Chapter Text
He doesn't look it but Guido Mista is your typical hopeless romantic, if the bundle of romcom DVDs hidden shamefully under his bed wasn’t any indication enough. Sure he’s got this whole bad boy leather jacket on and has been to more fights than actual dates, but deep down (just surface level deep really) this fool turns into a helpless puddle for romantic cliches.
A young male protagonist falling in love with the cute blond who recently moved in from a town nobodys ever heard of. It was the perfect and too convenient formula of two lovestruck teenagers, followed by a coincidental meet cute, a dash of miscommunication, and maybe a pinch of family drama along the way. Until eventually, the two leads would realize their own feelings and profess their undying love for each other and make out under the sexy rain. Mista especially loved the ones that ended with a kiss. And then finally, the camera pans away from the view over some old 80s pop song no one knows while the credits appear on screen.
Mista had seen it all. So you’d think he'd know how to handle his own when his turn came, but love came like a sucker punch a few weeks ago and he’d been cripplingly smitten since. He couldn't pinpoint exactly any specific moment that made him fall for the blonde beauty next door but every laugh, every lingering touch, and bone melting smile just accumulated into one gigantic crush on his best friend, Giorno Giovanna.
Mista was pretty sure he was only attracted to girls until then. These feelings that he usually gets with a girl, feels a lot stronger around Giorno. I mean, the guy was fucking gorgeous . Blonde hair, turquoise eyes, sculpted lips, beautiful smile. That was already given with anyone with a pair of working eyes, but only did Mista realize much, and I mean much later , that his platonic affections for his best friend had more meaning to them than just "bros bein bros".
"-Ista… Are you even listening?"
"m’yeah 'course" Mista hums absentmindedly with a phone tucked on his neck, while facing dreamily outside his window.
"Okay,” Trish continues, “Well, I was saying, Narancia the stupid fool, decided to ask both of us to prom. So technically both Fugo and Narancia are gonna be my dates for this weekend. But you can definitely still carpool with us though, but it's gonna be a three plus one situation.” She pauses, starting to feel like she's talking to drywall, “Mista, are you there?”
“Mhm.. yeah great.”
There was a defeated sigh on the receiver, “Well, we were thinking of coming up with a new band name… like Passione is great n’ all but imagine.” She pauses, “ Fantastic Foursome. ”
"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds gr--"
It took a solid minute for Mista to process.
And then he screams with the most emotion hed had since he got on the phone, “No fucking way!”
“It kinda has a good ring to it,” Trish says, “And it makes sense, we’re fou-”
"No, no. We’re five. We talked about this. Just because the Pistols are not in the band, doesnt mean theyre not in the band! They’re a unit, so that makes us 5 members total!", Mista panics.
"Mista, I was joking.”
“Oh.”
Trish sighs deeply over the phone and Mista could imagine her fingers rubbing around her temples, “Okay, vibe check. It’s been 2 weeks since you've been acting all flakey and flighty with your head in your ass, it feels like i'm talking to my dad for Chirsts sake!”
Mista scrunches his brows, “but your dad isn't around.”
“Exactly my point.” Trish scoffs. She wasn't wrong though, Mista had been a bit closed off from the gang lately in the midst of dealing with this newly found sexual revelation. As much as Mista tried not to make too much of a big scene over it, his habitual disappearances in the last few days proved him otherwise.
“Mista, really, are you okay? You’re being less of an irritable dork than usual. Like are you in some kind of trouble? You know you can tell us right. But like, please dont tell me youre taking drug-”
“I think I might be into guys.” Mista blurts out and then slapping a hand to his face as soon as the words left.
There was a long silence on the receiver as Mista let Trish, and himself, process what he’d just admitted to out loud probably for the first time. It was a vague confession about the blonde beauty but thinking about it was still enough to make his cheeks bloom a bright red.
A loud thud and a curse shot through the other end of his call, “You’re only admitting you’re in love with Giorno now?” Trish screamed, almost in pain and accusation.
Hold up.
“Wait what, ” Mista sat up abruptly, “ back up, how'd you know I was even thinking about Giorno? "
“Mista, I love you and I'm so proud you’ve renounced heterosexuality." Trish said in full sincerity, "but you're not the most subtle when it comes to your own feelings. We been knew honey, for awhile.”
“What do you mean for awhile?" Mista stresses the enunciation, " I didn't even know I could like a guy until 3 weeks ago!"
How could Trish have known? And how could she have known before he did? He's never even told a soul nor even to his dogs about this! He had been putting so much effort the past few days sneaking around halls, keeping an eye out in fear of what his newly found attraction would do that would make an irreversible fool of himself. Lunch with the gang had proven to be the most difficult, poor Mista couldn't even form a coherent sentence with those rich green eyes beaming at him with full undivided attention.
Oblivious to Mista it didn't take that long for the rest of the gang to notice his little routine. As soon as lunch was coming to an end, at exactly 1:25pm, he would:
- Wipes his clammy hands against his lap for a solid minute
- Chugs down the sprite he bought but barely touched, and chokes a bit
- Laughs at whatever joke Narancia made (even if he didnt, hed just burst out laughing) and then follows up with “wops gotta class, see your guys in piss bye”
- Scurry off to the nearest exit before bumping into someone and slamming into the door frame on the way out.
Well the guy was doing his best, but the second hand embarrassment was definitely hard for the gang to witness in person. Trish bursts out laughing. Mista winces and pulls his phone from his ear over Trish’s laughter, embarrassment spread over his cheeks. "Sorry guys gotta class, see you in piss bye." Trish mimics in his best Mista impersonation.
"Piss off man! I did not say that… " Mista cries in horror, "Tell me I didn't say that."
Trish sighs pitifully, “Fool, we see the way you oogle at him during class and band practice, you wouldn't know subtle even if you were invisible. "
"I was not ogling." He says in defense and disbelief for the honor of his old denial self, "Can’t bros admire each other quietly from a distance?”
Yeah that didn't sound gay at all.
“Mhm, we were more worried we had to initiate a gay-tervention for you. It got too painful to watch.” Trish deadpanned
Mista sinks in his sheets. He immediately thought back to specific moments with Giorno prior to his romantic feelings. They were platonic at the start, like brofists or back pats. Then Mista found out that Giorno liked headpats, and of course he was all for it, what kind of best bro would he be if he didn't? One movie night with the gang later he was more than down to sleep together on the couch, spoon cuddled next to Giorno. And of course when he was performing, specifically on stage, he’d give his bro a point and a wink that, looking back at it now, didnt feel as dumb and innocent as it used to.
Mista threw a pillow over his head and groaned, shuffling the paperwork scattered around him that had been long forgotten. He ran a hand through his hair then down to his cheek. He knew he was hopeless but he didn't think it was this bad that he was unconscious to his own affections. And to think it was going on for months! If time travel were real he would very well like to go back and shoot his past self. Seriously, how did he think these were platonic? How could past Mista just parade these intimate memories in front of Present Mista who is now very much head over heels for the blonde!
“I figured you finally lost whatever brain cells you had to that door frame.”, Trish says with a light chuckle, “Even Giorno was worried that you’ve been ditching lately.”
Mista’s heart fluttered a bit. Giorno was worried about me?
Red light. Back up.
He catches himself before his feelings let him fall into conclusions. He quickly boiled his feelings away to just a best friend concerned over his well being. Giorno was such a good friend, of course he’s concerned. Mista probably made everyone in the gang worried at how much of a maniac he'd been acting.
"So, ill take that youll be asking Giorno to prom then?" Trish follows, her laughter dissipating into a light chuckle.
"I haven't really thought about it," Mista replied.
A lie. Of course he had thought about it. Plenty of times. Fantasized in multiple different scenarios in alternate universes, replayed in classic movie cliches.
“Bullshit.” Trish quips.
"Okay fine, I'm working on it alright?" Mista says with a softer tone, “I just don’t wanna screw this one up but..” he sighs, “It's not like I wanna avoid him on purpose! I wanna talk to him. All the time! But every time I do my brain just fucking flatlines. I literally can’t get through a single conversation without thinking about hugging him or holding his hand or throwing him up against the nearest wall and kissing-”
“Oh god please stop.” Trish retched.
“You get the point!” Mista puts a hand over his tinted cheeks.
“Okay, I'm gonna hang up now. In the meanwhile, try to channel that sappy gay shit into your song writing.”
The song. Right . They were gonna perform as a band this friday. They had to coordinate with the prom organizers last week and submit a setlist, which mostly consisted of song covers. But right until the last second, Mista requested the last song to be his. He wanted to play an original. He didnt know why he did, he’s never even written a song in his entire life! But during the heat of the moment Mista took the shot. Bucciarati raised an eyebrow at this, skeptical; but the resolve in Mista’s eyes was undeniable. Abbacchio only scoffed, his goth intuition already piecing together the puzzles whilst Narancia called bullshit that Mista can have a mystery song number and he can't perform the Big Sean song.
“We are not doing the Big Sean song!” Fugo hissed.
Needless to say Mista got the prom organizers to agree with the help of Bucciarati’s reassurance (being the head in the said committee) and the description, “It’s gonna be a lovesong.” written in stone.
It had been a few weeks since then.
“I will, Just been in a rut lately,” Mista says, “ but that's okay, I work better under pressure.”
Trish hums, “Maybe try looking for inspiration at a different angle.”
Wait. That's not a bad idea.
Trish continues, "and don't forget we have stage rehearsal the day after tomorrow. Don't be late or Fugo's gonna blow another fuse."
"And have another replay of the fork incident? No thanks."
Trish scoffed on the other end of the phone and the call ended. Mista tosses his phone on top of his pillow and sits up from his bed to look up at his room. The place was a mess. Well, it was sort of expected considering he has 6 of his dogs sleeping in his room. He averts his eyes from the mess and up to the walls decorated nicely with many band and movie posters he's collected over the years. He thought it was the nicest part of his room to at least balance out the post apocalyptic wasteland that is his floor.
Mista finds himself wandering back to the window across from his own. He thanked God, Lady Luck or whoever higher being was listening, that had made both their houses coincidentally have two large windows directly facing each other.
Giorno had his curtains open today.
Mista watched the blonde pacing his neatly organized room in distress with his cell phone held to his ear. He doesn't hear him but with the way his arms are spread out in a dramatic gesture can only mean one thing: Giorno’s on the phone with his father and he's upset.
It was long since established that Giorno and his father don't always see eye to eye on things and caught them both shooting passive aggressive remarks with each other on multiple occasions. Mistas pretty sure if it had been anyone else, Mr. Brando would've cut them down on the spot.
Mista shuddered.
The first time Mista met Giorno's father was when he left for a morning jog while walking his pistols. Mista was hunched over tying his shoelaces when Tre, the little shit, bolted off from his leash. Mista chased him down halfway down the block and when he had caught up to him, he found his dog barking at a really large man with blonde hair and green lips. The man had a cold, condescending stare that towered over them both, eyeing Mista's dog with visible menace and disdain. Mista was about to scold Tre until, and I shit you not, the man straight up and growled.
Until now, Mista didnt know if it was him or Tre that let out a whimper, but he quickly apologized, collected his dog, and ran off without looking back. Mista kept all his dogs on a short leash since then.
Giorno sat down at the edge of his bed, finally ending his phone call. Mista saw the way his shoulders visibly sunk; it sucked seeing Giorno so drained from just a phone call. He really wanted to just walk over there and give him a hug. That wasn't too forward was it? Bros give their best bros hugs when they're sad right?
Mista didn't realize how long he had been staring until Giorno caught his eye from across the window. Giorno's eyes widened and quickly composed himself. Mista duck dived under his window, realizing that he'd been indeed caught ogling at him, red handed.
Fuck, Fuck, hes gonna think im a creepy stalker!
Mista reluctantly raises his head out to the window, the panic must've been evident on his face because Giorno's shoulders shook in a muted laugh, the tension in his brows from earlier had already disappeared. Mista watched Giorno raise a finger and reach for a sketchbook from his desk. Mista's grin widened as he started picking out blank pieces of paper from his bed. This was something that they both unspokenly loved doing. Something that was just for him and Giorno to share with each other.
Mista scribbled on the page with a thick bold marker and brought it up to the window for Giorno to read. 'You okay?'
Giorno raised his own page 'Dad = Tyrant'
Mista grinned at his response, he reached for another page and wrote. 'Time to elope?'
They both shared a silent laugh behind their glass windows. Mista shuffled from more blank pages on his bed and held up another response.
‘Wanna come over?’
Giorno gave a small apologetic smile, ‘Can’t. Studying.’
Mista nodded in understanding. Mr. Brando was the manifestation of over-the-top asian parents - if they were english, a single dad, pumped with a gallon of steroids. He doesn't take anything less than perfection and held crazy, inhuman academic standards. Which was insane because Giorno was already the top of his batch, and his dad still wanted him to take cram school atop his violin lessons. He can't imagine the pressure he has to put up with. Mista wished he could make it all go away for him, Giorno was already perfect the way he was. But would someone as perfect as Giorno ever consider to be with a disaster such as himself? His father certainly wouldnt.
But there's only really one way to find out. Mista fidgeted slightly on his bed shifting his weight. Thinking about the blonde had his thoughts wander over the conversation he had with Trish over the phone with a really, really bad idea.
He swallows a nerve as his hand draws out another message on new page. He hesitates a bit writing the second word, with his heart beating hard on his chest.…. and never gets to it when the paper tears away from under his fingers!
Mista's eyes shot up at his brown pup, shredding the piece of paper between its teeth whilst 5 other dogs ran through his door stampeding around his room.
"Tre! Give that back!!" Mista quickly jolts up to his feet to chase the little pupper around his room. He picks up Tre by his sides, pulling the remnants of his confession from his teeth. A portion if the page comes off, soaked in drool. Mista scrunches his face in disgust.
Remembering what he was in the middle of, he quickly shot his head back up to Giorno's window, but only to see that the curtains were already drawn.
Mista sighed. Uno kicked off the rest of his homework as he jumped down to join his pack, which were now eating the rest of the scraps on the floor.
He lets out a quiet laugh as he sits on his bed, sliding down to the rug. One of his dogs, Sette, nuzzles his side. Mista pats his head and reaches for his guitar on the side of the bed. He lays it over his lap as a few of his dogs approach Mista in a circular pack. He stares at the curtains behind the other’s window, now illuminated softly by the study lamp of Giorno’s desk. Mista can vaguely make out the outline of his silhouette sitting on a chair. It wasn't hard for him to imagine the rest.
Lips in a flat line (What would they feel like?), the determined look on those (hauntingly gorgeous) turquoise eyes, soft fingers (I want to hold them) turning each page delicately , and even the (angel) sigh that occasionally left his lips.
"Shit, I got it bad." Mista sighed to his pups, scratching Sette under his ear. The rest of the Pistols sat idly in place looking up at him expectantly.
Tre pounces and barks from on top of the bed at Mista, Well, what are you gonna do about it?
He looks down at his mauled confession on the floor with heavy tinted cheeks. There was only really one thing he can do to cure him of his aching. With his heart thumping in his chest, and tummy butterflies turning into words, Mista starts strumming to the sound of his sappy, gay, heart.