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The sun outside, the sound of footsteps in the hall, and the smell of breakfast in the air lulled Giorno awake late one morning. On their own, none of these stimuli would have been enough to rouse him: working together, though, they managed to gently raise him from the depths of sleep, one layer at a time.
The Don opened his eyes, breathing in deeply and tasting the morning air. His body felt light and well-rested: he sat up easily and stepped out past the curtains of his four-poster bed. His feet slid into soft slippers, and he padded across the room to his vanity. Giorno had braided his hair the night before, but his long bangs were still in disarray: he took a few moments to brush them until they shone and pin them back behind his ears.
He could smell something cooking in the kitchen, and realized it must be Mista— none of their staff used the nearby kitchen, seeing as it was in their private wing of the house. Still, it was a little strange: Mista didn’t usually cook himself a hot meal for breakfast, seeing as he usually had engagements and preferred to eat out or on the way there. On top of that, a glance at the clock revealed that Giorno had slept in far later than usual: it was almost eleven.
He hesitated for a few seconds, wondering whether there was any particular reason why Mista would be cooking right now, then shrugged and stood up swiftly. At the last minute, he pulled a pale floral-patterned shawl off of the top of his vanity and threw it over his shoulders. It was springtime, and not particularly cold inside, but he was still only wearing his nightgown.
Giorno opened the door and made his way down the hall, his slippered feet making little sound on the polished wooden floor. He noticed that the kitchen door was wide open, and the smell of breakfast was floating deliciously in the air. For the first time, he noticed he was hungry, and wondered whether Mista would have any leftovers.
He padded around the corner, pausing in the doorway when he caught sight of Mista. His boyfriend was standing with his back to Giorno, watching the stove with unblinking concentration. He was also wearing an apron, tied at the back with a large bow.
“Due, get me the pepper,” Mista said suddenly, and Giorno noticed for the first time that the Pistols were helping him out. Helping might be a bit of an overstatement: two of them appeared to be eating the ham that was sitting out, another two were dozing on Mista’s shoulder, and the remaining pair were darting around with a sense of urgency, apparently trying to find the black pepper.
Giorno felt a small smile creep onto his face. He still wasn’t sure what the occasion was, but Mista and his Stands looked adorable, and something warm bloomed within him at the sight of them making breakfast together in this small kitchen of theirs.
He was just about to announce his presence when one of the Pistols on Mista’s shoulder —Cinque— let out a sudden cry. “Giorno!”
Mista jumped slightly, his concentration shattered, and turned around. “GioGio!” he said, surprised. “I didn’t hear you at all. Good morning!”
Giorno smiled, tugging slightly at one of the sleeves of his nightgown. “Good morning, Mista,” he replied. “Good morning, Pistols.”
“Good morning, Giorno!” they chorused before Tre shrieked in alarm. “Mista, you’re burning the food!”
“Oh shit,” Mista exclaimed, nearly dropping his utensil, and turned back around. “Giorno, go sit in the window seat. This will be done in just a minute.”
“Oh, you cooked for me, too?” Giorno asked.
“Yeah,” Mista said, before addressing Tre again. “Oh, what were you saying, this isn’t burnt at all! Stop freaking me out like that.”
Giorno headed to the window seat at the other end of the room, listening with amusement as Tre’s indignant remark was drowned out by the sound of sizzling butter in the frying pan. He didn’t sit down just yet but instead took a moment to observe the view outside. This window seat received beautiful morning sunlight, and despite the later time of day, the light was still entering this room and making the fabric of the translucent curtains shimmer.
Seconds later, Mista came up behind him and set down two plates of food on the table. He gently nudged Giorno’s shoulder, getting him to make eye contact.
“Are you still tired?” he asked.
Giorno hesitated, then nodded. He knew it was late, but he couldn’t help it— he had been busy all week.
“Come here,” Mista said, opening his arms.
Giorno was mildly surprised by Mista’s open initiation of contact— the older man’s usually left these things unsaid— but was much too tired and tender to resist, and walked straight into his lovers’ embrace.
Mista’s arms surrounded him and pulled him close; Giorno buried his nose in the fabric of his sweater and took in Mista’s familiar scent, which was tinged slightly with the smell of his cooking.
“What did you make?” he murmured quietly.
“Just eggs and toast,” Mista replied. “Nothing special.”
Giorno raised his head, tilting it inquisitively. “You don’t usually make breakfast.”
One of Mista’s brows quirked. “So?”
“That makes it special.”
“Oh,” the taller man said. He was now blushing slightly. “I just wanted to, that’s all. Because it’s nice that we both have the morning off.”
Giorno rubbed his arms. He was never entirely sure how to respond to actions like these, actions undeniably, inexplicably taken for him . And not because he was powerful or advantageous: Mista was already his right-hand man, and older than him as well. So there was no reason for him to do such kind things for Giorno, unless…
The blond shook his head. He was intimately familiar with the nature of his and Mista’s relationship, yet some of its aspects that Mista found completely commonplace, were still hard to process for him at times.
It’s because of how you were raised,
Mista had explained to him once, some late rainy night when Giorno had been sad and afraid.
No one ever did stuff like this for you before, right? I understand, and it’s okay for you to be surprised when I do it now. But I hope you can get used to it one day. You deserve to get used to it.
And so Giorno tried. He was getting better— still, though, at times when he was tired or busy or feeling as though all the love in his life had been replaced by the paperwork on his desk, he found some of his old doubts resurfacing.
This morning was not quite one of those times, but being held by Mista was reassuring him regardless.
“Oh, you are tired,” Mista murmured into his hair, and then he was leading both of them to the window seat. “Here. Sit next to me.”
Giorno didn’t have to be told twice: he even tucked his head onto Mista’s shoulder as soon as both of them had sat down. Somewhere he knew that if he was less groggy he might be holding back a little more, but right now all that mattered was that Mista was warm, comfortable, and smelled good. In the distance, he could hear the Pistols cleaning the kitchen (or at least arguing about cleaning the kitchen) and smiled again.
Mista’s shoulder shifted, and through half-closed eyes, Giorno saw him cut off a corner of the egg-on-toast with a fork and scoop it up.
“I’ll give you a bite,” Mista said, the comforting vibrations of his voice passing through Giorno, and with a little effort, the younger man opened his eyes wider and lifted his head.
Mista fed him the bite of food, which Giorno chewed thoughtfully before his eyes opened wider. “This is good,” he said.
Mista chuckled warmly and winked at him. “The rumors are true… I make the best eggs this side of the Apennines,” he said.
Giorno hummed, not disagreeing, and opened his mouth for another bite.
“Hey, let me have some too,” Mista chided jokingly, but gave Giorno the second mouthful as well.
They finished breakfast in this way, basking in the sunlight which warmed their backs, and by the end of it, Giorno felt significantly more awake. He straightened himself slightly, just in time for the Pistols to come over, finally having finished putting everything away in the kitchen.
“Giorno’s sleepy,” Sette crowed, and a slight flush appeared on Giorno’s cheeks at the realization that he, the Don of Passione, had just had his boyfriend feed him an entire meal as he was half-asleep.
“Shoo, Sette,” Mista said, “Don’t bother your Boss.”
“It’s fine,” Giorno said, absent-mindedly scratching Cinque’s head, who had come closer.
“Sette has a point, I guess,” Mista said. “What’s got you so tired? You haven’t been poisoned with a weird napping potion or anything, right?”
“Not as far as I know,” Giorno joked. “It’s just been a long week, that’s all. With the Pisa situation, those tourists and everything. And…”
“And?” Mista prompted.
“I haven’t seen enough of you,” Giorno confessed.
Mista sighed, then pulled him closer. “I know,” he said, “I missed you too, since I had to go out on so many raids this week. And I knew you were stressed about what was going on, so I wanted to be around, but…”
“It’s alright,” Giorno spoke up. “We’re leading Passione, we’re busy sometimes.”
“And it’s worth it,” Mista agreed. “Still, that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”
“I know,” Giorno replied, reaching down to stroke Mista’s thigh. “I feel the same way.”
Mista arched his back and shifted his tone. “Hey, do you want to walk outside with me? The sun might wake you up.”
Giorno perked up. “I’d like that. Just… I need to get dressed first.”
“Sure,” Mista said. “I’ll clean up our dishes while you do that. I’ll see you by the stairs, okay?” He pressed a lingering and tender kiss to Giorno’s cheek before standing up.
Giorno followed suit and seized Mista’s hands before the latter could pick anything up. Then, standing on the tips of his toes, he kissed Mista on the mouth.
Mista let out a surprised sound, but Giorno was already turning around and heading back towards their room, a smile on his lips.
Once back in the bedroom, Giorno quickly stripped out of his nightgown and pulled on a pair of black slacks and a white lacy top. Then he slid his feet into white flats and hurried back towards the staircase where Mista was waiting.
His tall boyfriend offered his arm, which Giorno took only slightly mockingly, and led them down the stairs. They exited the house through one of the back doors, crossed the patio, and headed onto the lawn, which was divided up by low boxwood hedges and flowerbeds full of spring bulbs in this part of the yard.
Giorno took in a deep breath of the noontime air as soon as they were outside: it smelled like flowers and earth, and he smiled unconsciously. Whether influenced by his Stand ability or not, the scent of plant life always made Giorno happy.
Looking ahead, he saw something that made him dart ahead of Mista: a few of the blossoming bulbs in a nearby flowerbed had been crushed, either by the wind or a small wild animal. Giorno crouched down in front of the wounded plants, reached forward and summoned Gold Experience, who immediately went to work restoring the flowers to their original vitality.
Giorno heard Mista’s footsteps approach and could feel the smile his lover was directing towards him without looking. Mista didn’t have much penchant for gardening himself, but always enjoyed watching Giorno busy himself among the plants and flowers when they had time.
Looking further down the flowerbed and across the row, Giorno noticed a few more plants here and there which had become damaged and immediately sent Gold Experience over to gently coax them back to life.
After a few more moments of this silent work, Giorno heard Mista chuckle from behind him. Still crouching on the ground, he turned around to look up at his lover, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing really,” Mista said warmly. “Just… I was wondering what people would think if they knew Giorno Giovanna uses his infamous stand to do gardening.”
Giorno huffed and turned back to his plants. “It’s an important job,” he said. “Every one of these petals and leaves has a life of its own, and saving one of them means as much in the world of this garden as saving a human life does in ours. It’s only a question of scale.”
Mista whistled. “I never thought about it that way,” he said.
Giorno rubbed Gold Experience’s shoulder before standing back up and facing Mista once again. “Lead on,” he said.
A little further down the strip of lawn, Mista paused and pointed out another damaged plant. “There’s one, GioGio,” he said.
Giorno hummed and bent down slightly to look at it. “No, look,” he said, beckoning Mista over. “This plant itself isn’t damaged. This flower was shed by itself: it happened naturally. There is nothing to fix.”
Mista nodded slowly. "So what do we do with it then?”
Giorno smiled at him. “You can keep it if you want.” As he spoke, he handed the flower to Mista, who took it.
Mista looked down at the flower, then into Giorno’s eyes, and finally towards his hairline. Then his tongue poked out of his mouth as a concentrated expression appeared on his face, and he reached forward.
Giorno laughed softly. “What are you doing?”
“Putting it in your hair,” Mista replied. “Your outfit is all black and white today.”
“Oh, I see,” Giorno nodded sagely. “You think I need some color contrast.”
“I think it looks nice,” Mista said. “Dark purple against golden hair.”
There was a faraway, almost reverent look in his eyes: the sort of look Giorno could scarcely believe was directed towards him and him alone. For the second time that morning, the urge to kiss Mista overtook him, and he reached up to do exactly that.
Mista had the opportunity to kiss him back this time, and Giorno pressed close to his lover’s muscular frame as they deepened it. He smiled into the kiss, in equal parts happiness as well as amusement at the feeling of the flower Mista had tucked into his hair tickling his skin.
After a moment they broke contact and continued down the path hand in hand until they reached the slope which led down to the lake behind their home. Underneath a tree just a short distance from the shore was an old wooden bench painted white, and this was where they sat down. Giorno hummed as Mista wrapped his strong arms around him and pulled him onto his lap, and again as his lover kissed his neck from behind.
Then they sat and watched the noon sun lazily cross the blue water spread out before them, silently teasing its scorching rays as they sat sheltered under the shade of the large tree behind them.
At a certain point, it hit Giorno how content he was to be sitting here surrounded by life and love, all of it including himself still here after the exhausting week he had had, and a single tear trailed down his cheek which he failed to notice until Mista gently reached out and wiped it away.
“You’re alright, GioGio?” Mista asked quietly, with no more concern than Giorno needed from him.
“I am,” he affirmed. “I’m just grateful.”
“So am I,” Mista murmured. Giorno could feel the man’s chin moving against his shoulder as he spoke. “I thank fate every day for bringing us together.”
“Especially after some days apart,” Giorno whispered, climbing around in Mista’s lap to face him. Even in the bright sunlight, Mista’s eyes were still black.
“We could stay here all day,” Mista said. Giorno changed his mind— MIsta’s eyes weren’t just black, but they were colored with hope and love as well.
“I like that idea,” he whispered in reply, gripping the back of the bench for support as he leaned forward to meet Mista in another kiss.
Giorno’s energy took hold of the loose chips of paint on that little old bench, and suddenly there were wildflowers blooming all around them, springing out of the wood.
Neither of them paid the blossoms any mind just then: all they focused on was each other, and the feelings they had both missed so much even though they had never truly gone anywhere in the first place.
And all of Giorno’s domain watched them as he and Mista silently declared their love to each other once again: the flowers, and the grass, and the hedges, and the birds.
Somewhere, somehow, Tre began to giggle at the sight of Mista and Giorno embracing so clearly, but the other Pistols quickly shushed him and covered his eyes, leaving the two young mafia royals to their own devices, even if just for a few moments.