Giorno say, “I can turn you, you know.”
“You’d never,” Abbacchio quipped. He only hoped his temporary excitement hadn’t shown.
Even frowning, Giorno’s features stayed lovely. “I mean it! Though, it does come at a price…” his voice trailed.
Was Abbacchio going to make a deal with the Devil? Face whatever humiliation was ahead just to be turned?
Of course he was!
Abbacchio hid his face in his hands. “Name it.”
“Let me give you a makeover!” Gio brought clasped hands up to his face, batting his eyelashes in a way that almost made him seem innocent.
‘Hell no!’ was dangerously close to slipping out of Abbacchio’s mouth. But, if it meant he’d get turned… God, Abbacchio hated how shameless he’d become. He took a sigh of defeat. “There’s a hidden catch in this, isn't there?”
“Well, duh! ” Giorno practically shouted. “If you don’t go all the way, you forfeit being turned,” he explained. “Do you think this is some vampy-free-for-all ? If you can commit to makeup but not the clothes, I won’t turn you.”
Fair. It killed Abbacchio to reach new levels of desperation, but…He considered all the Anne Rice novels on his bookshelves, the complete Vampire Diaries set he had- he had to do this. Even if he was dressed as a clown and paraded around looking like a fool. It was a small price to pay for the ultimate goal. Vampirism.
Abbacchio bit his lip as he spoke, his words coming out muffled. “You got a deal.”
Giorno stuck his hand out. Pale, cold, and nails perfectly manicured- peachy with little flower vines on them. It was probably the most hesitant handshake of Abbacchio’s life.
The little vampire bastard smiled. “Shall we begin, then?”
First stop: get Abbacchio’s makeup done- or, redone.
The black smudged across his eyes, and the purple smeared on his lips… Giorno cringed. It was the sorriest excuse of makeup he’d seen- and he went to public school .
As for Abbacchio, he wanted to puke at how basic Giorno’s makeup was.
He could go around and find at least ten other people painted us the same way. The soft, champagne twinkle on Giorno’s eyelids, the faint traces of a rosy blush on his cheeks, and his lips covered in a shimmery pink, glossed over- it was so common . So… Pink!
Giorno scrubbed Abbacchio’s face over with sample remover wipes he snatched up.
It was impressive to Abbacchio how many Giorno could grab without the sales attendant noticing. So maybe this prep wasn’t all that bad.
His scrubs weren’t the softest. Abbacchio gagged at the remover solution that got into his mouth. To which, Giorno mumbled a disingenuous ‘sorry’ and went on his way.
It wasn’t much of a hassle for Giorno to buy the makeup he’d need. After all, this idea sprouted partially because he needed to get some personal shopping done.
What better way to torture Abbacchio than to dress him like a prep, and make him carry all the shopping bags? Gio giggled to himself at the day he had ahead.
Abbacchio sat on a bench outside of the store, bags in his lap, as Gio began to work on his face.
“You know,” Giorno began. “You have lovely eyes.” He swept a soft lilac shade over Abbacchio’s lids. It killed him to do this so rushed. No primer, using only opposite ends of the same brush, but he’d make do.
Over his brow bone, he gently dabbed a sparkly white. Underneath his eyes, he carefully applied a tawny brown. White liner would’ve made Abbacchio’s purple eyes pop , but, another day. Giorno would sucker him into this some other time.
Abbacchio blinked as Giorno brought a mascara wand to his eyes. Even lightly coated, that mascara seemed to accentuate every one of Abbacchio’s long lashes. He frowned, though. “They’re just eyes.”
Giorno ignored that comment. He fished a lip stain out of his heart-shaped pochette. It was more on the berry side, so he hardly wore it, but he knew it would compliment Abbacchio wonderfully so.
He patted a subtle blush on Abbacchio’s cheeks. Just from this, he already looked like someone else.
Maybe if Abbacchio wasn’t so pissy, he’d compliment him. But he smiled, kept it to himself.
Then came the fun part.
Giorno had a devilish smile. His eyes darted to a store just across from them.
It was time to put Abbacchio in a new outfit.
Every shirt, every dress, every single thing Abbacchio could see had one thing in common: it all screamed ‘Giorno ’.
The style was so preppy, so ‘I used my dad’s money’ . It made Abbacchio’s skin crawl. He still hadn’t looked at himself in a mirror. Didn’t see his new look. He decided it would’ve been easier to get through this makeover blind- lest he’d see himself look a hot mess.
“First thing’s first.” Giorno stood on the tip of his toes to be level with Abbacchio. He wasted no time snatching that horrendous excuse of a hat off Abbacchio. Little did he know, though, was that it was more a headband…
And Abbacchio’s hair fell unceremoniously on his face.
“You’re fucking dead,”
Giorno pursed his lips. “And you’re in need of a haircut, but now’s not the time.” He dug through his bag, finding a bobby pin to tide Abbacchio over.
Abbacchio looked like he had just rolled out of bed. Black baggy pants, black turtleneck sweater, though it had a circle window, and his hair was barely being held in place. At least his makeup was cute.
“That headband was just hideous,” Giorno started. “It looked like a cracked eggshell on your head.”
Oh, it killed Abbacchio that he couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t tell Giorno he’d crack his skull like an egg. He bit his tongue and let Gio lead him to the shirts.
He went straight to work. Both for himself and Abbacchio. He’d pull out shirts every now and then, hold it in front of Abbacchio and try to visualize it. Some shirts were complete misses, despite still being cute. Giorno would grab a smaller size for himself, anyway.
Buried within the totally last season plaids and the overdone styles was the one. Giorno practically yanked it off the rack. He held the shirt up to Abbacchio: a lavender, fuzzy crop top.
He wanted to throw Abbacchio a bone and ease him up with gentle purples. He’d wait before introducing some pink to his wardrobe.
Abbacchio pretended to gag. “No,” he choked out from a tensed throat.
Yeah, this bitch was testing him. “You’re a snob and a half.” Giorno tossed the shirt at Abbacchio. For him to test Gio’s generosity- Giorno regretted not slipping some pink in his look. Hot pink.
“Ew, a Clueless reference?” Abbacchio pretended to fake a gag once again. “You’re so prep it hurts.”
“You still clocked it, bitch.” Giorno pointed to the changing rooms. “You’re getting on my nerves, now. Go.”
The rest of what Giorno said flew past Abbacchio’s head. “Doesn’t matter that I clocked it, you still said it.”
“Someone must not want to get turned.” Giorno held up his fingers on his other hand. “You have until the count of three.”
Before one finger could go down, Abbacchio ran to the dressing room- probably the fastest he’d ran in his life.
He flung his black sweater off. It messed his hair up, having it flop in his face again. Maybe he did need a haircut- but he wouldn’t say that in front of the prep.
The fuzzy shirt felt nice. Soft. Much better than his heavy cord sweater. Abbacchio wasn’t used to crops, nor not having his chest out. But… He liked the way he looked. Liked the way the lavender complimented his skin.
Abbacchio dared to glance up at his face. He was pretty. No heavy colors bringing his face down, no sharp contour to make his cheekbones look killer. Rather, simple makeup. Accentuating colors, instead of a look . He didn’t entirely hate it, but he still felt like a traitor to the goth culture.
Maybe this wasn’t that bad. He still wouldn’t trust Giorno, though. Abbacchio was stubborn.
Giorno knocked on the dressing room door, but didn’t even give Abbacchio the chance to answer before he started chucking things over the wall. Flying in, Leone got pelted in the face with one skirt after another.
“I didn’t know your size, so I picked whatever,” Giorno shouted. He left as suddenly as he came; on the hunt to dig for accessories.
This entire store was at Giorno’s disposal- which admittedly made him giddy. Even if he decided to go gentle on Abbacchio, which he didn’t deserve, Giorno was still fawning over the sparkly hair accessories.
His own braid was decorated thanks to a little stand help- or a lot . Those roses stayed tucked in place. Not a single petal had fallen.
Cute cat hair pins, and necklaces with a cluster of tiny hearts beckoned him. But none of that would work. Giorno’s eyes darted to a broken heart necklace- two meant to be matched. With ‘BEST’ on end and ‘FRIENDS’ on the other, he had to get it in his arsenal.
He made a beeline over to the chokers after grabbing another necklace to layer- silver with little stars and a moon. On the shelf, a dainty rose gold choker with little pearls practically called Gio.
And while it was perfect for him, it’d be even better for Abbacchio.
He smirked as he grabbed it, and made his way back to Abbacchio’s dressing room.
Leone adjusted his pleated, black mini skirt. Giorno let him keep some black, which he was thankful for. It was off putting- to say the least- for Abbacchio to see so much of his own skin.
Legs, slender at the calves which met up with toned, rounded thighs, were visible to all. His torso, not like it used to be, but had kept some of its original definition, was on display. Arms, pale and lacking, were showing.
All of him was showing.
For a second, Abbacchio wondered if all his layers were a security blanket. If he only dressed so heavy to hide. He didn’t necessarily hate the sight of himself like this.
Being in an outfit like this felt wrong with Abbacchio’s chunky black sneakers.
Giorno knocked. “Show me what you got and let’s check out. You still need shoes.”
Whose money was even paying for this? Leone got the feeling he shouldn’t ask.
It was no surprise that Giorno sang Abbacchio praises- rather- boasted his own outfit assigning skills.
Abbacchio almost felt sad to go change back into his regular clothes. After checking out, Giorno practically pushed Abbacchio back in the dressing room. “It’s called makeover for a reason,” he snickered.
The day was almost over, and vampirism was closer in sight.
Giorno was adamant on styling Abbacchio’s hair. A hidden surprise, but Leone had to be patient. Getting through hair meant getting to shoes, and finishing up shoe shopping meant the makeover being done with.
From the window ceilings, Leone could see the sky darken. The sun was setting. Bruno would probably be picking them up soon, too.
He sat on a bench, back facing Giorno, as he grabbed handfuls of Abbachio’s hair. Giorno hadn’t told him about the accessories. Another trick up his sleeve. There were no mirrors around, but Giorno instructed Abbacchio to close his eyes anyway.
Leone muttered “I hate you,” before following.
Giorno’s nimble hands went to work. He worked with a simple half-up-half-down do. From the top layer of each side, twin braids that met in the back of his head, and into a high ponytail. He tucked cute hair pins to keep the braids in place- two little hearts. Around the hair tie, Gio covered it with a ribbon.
Leone felt necklaces getting stacked on his neck. One long, light in weight. Another shorter, yet heavier. The necklace clinked with every small movement. To top it off, a choker.
The prep had too much fun with that choker, yanking with all his strength as he put it on. He offered no more than an “oopsie!”, disingenuously.
Abbacchio hoped he wouldn’t get a suspicious bruise. For the sake of not giving Giorno any satisfaction, Leone merely swallowed his cough and pretended to be unbothered.
From his pochette, Giorno passed a hand mirror to Abbacchio. His eyes narrowed in at the necklaces.
Lower.
The piece of a broken heart, ‘BEST’ written on it. “I swear, if this is matching-”
Giorno pulled his half, with ‘FRIENDS’ . “You were saying?” His smile went from ear to ear.
“You’re a sadistic son of a bitch,” Abbacchio muttered.
That was flattery to Gio. He reached over to twirl a strand of hair that framed Abbacchio’s face. “What type of heel do you hate most?”
Abbacchio shot him a dangerous look. So, Gio mused, finger still twirling. “You seem like the type to loathe pumps and kitten heels. You’d say ‘go all the way, or not at all’ , despite never wearing heels. Am I right?” Giorno raised his brows.
Maybe it was true. He moved his head, but the prep’s grip on his hair was strong. “What does it matter?”
Gio’s smile swayed into a smirk. “So I know what to avoid, of course!” He lifted his matching necklace, as if it meant something. “Who do you take me for? I’ve been super gracious to you.”
“I think wedges are ugly.” Leone chewed on his bottom lip. “They’re blocky. Heels are meant to be sleek. ”
Gio tucked that information away. “But you like blocky shoes otherwise, I assume.” He gestured to what Abbacchio was wearing, bordering the line of platforms.
Leone tucked his feet behind one of their many shopping bags. “Some looks call for it.”
“You get defensive when I’m right,” Giorno noted.
He let go of Abbacchio’s hair, standing up, and already began to drag Abbacchio by his wrist. Leone was just thankful that it wasn’t by his hair- again. “Store’s aren’t going to stay open forever.”
In some way, Leone felt like today wasn’t long enough. Certainly not because he was having fun- and he wasn’t.
Not that he’d confess to it.
But maybe because he couldn’t believe- well- any of this. That this was happening, that he was with Giorno of all people.
It felt dream-like. If it was, he certainly didn’t have time to wake up. Not as Giorno dragged him to another store.
Heels.
Ceiling to floor, wall to wall, on every shelf, and every stand-alone shoe rack-
Heels.
The sight was enough to make Leone cringe. Had a pair of flats been hidden in there, he surely wouldn’t have known. As far as his eyes could see-
Damned heels.
Giorno pounced, a pep in his walk, as he immediately went to work. “Lovely selection, huh?” he snickered. The most atrocious pair of heels he’d ever seen beckoned him. Blocky, strappy, and covered in rainbow-vomit glitter.
They looked painfully tasteless.
“I’d like to see you in something like this.” He picked one up and waved it in Abbacchio’s face.
Besides the fact that they were god awful, it was the length of the heel that Giorno liked. Abbachio’s jaw dropped. Gio granted him the mercy of putting the shoe back up. “Not this ugly, though.”
It took Abbacchio a second until he realized. Oh no . “I’m not wearing something that tall!” Ever the diva in his own way.
Gio disappeared behind an aisle. It was practically like being in a candy shop for him. He didn’t know Abbacchio’s shoe size- but whatever- he’d figure it out as he went. Abbacchio had huge feet, anyway. He’d pull out the biggest one he saw.
He certainly had his options- and Giorno might have grabbed pairs for himself, but that was hardly worth mentioning. Not as he saw black stilettos- open-toed and fuzzy. The perfect balance of matching and tacky.
‘No,’ was already on the tip of Leone’s tongue as Giorno returned, skipping. His oozing enthusiasm just made Leone a little more sick each time he saw him. It didn’t matter what was in the box, Leone wasn’t going to like it.
“Aren’t they cute?” Gio beamed, holding one heel up.
Leone inspected the other one, still within the box. “My feet aren’t that big, you fucking asshole.”
There he went- pissing Giorno off again. Abbacchio was in need of a serious attitude check. “Try them on, bitch.” Giorno chucked one of the heels at Abbacchio… And got a death glare from a nearby store attendant.
Wisely, they shrugged and walked off.
It was roomier on Leone, as he thought, but the realization donned on him: he’d never walked in heels before.
Leone Abbacchio.... Did not know how to walk in heels.
His knees shook. His whole legs did as he grabbed on to a shelf for support.
“I’ve seen baby fawn more graceful,” Giorno snickered. A lie, but Abbacchio didn’t need to know that.
Hesitantly, Leone lifted one leg up- and promptly stomped it back down.
Giorno covered his smirk as he pointed out, “You can’t walk in them.”
“You were the asshole with the grand idea to put me in them.” Leone sharply reminded him.
Like Gio cared . He was getting impatient with Abbacchio’s sass. Plus, Bruno promised him homemade chocolate pudding for dessert- so getting this over with was high on his list of priorities. “Figure it out as you go.”
Giorno had plans to murder Abbacchio one day. Not without a little bit of friendly torture, first.
Any opinion-changing thoughts Leone had went out the window. Giorno left him confused. He shrugged, taking the heels off.
Frenemies.
He’d supposed that was what they were. “Can we just checkout already?” Leone whined.
“Couldn’t have said it faster myself.”
Abbacchio enjoyed the short minute he went heelless. With no mercy, Giorno made him put those eyesores right back on.
Wrong size and all.
Leone had the honor of carrying all the bags. He’d been this whole time. Giorno had been practically hopping. He had an uppity stride… Which countered Abbacchio’s uneven stomps.
The weight of the bags made it infinitely harder to walk in his too-big heels.
It was certainly unexpected when Giorno looked back to smile.
Not to flash fangs, not to be rude.
But genuine. As if he had fun, too.
‘“One day, I want you to give me a makeover.” He pointed to the absurd amount of pink he was wearing. “I think I could pull off black, don’t you?”
Leone returned that gesture. He gave Gio a smile that was normally reserved for Bruno. “Turn me first.”
Frenemies. But right now, they were more friends than enemies.
Gio took off one of his butterfly hair clips, closing it in his palm. With a little stand help, he opened his palm to offer Abbacchio an ivory rose. “You got a deal.”