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Leading a gang was a time-consuming business. Giorno’s duties included paperwork, private meetings, interrogations, public events, mediating disputes, violent external activities, and more paperwork. Helping someone lead a gang wasn’t exactly lenient work, either: Mista personally went on missions more often than Giorno, but also accompanied the Don as a bodyguard to most of his affairs. They were equally passionate about what they did, and their positions meant that they spent the majority of the time working together anyway, but the fact remained that they were seldom able to share a moment of rest.
So on those rare occasions when neither Giorno nor Mista had to work, they would spend as many waking hours together as they could. Sometimes they went to an opera, or for a walk in the park, or would even leave the country altogether; but usually, they opted to stay home.
Their home was gorgeous, as much as it was relatively unlived in. The staff kept it clean and tidy, and each chamber in every wing was as furnished with gorgeous formality— except for perhaps the few rooms making up Giorno and Mista’s personal suite.
Of course, their home also had many facilities to offer, even if they were rarely used. This was why, when Giorno and Mista had an evening to themselves, they often ended up finding something to do in their own house.
This was precisely what they decided on tonight: or rather, what Mista decided. The gunman burst into Giorno’s study after a long mission: the Don had been expecting him, greatly anticipating the entire day the two of them were to have to themselves. Mista greeted Giorno with a kiss, then rushed off to shower, instructing Giorno to wear “something pretty”.
Giorno frowned at that, finally pushed aside the last of his work, and followed Mista to the bathroom. His boyfriend was already in the shower.
“What did you mean when you asked me to wear something pretty?” he asked. “I’m afraid I’m going to need to know a little more than that.”
“Sure you don’t,” Mista replied breezily. “I’m just going to wear whatever too, we’re not leaving the house, so—”
“ Mista, ” Giorno insisted. “Details.”
Behind the fogged-up shower glass, the water pressure was turned down slightly to allow easier conversation. “Fine,” Mista laughed. “I want to go dancing with you, GioGio.”
Giorno’s head tilted questioningly. “Dancing?”
“Yeah!” Mista sounded all too sure of himself. “We have a ballroom, don’t we? And I don’t think we’ve used it since… God, our housewarming party?”
“New years’ after I took over as Don,” Giorno corrected absent-mindedly, his thoughts on more important matters. “Do you dance?”
“Oh, you bet I do,” Mista said smugly. “What, you weren’t expecting that?”
“Not particularly,” Giorno confessed.
Mista gasped theatrically, only to choke slightly as he appeared to swallow a mouthful of hot shower water. “How could you?” he said. “Besides, why are you so focused on that?”
Giorno didn’t answer. He glanced towards his reflection in the mirror over the sink, only to look away when he realized that surface was foggy as well, and he couldn’t see anything.
As he remained silent, he began to feel Mista’s smugness radiating towards him from the other side of the shower glass.
“ Oh, ” Mista said, sounding as if he had just uncovered Italy’s greatest celebrity scandal, “Could it be that Don Giovanna, Gang-Star Supreme, doesn’t know how to dance?”
Giorno fought to keep his posture from stiffening, despite knowing that Mista couldn’t see him, at least not clearly. “What do you want me to wear?” he asked instead.
Mista chuckled. “Still thinking about that, are you?” he asked. “Well, you still know more about fashion than me, even if the same doesn’t apply to dancing. Just wear what you think will work. After being with you for two years, I know you’ll give me a heart attack no matter what you wear.”
Giorno’s lips curled softly upwards at that: he left Mista to the rest of his shower and began to look around his walk-in wardrobe for something to wear.
By the time Mista cleaned himself off, Giorno was ready. He stepped out into the bedroom after pinning the last of his curls in place, and waited by the doorway for Mista to notice him.
His right-hand man was half-dressed, seemingly trying to choose between two button-down shirts: one white and subtly patterned, one pale gold and shimmering in the light.
“The gold one contrasts well with your skin tone,” Giorno pointed out.
Mista spun around, almost dropping the shirts, and his jaw actually dropped as he looked his lover up and down.
Giorno was wearing a dark suit— at first glance, it wasn’t too different from what he usually wore, but its overall effect was entirely different. The material shone softly as it hugged his frame, and was embellished with golden floral trim around the cuffs and plunging collar. Underneath the jacket, he wore a black velvet top with a high neckline. The cuffs of his slacks tucked into black boots, which had a small heel. Above it all, Giorno had allowed more of his hair to fall loose than usual: it cascaded around his shoulders, matching the suit’s gold trim perfectly and drawing the look together. His signature three curls were still in place, but when he turned his head slightly, Mista could see a black velvet ribbon tied in a bow at the back.
“Damn,” Mista said eventually.
Once again, Giorno allowed a smile to soften his features: he supposed he had put a decent amount of effort into putting together this outfit (especially considering the lack of warning he had received) and Mista seemed to appreciate it.
“Put a shirt on,” Giorno said, looking even more amused when Mista blushed and finally tore his eyes away.
A few moments later, after which Mista had successfully put on his cufflinks, he offered Giorno his arm. “Don Giovanna,” he acknowledged.
Giorno gave him a sideways look, half ridicule and half intrigue. Then he allowed himself to be led out of their wing and down the stairs, towards the ballroom.
Once they had arrived, Giorno opened the doors and quickly located the light switches on the wall inside.
The ballroom looked imposing at the best of times, and this effect was only amplified as the two of them stole inside. Night had long since fallen, so even the large windows at one end of the room were as dark as lakes, only reflecting the light of the electric chandeliers overhead.
Giorno gave Mista a look, silently asking him what the next step was. This had been his idea, after all.
Mista smirked at him and strode boldly across the room, his shoes making loud sounds against the floor. Giorno wondered how loud his own heeled boots would sound.
Across the room, Mista found what he was looking for: the sound system. Among other state-of-the-art music equipment, there was a new record player crafted in a retro style, paneled with wood and lined with red velvet. He switched it on and began to thumb through the case of records that stood nearby.
Giorno heard his lover hum in satisfaction once he had found the vinyl he was looking for and watched him place it in the player. It was silent at first, but then the music began: sound pouring softly from every speaker placed around the ballroom, immediately filling the space with life.
It was a song by the Carpenters, of course: Mista’s all-time favorite band. The song was called “Close to You”, if he was recalling correctly, and he couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity, even as he realized that he wasn’t entirely sure what to do next.
Giorno hadn’t wanted to admit it out loud earlier, but the truth was that he had never danced before in his life. He was familiar with the music, and the outfits, and the styles: he had seen plenty of dances in the last couple of years thanks to his position and all the functions he had to attend because of it. However, he never bothered to step onto the dance floor himself, and from here a cycle was born: not dancing because he didn’t know how, and now knowing how because he never danced.
Mista seemed determined to do this, though, as he was already coming back across the polished wooden floor. Giorno fidgeted slightly with his sleeve. Dancing couldn’t be too hard, right? And Mista was probably only bragging about his own skill, and—
Then Mista offered his hand, which Giorno took, and took a single step, and oh. Even as a newcomer to the world of dance, he could tell that Mista hadn’t just been joking. Strength and grace were evident in his movements, and his muscles were working in a way just as refined as when he was engaged in battle, although this manner of motion was entirely different.
A breath escaped past Giorno’s lips, and he looked up to see Mista’s dark eyes fixed on him, glowing with both the reflected light of the chandeliers and honest astonishment.
“Giorno,” he asked, his voice a comforting rumble, “Have you ever danced before?”
The shorter man finally gave his head a single shake.
Mista didn’t look too surprised and smiled widely instead. “I never would have guessed… You seem like the type to know how to dance. I never questioned it.”
Giorno’s gaze briefly flickered away— he wasn’t exactly ashamed , but—
“I’ll teach you,” Mista said then, and Giorno immediately looked back up at him.
“You will?” he asked softly.
Mista nodded, adjusting his hold of Giorno’s hand and wrapping his opposite arm around the small of Giorno’s back, his grip firm but tender. “Put your left hand on my shoulder,” he instructed.
Giorno did just that, the fabric of Mista’s shirt smooth over his warm skin.
As soon as they were in position, they began to move.
Or rather, Mista did: Giorno did his best to follow, to set down his feet as he was swept away by Mista’s movements. The elegance he had grown aware of was indeed not to be underestimated: Mista was utterly confident, and his grace left Giorno feeling strangely awed. He stared at Mista’s chest, slightly exposed where the neckline of his shirt fell, and then up into his eyes, and…
And then he stood on Mista’s toes, hard.
Mista managed to hold back any sound of distress, but confusion and mild pain crossed his expression, and Giorno felt his cheeks grow hot.
“I’m sorry, Mista!” he said with sincerity. “I lost focus.”
The taller man looked down with his eyebrows raised. “I noticed.”
Giorno stared at the floor.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Mista said. “I’m teaching you, remember?”
“You don’t have to,” Giorno replied, still looking away. “I’ll only continue to step on your toes. Maybe I’ll sit over there, and you can just show me what—”
“No way,” Mista interrupted. “GioGio, it’s fine. I… I’m glad you stepped on my toes.”
Surprise prompted Giorno to finally look back up. “What?”
Now Mista was the blushing one. “I just mean that it’s nice to be able to teach you something. You’re always so good at everything, after all… Like picking out your clothes.” He ran his hand down the golden trim of Giorno’s collar.
“So you’re enjoying watching me fail, for once?” Giorno asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Mista pouted. “That’s not what I meant! I like how trusting you are, that’s all. Not just anyone gets to teach you new things, and watch you learn.”
“We have been in a relationship for two years,” Giorno informed him. “I should hope that meant I trusted you.”
“I know, I know,” Mista said. “But it still feels special. So if you want me to teach you, I’ll be happy to.”
His confession had touched Giorno, and the younger man let it show in his eyes, as well as the way reached up to grasp Mista’s shoulder once again. “Teach me, Mista,” he whispered. “Teach me to dance with you.”
“Of course, GioGio,” Mista whispered in reply.
A new Carpenters song came on just as they moved to the center of the dance floor: one of their favorites, called “You”. Gentle warmth filled Mista’s eyes as the first notes began to play, and Giorno was filled with love for the man he was holding on to all over again.
Mista guided them slowly, taking them both on a journey far away: the wooden dance floor became a pathway to new places, and the stars seemed no further away from them than the bejeweled chandeliers on the ceiling overhead. And so, for the very first time, Giorno discovered the power and beauty of dance, as well as those who practiced it. His steps were far from perfect, and he betrayed far more hesitancy than he ever did in his professional life, but there was a soft smile on his lips and his eyes shone as Mista’s glittered.
And so the two of them spent their night off in this way, dancing together under the indoor stars, and allowing love to pass their time with no fear.