Chapter Text
Recently, Giorno Giovanna had been feeling… strange.
He liked to consider himself someone who knew his own mind and needs well, and who could take care of himself without needing to ask for advice. Of course, there was the occasional middle-of-the-night incident where Mista would find him passed out on his own desk, or conscious but severely dehydrated, but that was only because Giorno believed in prioritizing, that was all.
So when he began to experience a range of what he referred to as symptoms one week, he was mystified. At first, he thought he might be coming down with a mild sort of sickness, and did his best to physically withdraw from people even more than he usually did, but as the original symptoms persisted and some stranger ones began to occur, Giorno came to believe that his issue might be of a less common nature.
The first symptom he noticed was his reaction to heat. Giorno had never really been one to complain about the weather, no matter how hot those Italian summer days became, but one day he went outside and was immediately struck by extreme dizziness. He retreated into the shadow of the doorway, fighting back a sick feeling in his throat.
“Woah,” Mista exclaimed, standing outside like a normal person. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I…” Giorno’s brow creased. His dizzy spell seemed to have passed as soon as it appeared, but it had been severe enough to make him question his own health. He wasn’t dehydrated again— he had seen to that himself that day.
He stepped outside a second time, more cautiously but ultimately unprepared for the renewed assault on his senses. His skin felt like it was shriveling up around his muscles, and his mouth and lungs felt as though they were being filled with boiling rubble. Gasping, he stumbled back into the house.
“It’s hot out,” he panted. This time, it took him a second longer to recover.
Mista shrugged, looking worried. “Not any more than usual,” he said. “GioGio, are you alright?” He returned inside as well, approaching Giorno with an outstretched hand.
“I think so,” Giorno said. The feeling was fading away once again. “Maybe I have some form of heat stroke.”
“You weren’t out too long yesterday, were you?” Mista asked. He carefully put a hand on Giorno’s forehead. “Huh. You feel cold, somehow.”
“I do?” Giorno asked, puzzled. “And now that you bring it up… I might have forgotten to stand in the shade when I was overseeing that trade yesterday.”
Mista rolled his eyes, but Giorno knew it was purely out of concern for him. “Take better care of yourself, Gio,” he said.
“As long as everyone else is,” Giorno replied. “I’m the Don… and have other responsibilities as well.” He gave Mista a sharp look at that, and the older man blushed.
“Oh, don’t make this about me,” he teased. “You’re trying to get out from what I asked you.”
“Hm,” Giorno scoffed. “Very well. I’ll drink five liters of water every day, and go to bed at ten at night, and never stand in the sun.”
“Don’t think five liters,” Mista murmured, leaning closer to Giorno. “That’s bad for you. The right amount is three point seven. Less than four, OK?”
Giorno was backed up against the wall, his dizzy spell momentarily forgotten. “Fine,” he breathed, making an admirable effort of not looking flustered as Mista splayed a hand on the wall beside his head.
Mista chuckled softly, then kissed him. Giorno returned the kiss, tugging on Mista’s sweater for more proximity and tilting his head for easier access. Warmth blossomed inside him: he and Mista had begun their relationship over a year ago now, soon after Giorno became Don, but holding him in this way still made just as happy as the first time. He parted his lips, hoping for just a little more—
Then Mista yelped and sprang back, separating them. “Ow!” he whined. “Did you bite me?”
Giorno frowned. “No?” he said. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know… Maybe you were dizzy again…” Mista spoke gingerly, touching his lips. “There’s no blood, right?”
“No,” Giorno shook his head. “You’re alright. Also, I wasn’t dizzy. Are you sure you didn’t bite your own tongue?”
Mista spluttered. “What— Why the hell would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Giorno said airly, sliding away from the wall. “Maybe you got excited.”
The taller man rolled his eyes. “You fucking wish. Anyway, we have to go now.”
Giorno hesitated, suddenly not looking forward to meeting the outdoors again. “Mista,” he said carefully. “Do you think you could attend this meeting to represent me… alone?” He watched his lover’s expression carefully.
Mista’s mouth flattened into a line, and he looked concerned. “I mean, I can,” he said. “It’d be no problem. But… do you really feel that bad?”
“No, I’m fine,” Giorno waved him away. “I just think… Maybe I should…”
“You’re usually the last person to ask for a break…” Mista murmured under his breath.
Giorno glared at him keenly. “ Mista. Can you do this, or not?”
“Of course I can,” Mista was back to his easygoing self. “You can count on me, Boss.”
The glare on Giorno’s face remained fixed in place but softened as he reluctantly acknowledged the humor. They both knew Mista was only calling him ‘Boss’ as a joke since Giorno had made his feelings on the title clear a long time ago.
“Well then, you’d better go,” Giorno said. “These officials don’t intimidate themselves.”
Mista smirked. “Point taken. I’ll see you tonight,” he bent down for one last kiss, although he pressed it to Giorno’s cheek this time.
“Goodbye, Mista,” Giorno said, sending him off with a small smile and wave. “Good luck.”
Mista gave him a salute, and then he was leaving.
Giorno watched him go for a moment, then turned around with a strange expression on his face. He had acted casual around Mista, but in reality, he was very confused about the situation. The few seconds he had spent in the sun were the illest he had felt in a long time, and contrary to what he had implied to Mista, there was no way he could have contracted heatstroke the day before. He had barely spent time outside, and it hadn’t been very hot, either!
Frowning, Giorno decided to make himself a cold drink and take a nap. He supposed it was possible he had contracted a mild virus somewhere.
The second symptom was the cravings. After Giorno’s bout of not-heat stroke, he had taken care to eat and drink mild things so as to not upset his stomach. However, this didn’t seem to be what his body wanted from him: two days after his initial bout of illness, he began to feel a persistent gnawing in his stomach. He wasn’t hungry, exactly, and wondered if he could possibly be missing some all-important vitamin. He thought about what he was eating, asked Mista off-handedly about it, and even went down to the kitchen to consult their live-in chef about nutrition.
But nobody had an answer for him, least of all himself. And so he began to eat a wider variety of foods again, trying to find something to satisfy him, but this backfired when he set foot outside again and experienced the return of the nausea, although it was less acute than it had been before. It was less sunny that day, a fact which left Giorno feeling suspicious although he didn’t know why. So all he could do in the end was walk a fine line between trying to eat different foods while also preventing himself from getting sick, which proved difficult. The closest he could get to satiating his craving was by eating meat, but it wasn’t quite what he wanted either, and left his stomach feeling heavier than he was comfortable with.
These symptoms persisted throughout the week, which was why Giorno began to distance himself from others, warning them of a possible illness he had contracted. He even kept further away from Mista, although his right-hand man wasn’t happy about it.
“You don’t seem contagious,” he persuaded. “Trust me. I’d be staying away myself if you were.”
“Mista,” was all Giorno had to say to get him to be quiet, although he continued to grumble.
After dinner that night, Giorno returned to his dressing room and stared into the mirror, a crease wrinkling his forehead. Ever since the day his first symptoms had appeared, he hadn’t felt right.
He leaned closer, baring his teeth.
And then he startled.
What was that in his mouth? He didn’t remember his grimace looking so… sharp.
Although he probably wouldn’t admit it, Giorno spent a decent amount of time in front of the mirror every morning and was certainly familiar with his own facial features. And those pointed canine teeth were definitely not the ones he considered his own.
He had a sudden flashback to when Mista had kissed him the previous week and complained about being bitten. They hadn’t kissed very much since then, since Giorno was considering himself sick, but these teeth were suspicious.
“Could it have been…?” he wondered out loud to himself.
But why? And how?
Within a week, he had developed a sun allergy, an insatiable craving for a substance he couldn’t place, and strangely sharp teeth. Of course, as a young adult, he was still developing, but he was fairly sure that none of these symptoms were known side effects of puberty.
He gave himself one last toothy grimace in the mirror, then put on a bathrobe and walked across the house to the library.
***
It was almost midnight when Mista crossed the hallway to Giorno’s study. The light was still on, shining out from the crack underneath the door, and he felt the need to make sure his boyfriend was going to bed soon. They had a function to attend early the next morning, after all, and because of Giorno’s recent behavior, Mista felt even more compelled to check on him.
Giorno seemed convinced that he was suffering from some sort of mild but lingering illness, but Mista wasn’t so sure. To his knowledge, Giorno had never acted like this since they had started dating. Mista had seen him lightly ill once or twice, sick after a combination of overworking himself and exposure to a common cold or flu, but he always got over it easily and didn’t act any different aside from slight lethargy.
With these thoughts on his mind, Mista knocked on the study door.
There was no answer.
“Giorno, I’m coming in,” he called out. It wasn’t as if his boyfriend would mind anyway: Mista was only knocking out of courtesy.
Mista opened the door, fully prepared to give a stern but affectionate lecture about the importance of taking care of oneself, but paused abruptly when he realized the room was empty. Giorno’s desk lamp was on, though, which implied he was still around— no matter much money he earned, Giorno didn’t like to waste energy.
“GioGio,” Mista called quietly.
A wide, open arch led from the study to the bedroom, which was incidentally where Mista usually slept, so a single glance in that direction confirmed Giorno wasn’t there either. The only other rooms in the suite were the dressing room and the bathroom; the latter was dark and empty, the former had the lights on but was abandoned as well.
“Hmm,” Mista said, hands on his hips as he looked around the apartment one last time. Giorno definitely wasn’t there, despite the lights being on— Mista added this to his mental list of weird shit Giorno’s done recently .
Still, he didn’t panic: Giorno could take care of himself, sick or not, and he would have told Mista if he was going far. This meant he was probably in the house somewhere.
Mista’s first stop was the kitchen: Giorno had had a lot of strange cravings recently, and it wasn’t hard to imagine him going for a midnight snack. When Mista found the kitchen empty, however, his list shortened itself to a single possibility— the library.
Giorno spent a lot of time in the library when he wasn’t working in his study or out in the garden. He was always researching new things: the history of Italy, Mafia family trees, the Latin language, and plants and animals to create using Gold Experience, to name a few. Mista preferred to learn through practice, which explained the shooting range on their estate, but watching Giorno absorbed in a book always made his heart warm.
Giorno was also the sort of person to see studying as a pleasure rather than a chore, and Mista knew it was entirely possible for him to justify a walk down to the library no matter what time of the day it was, even if it was only to discover the answer to a single question.
Having come to this conclusion, Mista made his way over to the central staircase, descended to the ground floor, and turned left towards the wing where the library was located. It was at the north end of the house, meaning it received little light but had a calm and still atmosphere perfect for studying. Even with no disciplinary librarians present, Mista, who was usually fairly loud-mouthed, felt the urge to speak more quietly whenever he was in that room.
The library door was ajar, and Mista smiled triumphantly when he noticed a small light on at one of the long tables in the center, and Giorno’s silhouette clearly present. The Don had his head bent over a book, which was surrounded by stacks of even more. His hair was loose and fell over his face as he read, glowing gold in the lamplight. The silk robe he wore over his nightgown shone as well, and Mista had to shake his head to keep from being immobilized by the overall beauty of the scene.
“Hey, GioGio,” he called softly, making his presence known.
Giorno didn’t look up or speak right away, still fixated on his book, but he shifted slightly and Mista took that as a sign that he had heard.
“I noticed you weren’t in your room, so I came looking for you. Is everything alright? What are you reading?”
This time, Giorno did look up. The light cast dramatic shadows on his face so that Mista could only see one of his eyes glittering deep blue-green.
“I’m reading…” he trailed off and looked back down.
A crease appeared on Mista’s forehead. He wondered how many items he would have to add to his weird shit list during this encounter.
Before Mista could ask anything else, Giorno began to read aloud from his book. His speech was slower than usual: the text seemed to be written in a foreign language which Giorno was translating into Italian as he read.
“Those afflicted are unable to handle the sun, feeling sick and tortured as the destruction of their skin begins to take place. If they do not feed, their cravings may grow severe to the point of losing rational thought. Their fangs may be used for feeding, but the tips of the fingers are more efficient, and likely to be used when the Vampire—”
Mista made an undignified sound. “Vampires?”
Giorno raised his head again and stared at Mista with an unreadable expression.
“I mean, if you want to research them, that’s cool. But the way you were talking at first, I assumed you were researching your own sickness since the symptoms sounded kind of similar. So when you suddenly mentioned vampires , I was caught off guard.”
“These are my symptoms,” Giorno said.
“Well, yeah,” Mista said, hesitating. “Wait, no they aren’t! You said something about fangs.”
Giorno stood up, removing his face even further from the light. “Mista, come here.”
“Sure, OK,” Mista said, even as confusion etched itself further onto his face. He had no idea where Giorno was going with this, but could sense that something was bothering him. Of course there was— something had been for a while now.
Mista moved closer, unable to get himself to move very quickly for some reason. He wasn’t sure whether it was due to the intimidating effect of the library, Giorno’s mysterious behavior, or something else entirely, but he felt on edge.
Then he blinked and suddenly found himself standing very close to Giorno. The younger man had drawn himself upright but was still noticeably shorter, and Mista had to look down to see his expression. Even up close it was still hard to read, not helped by how dark their surroundings were.
“Look at me,” Giorno whispered.
Mista raised his hand to cup the shorter man’s jaw gently. Giorno stiffened but accepted the touch. “I can’t see you,” Mista murmured. With his other hand, he dragged the desk lamp closer, so that Giorno’s face was illuminated.
As intimidating as Giorno had looked in the dark and shadow, his hesitation was revealed in the lamplight. There were feelings as complex as the Latin texts he’d been reading swirling in his eyes, and he was noticeably learning into Mista’s touch.
Mista felt affection rise within him all over again as he watched Giorno closely. As independent and capable as the Don was, he was also younger and had the tendency to overthink, and Mista wanted to protect those more vulnerable sides of him with all he had. No matter what mysterious knowledge Giorno had learned of to make him feel this way, Mista was determined to face it alongside him.
“What did you want to show me?” he asked.
Giorno barely moved his lips as he murmured, “You said I didn’t have fangs.”
Then he bared his teeth and holy shit, he did have fangs.
Mista’s eyes widened and his hand dropped from Giorno’s face. “Oh,” he said.
“Yes,” Giorno said, looking from side to side now as his expression grew more uncomfortable.
“So that list of symptoms… You were talking about yourself.”
“Obviously,” Giorno said, slightly snappishly.
“So… But how? And why?” Mista asked.
Giorno’s fidgeting paused and he looked at Mista sharply. “You believe me?”
Mista was dumbfounded. “Why wouldn’t I? Vampires and spirits are universal ideas, just like fate and luck. That doesn’t happen by accident.”
“Oh,” Giorno said this time, obviously not having considered that idea. Then something else crossed his expression, and he shrank back slightly. “If you do believe me, then… why aren’t you scared of me?”
Mista’s stomach dropped, and he closed the distance between them again. “GioGio,” he said, “I trust you. The fact that you haven’t jumped on top of me and tried to bite my neck helps, but besides that, I trust your resolve over some… curse, or ability, or whatever vampirism falls under. Besides,” he continued, raking his eyes over Giorno’s hesitating countenance again, “You’ve seemed worried all week. I told myself I’d support you no matter what the cause ended up being, and I meant that.”
Part of him was still screaming internally at the revelation that fuck, vampires were real, and his boyfriend was one! But at that moment, Mista’s cool instinctive thinking took over and he was able to stay calm, almost as if he was in the midst of a battle. Because this situation felt like one in some ways: it was just that he was fighting Giorno’s uncertainty with his words rather than enemy Stand Users with the Sex Pistols.
His calmness paid off: relief visibly flooded Giorno’s features. “Thank you,” he said, sounding slightly choked. Mista realized the younger man’s hands were trembling, and quickly reached forward to take them in his own.
“Come here,” he whispered when Giorno hesitated to step closer. “This is fine, isn’t it?”
Giorno nodded shortly, trepidation still flickering in his eyes. “As long as you aren’t worried.”
“Giorno,” Mista sighed, “I’m just glad that you found out what was happening to you. I was starting to go crazy thinking about what could be going on with you. I thought maybe you’d been poisoned, or eaten four of something, or…”
He paused when Giorno finally smiled, an expression Mista realized he hadn’t seen for a while. “Knowing it’s only a touch of vampirism puts you at ease, then?” he said dryly.
Mista rolled his eyes. “When you put it like that, I realize there’s still a lot I don’t know. But it’s better to know what’s going on, especially when it’s affecting my GioGio.”
That was it: Giorno finally allowed his head to fall into Mista’s chest. The taller man wrapped his arms around him in response. “We’ll figure this out,” he said. “Now you tell me everything else you learned in that fancy Latin book of yours, alright?”
Against him, Giorno nodded, seemingly already starting to regain some of his determination after allowing himself to falter in Mista’s presence.
Once again, Mista was struck by the sudden realization that there was a vampire in his arms. But more importantly, there was a Giorno who needed reassurance in his arms, and that’s where Mista’s priorities lay.