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„So? What do you think?” Giorno asked eagerly, seeming proud of himself.
Fugo got out from the passenger’s seat, and pushed his round, yellow-tinted sunglasses to the top of his head.
“I don’t exactly see where we’re going to have a picnic around here.”
“Of course not! We’ll have to take a little walk deeper into the forest. It’s a beautiful route!” Giorno beamed. “It will take but a few minutes. Come on, we don’t have all day.”
Giorno was in a good mood, and as always, it was infectious – it didn’t take long for Fugo to join in to singing songs with the car radio during their trip, and now even the spring in Giorno’s step made him smile. Fugo grabbed the plaid and the basket from the trunk, locked the car and followed Giorno.
“Still, I drove on this highway at least a hundred times before, and I don’t think I’ve ever noticed this entrance…” Fugo pondered, as Giorno took the plaid from his hand.
“You are always so lost in thought Panni, I don’t think you’d notice a miracle, even if it was happening right in front of your eyes.” Giorno teased, and gave Fugo a quick peck on his lips. “Let’s go, I’ll show the way.”
The gesture made a comfortable wave of warmth wash over Fugo, affection nestling into his chest as he watched his boyfriend skipping ahead. Wait, no – his spouse. Spouse. Fugo softly mouthed the word to himself as a fond smile spread across his face, knowing that Giorno was wrong. After all, there he was, his personal miracle right in front of him, and Fugo was ready to spend the rest of his life noticing him every single day.
It was an April morning, the kind that put the rest to shame – the sky above them was blindingly azure, and the morning sun scattered bright spots onto the trail, filtering through the leaves swayed by the gentle breeze. Spring was in full swing – even the air had a flowery taste, mixing with the earthy scent of morel. The nature around them framed Giorno perfectly: his blonde cascade of hair, freely falling down on his shoulder, his white, frilly blouse adorned with embroidered sunflowers, paired with lace-trimmed denim shorts. The floral theme carried onto Fugo’s attire, too: though he was sporting a much simpler, light purple collar polo shirt, his chest pocket was adorned by a single, embroidered strand of lavender. His muted green pants, cuffed just beneath his knees, almost made him look like a strand of lavender himself.
“Just another turn, and… there!” Giorno announced, and made a wide gesture at the clearing, just showing up from behind the trees.
The sight was breathtaking. The small clearing was bathing in the morning sun, with only a single spot of shade cast by the enormous oak tree at its middle. The field was brimming with life: grasshoppers chirped, birds sang in the crown of the tree, butterflies soared, the grass beneath their feet was lush and overflowing with wildflowers: daisy, poppy, forget-me-not, daffodil, colorful spots scattered all over. A gentle breeze washed through the clearing, fluttering Giorno’s wild and untamed golden locks, as he smiled at Fugo.
“You forgot to close your mouth. I guess that means that you like it.”
“Wow, Haru, this is…!” Fugo shook his head, as if he didn’t believe his eyes. “How did you find this place? There is no way we are the only ones who know about it…”
“I got the map of this area a while ago while looking for new places to explore, and spotted this forest on its edge, with a mark on this clearing…” Giorno pulled out the map from his pocket, and pointed at the spot. “I came out here earlier to see how it looks like, and it surpassed every expectation I had as well…” He folded the map, and looked up into Fugo’s eyes, his gaze softening. “But I’m mostly glad to see that it surpassed yours, too.”
Oh man, Fugo thought. He brushed away a few blonde strands from Giorno’s forehead, and planted a kiss on it. “It really did, thank you.”
They settled down in the shade of the oak tree – Giorno laid down the plaid, and Fugo started to unload the contents of the basket. A fresh loaf of bread, a wedge of good cheese, salami, fresh tomatoes, blue and raspberries, spring water, and finally, a bottle of wine. The latter was mostly for the mood, so to say – neither Fugo nor Giorno were drinkers, not like that sort of thing would have been easy under the watchful eyes of Abbacchio, who had become a beacon of moderation ever since, especially when it came to alcohol.
They brought sturdy, glazed porcelain plates, but when it came to what they are going to drink from…
“What is this for?” Fugo asked, holding a package of medium-sized plastic cups in his hands, his shoulders shaking from restrained laughter.
“What does it look like it’s for?” Giorno replied, without looking up from the sandwich he was making. “It’s for the wine.”
“That’s so trashy”, Fugo snickered. “The don and his secretary, drinking wine from plastic cups.”
“If we were to break any wine glasses, it would hurt out finances significantly, don’t you think?” Giorno was also chucking. “Okay, I forgot to pack glasses, so I bought these while you were at the bakery. Here, I made this for you.” He offered Fugo the sandwich he just finished making on a plate.
“Thanks. Hey, I’ll make yours. Serve the wine until then, make sure it gets the presentation it deserves.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry for forgetting the glasses.” They couldn’t stop laughing, and things got even more difficult when Giorno had to fight the bursts of laughter as he poured the wine.
“All right… Thanks and here you go.” Giorno took the plate from Fugo, and handed him the plastic cup filled with wine. “Then… to the newlywed, and their first day off.”
“To the newlywed, and their first day off”, Fugo echoed, and they “clinked” their cups.
Giorno found himself daydreaming, as his gaze fell on the simple gold ring on Fugo’s left hand, and then the one on his own. Their friends were all overjoyed upon the news of their proposal, Trish straight up jumped into their arms, and Giorno could swear that he saw the ghost of Polnareff shed a tear. Only Abbacchio kept grumbling about how rushed their marriage is, how they are being impulsive, they are going to regret it, and so on. Fugo finally managed to silence him using the pragmatic approach: he picked up the “family photo album”, and flipped it to Bruno and Abbacchio’s wedding photo, pointing at the “2001” scribble at the bottom of the polaroid. We are literally at the same age you two were, Fugo said calmly, as the rest of the room tried to hold their laughter back.
Deep down, Giorno knew that Abbacchio was just as happy for them as everyone else – that’s why he’s worried for their happiness.
And as they were munching on their sandwiches, talking about nothing in particular, drinking wine from their plastic cups, Giorno reassured Abbacchio in his head. Thank you. Please don’t worry. I only have to look at him to know I’ve made the right decision.
The sun was getting higher and higher, and now the air was significantly warmer. Fugo was pacing around the field and the woods for a while now, with a growing bouquet of wildflowers in his arms.
“What are you up to?” Giorno asked absent-mindedly with his chin resting on his palm, lost to the air of elegance surrounding his lover.
“All these wildflowers gave me an idea”, Fugo replied, and sat back down on the plaid, setting the small, fragrant bouquet and his tinted sunglasses aside. “Is it okay if I touch your hair?”
“Yes”, Giorno replied with anticipation, and Fugo hovered behind him, tenderly combing through his hair with his fingers.
“I thought I’d braid some flowers in your hair”, Fugo said quietly, as he picked up a couple strands from the bouquet lying next to him. “And not just any flowers. I tried to pick ones that reminded me of you... Or rather how you make me feel.” Giorno could tell from his voice that he was smiling. “What I have here are… Daisies, symbolizing new beginnings.” He started braiding Giorno’s hair, adding one strand of flower at a time. “Cornflowers, for hope in the future. Lily of the valley for happiness. And finally...” His voice got even quieter, as if not wanting anyone but Giorno to hear his confession. “Lilac, for first love.”
Giorno didn’t even notice he was holding his breath until then, his heart taking leap after leap, each beat echoing the plead of I love you, I love you, I love you. He tried to reply, to give a form to the feelings welling up in his chest, but they also tied his tongue. So instead, he reached up to Fugo’s hand, which was now working behind his bangs, and squeezed it.
“Ah, do you want me to stop, or—“
“No, I’m okay! I just…” Giorno took a deep breath, and glanced over his shoulder, to meet Fugo’s eyes. “After this, I’d like to do the same for your hair, too.”
“Oh, well…” Fugo touched his hair. “I’d love that, but I don’t think mine is long enough for it.”
“I can still tuck some flowers behind your bangs and ears. And I also have Requiem to help me.”
“Right, you do. Isn’t that cheating, though?” Fugo grumbled, but he was smiling.
“Tricksters and cheaters rule the world, Panni. If you can’t beat them, join them.” Giorno indulged in the serenity of the moment, as Fugo was tucking the final flowers into his braid.
“Okay, I think I’m done.”
“That means it’s my turn”, Giorno stretched his arms. “Let’s change places.”
“I’m not sure I left enough flowers for you to work with…” Fugo’s gaze fell on the scattered strands of flowers left on the plaid.
“That’s okay, I’m a cheater, remember?” Giorno replied with a smug, knowing smile. “And I’d want to work with my own flowers anyway, the ones that remind me of you. I’m going to touch your hair now, okay?”
“Sure.” Fugo could hear some faint rustling behind him, paired with the soft chiming of Gold Experience Requiem.
“Ornithogalum, also known as Star of Bethlehem for hope. Its scientific name was derived from the greek phrase ‘bird’s milk’, which was used to describe something rare and precious.” Giorno was speaking quietly, but his voice had that jumpiness it usually had when he was talking about something important to him. “Lathyrus, or sweet pea for gratitude. It was discovered in Sicily around the age of 1690, by a monk named Franciscus Cupani. Of course, back then it looked nothing like it does now… Brother Cupani sent the seeds to various breeders across the world, and the sweet pea we know today is the result of mutation.”
The past four and a half years of their relationship got Fugo used to how knowledgeable Giorno is about plants, but he couldn’t help but be utterly fascinated every single time he demonstrated his ever-growing knowledge. He noticed that his cheeks hurt from smiling. Tranquility washed over him as he closed his eyes, and allowed himself to be immersed in Giorno’s voice.
“Pulmonaria, or lungwort for devotion. This is one of my favorites. It’s one of the few plants that can survive underneath a black walnut tree. That sort of thing is rare, because black walnut trees produce a substance that is toxic for most plant species. It’s a sturdy little plant.” Giorno stopped for a second, as if to focus on getting the arrangement just right. “And lastly, taraxacum, or dandelion for persistence and healing. It’s believed that when the dandelion’s seeds dry and turn white, blowing them away brings good fortune, or grants a wish.” He gently traced his fingers over his work. “Okay. I’m done.”
“So you used Requiem to turn branches into flowers that are not in season? Pretty smart.” Fugo mused, his head still above the clouds.
“Actually, most of these flowers are in season.” Giorno admitted with a low chuckle. “But I also didn’t exactly know what I am going for when I started it. Hold up, let me see it from the front…” Fugo turned around with his entire body, now facing Giorno.
“Just this one…”
Giorno reached out his hand to Fugo’s left side, and tucked a loose strand behind his ear. Their eyes met and locked onto each other, unable to look away.
“You know…” Giorno began slowly, forgetting to withdraw his hand from Fugo’s face. “Pulmonaria has another meaning. Well, not exactly another meaning, rather a more articulate meaning. In the language of flowers, pulmonaria means ‘you are my life’.”
Fugo felt breathless. There he was, the love of his life, saying these words while looking deeply into his eyes.
“Oh, Haru.” His voice was hoarse from longing. He touched Giorno’s hand by his face, and leaned into it.
The birdsong around them seemed to fade away as their lips touched, trying to captivate every colorful bit of the feelings overflowing in their chests, imbuing them into something that felt so utterly simple. Giorno looped his arms behind Fugo’s neck as Fugo gently, but passionately cupped his lover’s face, deepening the kiss. Giorno leaned his weight into Fugo, and they tumbled down on the plaid, but that’s where they bumped into a miscalculation – namely into each other’s’ noses.
“Ouch”. Fugo exclaimed quietly, and Giorno couldn’t hold back the laughter bubbling up from him.
“Sorry, my bad.” They pressed their foreheads together for a drawn-out moment, then Giorno gave the smallest kiss on Fugo’s nose. “There, better?”
“Better than anything Requiem ever did”, Fugo replied with a lopsided grin, still slightly dazed.
Giorno flopped on his back next to Fugo whose left arm looped around him, Giorno’s head resting on his shoulder. The sunlight filtering through the leaves cast spots of sunlight on them, and they were at peace.
“I didn’t think anything could beat the wedding day,” Fugo sighed, “but this day is coming really close to it.”
“Yeah.” Giorno replied, but his tone suddenly got somber. “Sometimes I’m afraid it won’t last.”
Fugo slightly turned his head to the side and shot him a concerned look, but at the same time Giorno moved in and buried his face into Fugo’s neck.
“These past four, nearing five years with you have been beyond anything I’ve ever dreamed of, you know?” Giorno’s voice was suddenly small and frail, like a little bird. “I feel like… That April, after the first time we’ve met, Abbacchio, Narancia and Bruno almost…” He cut off the end of the sentence. “When I met Bruno, it was the first time in a while that I had a purpose… And when I met you, those purposes kept on piling up. But then I lost you too…”
“It’s okay.” Fugo whispered, gently stroking Giorno’s hair.
“And I’m just scared that… that good things will never last.” Giorno’s left hand reached out for Fugo’s right, and their fingers intertwined.
Fugo gently squeezed Giorno’s hand, who squeezed back. The wedding ring on Giorno’s finger pressed into their skins, grounding and comforting.
“I also feel the same,” Fugo quietly admitted, finally breaking the silence. “I have nightmares about losing you all the time. But the reality of you still being there every time I wake up… Just the sight of you gives me courage. Because I know whatever comes, as long as I can face it with you, I’ll be able to handle anything.” He pulled Giorno to his chest, embracing him. “And I promise that I will never leave you. That I will face everything with you, that I’ll stay by your side. Forever.”
Everything was more alive, more colorful around them than it ever was. The birdsong soared towards the sky, butterflies fluttered with immense joy, and the oak leaves glimmered in the sunlight, like thousands of little diamonds.
“…And you also have that entire dimension-breaking ability, thanks to Requiem.”
“Ha!” Giorno chuckled, the change in tone catching him off-guard in a good way. “I do. Your Stand is pretty amazing too, though.”
“I know! We make a pretty scary pair, you and I. Nothing can stand in our way.”
Giorno closed his eyes, listening to Fugo’s heartbeat.
“Hey, Panni?”
“Mmhm?”
“I love you. I love you so much. I wanted to say that so many times today already. But I couldn’t.”
Fugo hummed with a smile on his lips, as he kept stroking Giorno’s hair. “It’s okay, I knew it. Even if you don’t say it, I can always feel it. So don’t worry about it, okay?”
A knowing smile flashed on Giorno’s lips. “I get that. After all, you didn’t say it either, but your heart just did. And it just did again, and again, and again.”
“Even then, I’ll say it too.” Fugo whispered. “I love you too, Haru. I love you so much.”