Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A baby’s cry.

That’s what caught his attention. He stepped over the woman’s mangled body on the floor with a wide stride to seek out the location of the wailing infant. An excessively large man stepped under the arch of the small kitchenette, leaving behind bloody footsteps on the carpet as he strode to the next room. Evidently, the small apartment was not as empty as he had initially assumed. Boredom had struck him earlier that night, but then he recalled a loose end he had neglected to tie months prior. The loose end was a stray, tying it involved her disposal. Obviously.

As the man stood in the doorway of what could only be assumed to be a bedroom, what with the lack of any source of light, he had located the tiny interruption. He slowly approached it without difficulty despite the darkness and clutter below his feet, he was well accustomed to darkness by now. It was a crib, but the wails were coming from whatever was squirming beneath a sheet that had clearly been thrown haphazardly over the crib. In peeling the sheet upwards, the man lay eyes on the culprit. A tiny, red-faced infant that looked like it was going to burst if it didn’t calm down. He watched the creature wiggle helplessly for a minute (still screaming). He had never had an issue with collateral damage before; however, the fact that this was a baby did unsettle him a small bit, but it couldn’t be helped and this thing wouldn’t shut the fuck up. He raised his already blood-stained hand slowly, sharpened, and with only a minuscule stutter of hesitation began to plunge it at the infant. Then, the baby opened its eyes, tear-stained, but wide. The man suddenly stopped. A breath caught in his throat, hand hovering right above disaster.

He knew those eyes. God, he wished he could forget them.

The man was about to retract his monstrous hand; but before he could do anything, a tiny hand reached out, wrapping its even tinier fingers around the adult's digit. And for a moment it felt as though time really stood still. Staring intensely at the infant, his face was unreadable. And the infant stared right back – those large, blue eyes were an unnerving sight after all this time. There was certainly something there within the man, something incredibly stupefied. The baby stared back in between hard blinks, not quite crying but its small quick gasps hitched in its throat and its tiny hands did not let go of his finger. The large man’s hand twitched.

He could not break away, he couldn’t move. The young, teary eyes that were locked on his own were flooding his mind with old memories he had long ago disowned. Unsought and undesired memories.

“Jonathan.” Dio exhaled.

15 years later.

Cattedrale di Santa Maria Assunta, Naples

The crisp sound of a page turning echoed softly through the nave. The slender legs of a young boy stuck, bent at the knees, out the back of a pew. He was sitting the wrong way around; his head lay resting on the wooden beam at the back of the pew - his cheek smushed and his arms rather awkwardly splayed around the beam (and his own head) so as he could see the book he was holding. To say he was reading it would be a generous statement. He sat, twisted, with his eyes glazed over as they skimmed past words without putting any semblance of meaning to them. He was deeply plunged in thought which had nothing to do with the book he was holding whatsoever. He could just hear the birds begin to sound from the outside, so faintly that they almost weren’t even there. When his breath stopped creating faint clouds from his nostrils at every exhale, he knew it was almost time. The cathedral was terribly cold at night this time of year. He sat there for a few moments more before he could hear distant echo of familiar footsteps which came from way beyond the alter behind him, the small inconspicuous door hidden among arches in the ambulatory lay open; the boy assumed anyways since he could hear the footsteps beyond moving down a stairway long before they reached the door to the body of the cathedral. The boy rested the book down on the pew beside him and stretched his arms upward, half-heartedly stifling a yawn. He didn’t turn as he heard the footsteps approach from the other side of the small doorframe. They halted purposely before they reached the opening. This he could tell from the sound of shoes on old wood and not yet on tile. He sighed.

The voice of the footsteps bellowed out from the tiny door past the alter.

“Giorno,” It said tersely, “come.”

The boy untangled his legs from the back of the pew and swung around to face the alter. He rose to his feet.

“Yes, Father.”

The break of dawn had always meant lights out, ironically. Giorno had never know it any other way. He was allowed to roam the interior of the cathedral during the dark, ungodly hours of the morning, for some measly bit of stimulation. His father always disappeared during roaming hours, but without fail, would return before sunrise with time to spare. Giorno fondly recalls a time when he lacked an awareness of his scarce company. He used to skip without rhythm through the many chapels, greeting his friends (paintings) and family (sculptures) when he was younger, but now he was far too big and far too mature to still believe these inanimate objects had thoughts and feelings too. Well at least that’s what he tells himself. But he cannot ignore the sharp stab of guilt he feels whenever he passes by them these days and doesn’t so much as give a nod of acknowledgment in their direction. He hopes they don’t feel betrayed. That is,if they can feel.

Giorno trudges up the small creaky steps that lay beyond the door from the ambulatory. His father trails behind him, crouching down uncomfortably, delayed from locking the small door and taking the key. The dark and narrow stairway was comforting. The distant sound of an off-duty priest pushing open the grand entrance was familiar.

The musty attic Giorno shuffled into was his home and the cathedral, his entire world.

As Giorno made his way over to a small bed, his father closed the creaky door behind him. The sound of a key turning in the door signalling the end of roaming hours – Giorno was forbidden from venturing down to the body of the cathedral during the day. His father had made it very clear that it was no place for him if not empty and shrouded in darkness. The large man was no longer crouching as despite this place being a slightly cramped and less than ideal church attic, the ceiling rose incredibly high, wooden beams stood splayed across the length of the ceiling as it all came to reach a high arch. His father lengthened himself to his full stature and Giorno could hear a few dull cracks as the man stretched his arms high and twisted his neck to each side to relieve some aches, the tips of his fingers could probably reach the first wooden beam on the ceiling if he tried, Giorno thought, a feat he himself could never achieve with all his mighty efforts.

Giorno threw himself down onto his bed and he yawned again, this time letting it loose, his father strode over and pulled out the chair that sat tucked into their old wooden table. Giorno brushed his fingers over his sheets and before another yawn came, decided to crawl underneath them. While he lay cosy in his little corner, he nuzzled himself and his tatty duvet closer to the wall.

Giorno's bed remained tucked into one of the corners of this attic; and right above where his mattress met the wall there was a layer of shoddy wooden planks that served as a shutter, nailed into the wall. There was a small window of sorts beyond that makeshift shutter. And Giorno, for as long as he can remember, loved to idly pick at the edge of one of the rotten wooden planks. It was right at his head level when lying there and what else was there to do while waiting for sleep to claim him other than think, and Giorno did enough of that already. In the past few months of Giorno's little scraping habit, a small chunk had come loose on the edge of one of the planks and tonight while he lay in bed hidden beneath the secrecy of his duvet, he carefully wiggled the chunk loose and then as quietly as he could, snapped it off. The only other sounds in their room were the rhythmic scratching of his father writing something over at the table and the attic was dimly illuminated by candle light. Giorno waited for a moment to see if the sound of his father writing would stop to inquire what Giorno had just done, but no. Giorno softly nuzzled himself closer to the penny-sized hole that he had created and pressed his face up to it, hogging the pinhole of light from the rest of his duvet cocoon.

Dawn.

Sunrise.

The boy squinted, dumbstruck at the warm pallet of colours that painted the sky. He didn’t quite know what to feel. He contained a combination of automatic awe at the rare sight and also a rumbling discomfort nagging him deep within just because of the sheer overwhelming sight it was. Because of the relatively steep slant of the ceiling the boy couldn’t see the vast expanse of the city below him, only sky. Century old paintings were never this bright - that unsettled him. Giorno figured he would listen to his gut feeling and gently jammed the small wooden chunk back into place. Leaving the small cubby Giorno had created between his duvet and the wall in darkness again. He pulled his duvet down from over his head and shifted down further into the bed so that his head now lay on his single, worn-out pillow. He still remained facing away from the rest of the room though. Back turned towards his father who continued to write by candlelight. His face inches away from the crumbling old wall of the gothic cathedral. Giorno's eyes remained open as he lay there, examining the small cracks within the stonework that he knew like the back of his hand. Maybe with a little more time and scraping, he could get a better view of the world below. The world he had never known.

The scratching sound of his father writing was a great comfort to him. His old sheets with fading colours that he’s owned for as long as he can remember was a home. Familiarity soothed him. Change didn’t.

As Giorno lay there, unable to find sleep, his mind wandered to the book he had been reading that night. He couldn’t figure out exactly what the book was about, but he did take a liking to the illustrations of children playing, he assumed from that and the words he could understand, that it was a children’s book. A rather difficult one though. Giorno had been taught some Italian at a young age from his father and a man whose last name was Pucci. The boy didn’t recall his first name, that is, if he had ever been told it in the first place. But he used to see that man a lot more than he does now. When he was younger the man used to knock on their door, bring food for Giorno and stay to tutor him from children’s books and papers. He thinks back fondly of those interactions. At some point though, the man’s attire changed from what Giorno remembers as a long but simple Alb to a grand purple cloak. He had told him what the meaning of the cloak was when Giorno first saw it, but yet again Giorno can’t recall. Ever since then he only ever sees Pucci when he delivers trays of food at the door – he never stays long.

Giorno’s Italian vocabulary started to slowly dwindle with age as he just never needed it. He and his father conversed in English and well – his father was the only one he ever converses with. Something about the subconscious trail of thought he had gotten lost in again stung him and it snapped him towards alertness. He couldn’t tell which part – he was only reminiscing? Anyway, he was alert now and suddenly aware of his father’s presence again. Giorno listened to the sound of pen on paper and the occasional page turn.

And for reasons he doesn’t know, he spoke.

“……. Father?”

The writing didn’t stop.

“I thought you were asleep”.

“……no.”

“clearly”

“….”

“what’s the matter?”

Giorno suddenly felt like a fool because he didn’t fully know why he called for his father in the first place. He began to dawdle.

“I.…was reading a book today.”

He didn’t respond, so Giorno continued.

“…I think it was a children’s book.”

“You think?”

“It…. was Italian. So, I'm not entirely sure what it was about” The boy sighed to himself. “The only books I can find now are in Italian...”

He could hear his father turn a page and resume writing. Giorno considered just dropping it and returning to his pre-sleep haze. But he was bored and wanted to talk to someone. Even if it was the only person, he had ever really had a conversation with his entire life. It was better than the deafening silence that would consume him otherwise.

“There were a lot of illustrations of people together, dressed in large dresses and suits- like yours, father”.

“Is that so.” The man commented, the quiet scribbles of his pen on paper filling the silence between pauses in speech.

Giorno quietly hummed in response, a delicate, pale hand lifting from under his sheets to carefully itch his cheek while he chose his next words.

“They all seemed to be having a lot of fun together”.

Giorno continued, thinking back to the pages of the book he had been reading about thirty minutes prior. He received a disinterested grunt from his father, and once more the quiet scribbling was the only thing that filled the silence in the room. But as the sun rose outside their dark room, familiar, yet foreign sounds were able to be heard buzzing from the awakening city below.

After a few moments of silence, Giorno spoke up again.

“Father?”

A quiet sigh.

“Yes, Giorno?”

“…. It’s lonely up here.”

A beat after the words left his lips the room was noticeably more silent than it had been this entire time. The grate of rough pen strokes that was previously filling the void had come to a sudden halt - it was unbearable. The silence entirely too loud for Giorno’s liking. He had said something stupid again, hadn’t he? Giorno was deliberating whether to rescind his previous statement or leave it there and never speak again for the rest of his pathetic life when he heard the chair scrape against the floor. He had definitely said something stupid and now he was going to hear about it, and most likely, regret it. But as the ancient floorboards creaked near him, signalling the man’s arrival by Giorno’s bedside, there were no words exchanged. Giorno considered for a moment if he had actually succeeded in falling asleep and just dreamt the last few minutes because that would explain the abnormal behaviour on his father’s behalf. Giorno lay there, still as one of the statues adorning the cathedral below, feeling incredibly watched. He had closed his eyes when he heard the chair move earlier, so he didn’t notice when the shadow that loomed over him shifted slightly. He held his breath. Then, the mattress shifted with foreign weight. He still didn’t say anything – neither of them did.

Giorno felt the body on the mattress stir after a few moments of feeling incredibly watched, even with his eyes shut. A comforting weight settled softly on where his shoulder was from over the duvet.

“Giorno?”

He sounded…apprehensive?

Giorno gave a wary hum, not daring to move.

“Can I see your face?”

The weight - which Giorno now discovered upon opening his eyes - was his father’s large hand, lifted from his duvet to allow him to turn in his direction.

“Sit up please”.

Giorno obeyed, propping himself up on his elbows and then his bottom. He sat with his pillow squished closer to the headboard. He lowered his eyes waiting for the silence to break.

“Giorno, look at me”.

He lifted his gaze from the wrinkles in his sheet to meet his father’s. Giorno considered that the man’s face might be unreadable if it wasn’t for the slight furrow of his brow giving way to an expression Giorno had rarely seen his father make. Giorno thought about how his father's gaze in these kinds of situations normally felt heavy and oppressive but right now it felt changed somehow - Giorno didn’t like change.

His father gave a lengthy inhale.

“Giorno…. how would you like to see the city tomorrow night, with me?”

Giorno stared. He waited for his father to burst out laughing and say he was just joking. No matter how wildly out of character that would have been for the man it was still far more likely than him genuinely meaning what he had just asked him.

“…”

“…Well?”

Oh. He’s serious. He’s actually proposing this. Giorno’s head was racing with far too many questions, far too quickly. Why now? Had Giorno said something that his father had perceived differently? What about the dangers of the city he had been warned about his entire life? Was he just old enough to fend them off now? Maybe that’s why his father can leave but he was never allowed to? Or maybe he’ll be safe because his father said he would be with him? Too many questions. Rather than spend a moment longer gawking like an idiot or trying to get his mouth and brain to work together to ask one of them, he settled for the only thing his body seemed to want to let leave his lips.

“Yes.” the tension dissipated “…I would love to”.

The furrow in his father’s brow, which Giorno hadn’t realised got more intense during the period he was silent swamped in his head, relaxed upon hearing his reply. The boy didn’t understand what that implied exactly. His father cleared his throat and broke the eye contact they seemed both locked into.

“Alright then.” He said as he rose from the side of the bed. “Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night.” His son repeated after him.

His father turned and began his return to the table and chair he had left earlier. Giorno sank back down under the covers slowly and nuzzled his face against his pillow, his mind was both so full and yet so incredibly vacant at the same time. This was going to be a restless day’s sleep he could already tell. Giorno lay there beneath the sheets, staring up at the old ceiling, thoughts of what the following night may bring drifting through his mind. Would it be scary? Surely not. He knew his father would protect him. It’s what he had been doing for him ever since he was born.

The man descended back into his chair and closed the book he had been occupied with earlier. He stole a glance over at the lump under duvet in the corner of the attic. He watched the lump twist and nestle. A soft sigh left him as he reached forward to grab the candle that illuminated their home. Bringing it to his lips and gently blowing, the room was plunged into darkness once more.

“Sleep well, Son” He whispered. Although the day outside had only just begun, he knew the night would soon be on them once again - Dio knew better than anyone just how fast time can fly.

Chapter Text

For the majority of people – for the greater part of time - the phenomenon which returns them to consciousness after a long night’s sleep is the sensation of the morning light hitting their eyes through their eyelids, eventually getting too strong for them to ignore. For the boy who lay, twisted beneath his now very tangled duvet – who knew light was the enemy, sheer darkness the ally – stirred from his unconsciousness, but not by any interjection of light. Giorno had never experienced that sensation of the light hitting his eyes, and therefore his body had never known that as a ‘wakeup call’. Waking up to darkness was how it had always been, and how it always will be.

As his senses came back to him one by one, he could very faintly hear the low rumble of the grand entrance door being locked up way below him; that usually served as his subtle wake-up call, in case of his body’s instinctual routine failing him. His blond lashes fluttered softly as he opened his eyes to the tingly static of pure black. His father must have blown out all the candles, the boy thought to himself. Usually there was one remaining aflame to gently illuminate the attic when he rose. Taking this minor setback in his stride, Giorno peeled the duvet off himself before dropping his legs off the side of the bed and feeling timidly for the floor. In that moment, he could have sworn he heard something light fall from his pillow onto the floor, but that didn’t matter right now because more pressing matters were at hand – visibility.

Now, it is true that Giorno knew his home like the back of his hand, and this isn’t the first time he’s woken up to pitch black, but that only serves as a slight reassurance - the small fact still prevailed – The boy had the most abysmal depth perception imaginable, God bless him. This wasn’t news to him though, hence the abundance of hesitation in a room he's lived in his entire life. He’d gotten one too many stubbed toes and bruised shins to throw caution to the wind. So, he rose to his feet and shuffled blindly with his arms outstretched. His destination let him know kindly that he had reached it by jabbing into his hip.

His hands quickly found the edge of the old wooden table, placing both palms on its flat surface to fully situate himself. Silently cursing the table, Giorno patted the surface trying to find the candle in its holder. Once he found the edge of it with his pinkie, he gently brushed his fingers around the lip of the candle holder, searching for the tiny piece of flint for ignition. He managed to get the wick lit with relative ease if you ignore burning his finger on the flame just out of sheer clumsiness for at that stage, he could most definitely see. With a soft yellow flicker making his surroundings visible again, Giorno cast his gaze over at the mess of linen on his bed and a small piece of paper beside one of the bed frame’s legs caught his eye. He figured that must have been what fell earlier, so he went to retrieve it off the floorboards. He unfolded it to find his father’s handwriting – mature and almost cursive; Giorno had always been jealous of the elegance of it. He figured neat handwriting was just something you unlocked as a grown-up; his own handwriting was something of an embarrassment when compared to his father's effortless script. He began to read.

Giorno,
I’m gone to meet with the clergy.
Won’t be long.
Meet me at the I will be back to get you ten minutes after lockup.
Be ready.

Groggy confusion swamped every bit of context he tried to give the note. His face was still puffy, and he only now began to rub the sleep from his eyes. Why was his father coming to get him? And if his estimation was correct, it should be any time now. Unleashing a yawn and stretching his arms over his head, he felt a few cracks in his back that seemed to satisfy him, so he gazed at the note again. Be ready? What could he possibly mean by tha-

Ooooooh.

Like someone dropping an entire altar on his head, the arrangement of their exchange before bed suddenly came rushing back to him and overrode every other train of thought he may have had going on at that very moment. The city. He was going to see it – in real life, not like in paintings or through pinholes; in actual, real life. He could reach out and touch it if he so desired, and oh boy does he.

With subconscious urgency pounding at the back of his head and the help of the dim candlelight, Giorno managed to find his shoes - old leather boots, a smidgen too big for him, that went just above his ankle, and were fastened by a lace. Giorno sat on the edge of his bed and hesitated for a moment. From what he knew people needed to wear shoes on hard ground right? He, personally has never found them to be a necessity, often opting to walk barefoot through the ambulatory and towers but then again, he considers now the fact that he has never had to worry about the elements. Following his gut instinct, he pulls them on and laces them up nice and tight. He was really going to go out into the city, and finally see it with his own eyes. Giorno has managed to resist the urge to pinch himself several times now in his preparation for the big expedition.

He had seen hundreds of drawings in books and had read about the city. But his imagination could only create so much of a world he had never seen before. But he would finally be able to walk about and experience it for himself. Once he felt as equipped, physically, as one could be in his circumstances, he tidied his bed – Giorno detested when he left his bed unmade, he knew his father wasn’t fond of mess either, so their attic was always very well kept and tidy.

One mundane task after another, Giorno quickly finished his quick stress cleaning session. He sat down on the bed and folded his hands together on his lap, unfolded and then folded them again, staring at the candle on the table. His father should be returned by now, he thought. Giorno certainly felt it had to have been more than ten minutes since he woke to the sound of the entrance’s rumble. However, something told him it was better to not trust his own time awareness while in the irritable state he’s currently in.

He thought it better to wait than waste energy overthinking. He released a quick exhale of amusement as he realised that even if anything was wrong, he was completely and entirely useless. Waiting wins activity of the minute by a long shot. While he was waiting, thought upon thought flooded his mind before he could have any say in the matter. Should he bring anything else? Perhaps a book, maybe it would be important to take notes of what he discovered outside. Or a candle? Surely if it was so dark in here it was a similar story out there, how would they be able to find their way around in the darkness? His father never seemed to have much trouble with moving about in the dark void, it was almost supernatural – but Giorno, as exhibited by his course of action in the night's earlier darkness, was not so adept in the environment.

After several minutes of shifting and fidgeting from the burden of waiting, the attic door was pushed open. The boy jumped as he didn’t even hear footsteps making their way up the stairs. In walked his father, who stood to his full height once out of the doorway. In his arms he carried a cloak, which seemed to be a smaller version of the one he himself was wearing. He saw his father’s eyes scan the room quickly before landing on him. Giorno stood up quickly and approached the man as if summoned to duty, looking up to him excitedly with those bright eyes. Though they had never seen the light of day, his eyes still shone bright with curiosity and awe. And tonight, with anticipation.

His father's eyes looked him over quickly and whatever he had been analysing Giorno for obviously met his standards as the long cloak was placed in Giorno's arms and the teen carefully threw it around his shoulders, fastening it at the front. It was heavier than he expected on his shoulders, not unpleasant though, grounding.

“Pull the hood up once we’re outside.”

Giorno nodded tersely, not trusting himself to verbalise his reply without squeaking. His father turned sharply on his heel and began down the steep, winding steps, Giorno followed closely behind. The only noticeable sounds reverberating were the creaks they caused the staircase to make as they descended towards the main body of the cathedral. Several times Giorno inhaled sharply as if to say something but then quickly changed his mind, opting to match his father’s outwardly temperate energy.

Upon crouching through the door at the bottom of the steps, his father waited for Giorno to step through before closing it behind him. They walked together around the ambulatory at the back of the altar and Giorno noticed while they walk through the cathedral that with his father's great height, his strides are also much wider than his own. For every one stride his father takes, Giorno would fit in two, maybe three. His anticipation probably added to his quick steps, afraid to make a sound on the tiled surface. The taller man's strides also seemed to have some sense of pride about them; maybe that was also something you acquired as an adult- that tall, mature posture. Once arriving at the top of the centre aisle, Giorno noticed a dark figure holding the side door open for them up at the entrance. He trailed close behind his father again, stepping faster to keep up with his short legs. As they approach the smaller door his father gives a very definite nod at the shady figure standing by. Giorno, slightly miffed by the interaction yet trying not to appear phased, assumed from the small bit of olive skin and the tiniest hint of white hair that he could see from under the darkness of a purple hood belonged to the man, Pucci.

Reaching the entrance at the end of the nave Giorno craned his neck upwards, once more acknowledging the vast expanse of the cathedral ceiling. It had always been dimly lit due to the ever-present darkness in his life, but occasionally a few candles remained alight in the aisles that illuminated the ceiling just enough that the delicate frescoes and murals could be seen from where he gazed below — detailed depictions of angels, cherubs, saints, among others. Over the years, those paintings had always been part of his world, and he realises now he has never really taken in their true beauty. But now that he was about to leave their comforting shelter for the first time, the boy couldn't help but acknowledge their ageless enchantment as they slipped from his line of sight.

Despite all of his quiet excitement that had built up in the last twenty minutes, Giorno would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t also extremely apprehensive about this new expedition. Last minute dread overwhelmed him. What if it was frightening, if he didn’t like it, and wished to return immediately? He had spent so long fantasizing about this world, but he was now second guessing himself, wondering if it was really worth going outside. He was home, home was nice and never changed. Maybe he would just be better off inside… No—what was he thinking? He had dreamt about this moment practically every day for years, and he had finally reached it. Besides, he had no need to be afraid. His father would be with him and would protect him. He always did. He had nothing to fear.

His father held the side entrance open for him as the boy felt a fresh chill of wind graze his face, setting everything into fruition.

Giorno stepped outside.

It was cold, first of all, more so than he had expected. He stepped forward a few inches, allowing his father to join him in the chill. He was silently very grateful for the cloak he had wrapped around him. When the boy stopped to listen, he could hear signs of life in the distance, somewhere deep in the city, but just not there. There was quiet. Just for them. The square beyond the steps of the cathedral remained abandoned. Giorno eyed the stone steps eagerly, though he had yet to move from where his feet were planted. He felt a strong gaze on him, through the back of his hood. The boy gingerly peaked around past his hood and met eyes with his father. Giorno stared up at the man, who gave him a look of what seemed to be… amusement? It was as if his father found his awkward hesitation to be somewhat funny, but at the same time understood why. The older man's lips crept into a slight smirk, and he subtly gestured for Giorno to move ahead down the steps in front of the cathedral. Without words being spoken Giorno obliged, taking an apprehensive approach towards the first step.

The first thing the teen noticed was the contrast in textures between the Cathedrals interior, and the new paving outside. The paving was no longer shiny, marble tiling but a grainier stone, with a warmer colour to it. Giorno silently plodded down the first three steps, paused, and then continued down the rest with a more excitable spring in his step. He skipped down the last few and landed at the bottom with an enthusiastic hop. Once at the bottom the boy turned back to find his father who, with that same dignified posture he had when travelling through the nave, gracefully descended the steps like he did it every night.

Once Giorno received another reassuring nod from his father, he continued out into the square in front of the Cathedral. The boy turned around a few times, looking up at the cathedral they had just exited. It was tall, just as he expected. The exterior was adorned with statues similar to those that he knew on the inside, all of them poised very gracefully, some holding books or staffs. However, there were no large murals on the walls like the interior —they all seemed to have the same colour as the ground they stood on, that sandy-white. It was nice, although he had expected there to be a lot more colour out there to match the vibrancy inside. He turned around again and glanced at his father once more, who was now leaning against a lamppost, arms folded as he watched his son.

Besides the distant sounds in the city Giorno had noted upon first exiting the building, there wasn't a sound in the square or the surrounding alleys. The boy took a few more steps out, and let his eyes move up to examine the buildings before him. They were tall, but not as tall as his home. They had different stonework, they didn't seem as smooth or polished like the Cathedral. Some had lanterns hanging from them, some lighting, and others not. There were a few boxes with plants in them - Giorno had read about plants a couple times in some books, and Pucci took care of some plants in one of the back rooms of the Apse, but he had never seen many in person before. He stepped further out, peeking down to his leather-clad feet as they made a quiet plodding sound along the cobblestones. He stomped a little louder, and his footsteps echoed through the square, the sounds reverberating back from some of the buildings. He smiled a little to himself, the sound was different to the echoes of their footfall from inside the nave. That sound was much crisper and cleaner. This one seemed more open, like there was nothing stopping the sound from disappearing, like there was no ceiling to hold it in.

On that note, Giorno looked up. Skyward. Dense specks of light peppered amongst the dark were only mildly obstructed by the weakest of clouds. The boy had never seen the likes of it. Blissfully unaware that his mouth was wide open, Giorno gawked at the night sky in awe. There was no end, no top — No ceiling? It was truly limitless. The young boy who had known nothing of liberty was now beholding the closest thing to it in his eyes. He was infatuated with it, so much so he didn’t feel his hood slide entirely off his head as he stargazed. What broke him from his trance was his father appearing at his side and his great hand pulling the thick hood back over him. Now, his view was obstructed and his father’s hand still remained, unmoving, on the crown of his head.

“Come now, boy — There’s more to see yet.”

Giorno would nod if his head wasn’t being held. Instead, he opted for a pleased hum of agreement. The boy’s father strode to the edge of the street and turned around to face him at the entrance to an alley between houses.

“Giorno, it is very important to remember what I told you.”

The boy wasn’t sure what he was referring to, so he raised a brow.

“Your cloak. Keep your hood up at all times out here.”

Giorno made a mental note.

Rule no.1: The hood stays up.

The man turned around into the alley and continued. Giorno got the impression he was to follow.

“These are rules you must follow if I am to allow you out here again soon, Giorno.” His father said, not turning around to face him.

Again? And soon? So, he means to say this isn't just a onetime thing? Giorno’s panicked urgency with which he was taking in every sight earlier now seemed highly unnecessary; if he was permitted to indulge in these spectacles again so soon in the future, why rush? A subtle relief surged through him. He skipped a bit on his feet to catch up with his father again who had stopped again at the end of the alleyway.

“Giorno.” The boy perked up. “Look here.”

His father lifted his arm as an opening for the boy to step underneath and join him at the opening. Giorno obliged. The scene before them was a much larger street than before. It was wider, the paths at each side of it spanned broad too, Giorno noted. The boy felt a large hand lay gently on his back, between his shoulder blades. It was nice. A tender pressure from it encouraged him to step forward, exposing himself to the open street. His father guided him out into the centre. Spinning around slowly, Giorno could see that both ends of the street stretched further than he could see. It became obstructed by houses at some point in the distance. There were lamp poles dividing up the long stretch of the footpath.

“This is the market”.

His father’s voice drew him from his study of the landscape. “...hm?”

“The market. During the daytime, merchants set up stalls that spread along this avenue — The centre of it would be just beyond that lamppost down there.” The man gestured to the pole that was five lampposts in the distance.

“Giorno.” He looked at him with that oppressive gaze that wasn’t unknown to Giorno. “You are never to go beyond that lamppost, ever. Do you understand?” Giorno blinked at him.

“I don't care if it’s night and the streets are desolate-” He crouched a little to get closer to the boy. “You are to never cross it.” He let the command linger before he straightened. “Understand?”

“...Of course, Father.”

Rule no.2: Never go beyond the fifth lamppost.

Giorno made note then he began to wander through the area in which he was permitted. Under his father’s watchful eye, he poked his head in various alleyways, peering through the dark to see what was down each route. He was given permission to venture through these smaller streets, as long as he did not exit out the other end, and again, did not go past the fifth lamppost. He wouldn’t dream of it. This new extension to his small world was limited, but it was more than he could have ever asked for. He felt incredibly grateful.
While exploring these small streets, Giorno decided to go down one with a dead end, assuming it was safe territory and curious to see if anything interesting lay at the end. His impulsive inquiry led to success — there was something. As Giorno walked down, a small, grey lump jumped out in front of him, which caused a frightened yelp to escape the boy. He stumbled backwards, arms up in defence as the creature stared up at him with wide, golden eyes. Giorno was extremely startled and confused. It was plain to see on his face. Whipping his head around, he heard rushed footsteps approaching the alley he was occupying. Of course, they belonged to his father, who had rushed to the scene to see what all the noise was about.

“What in God’s na—Giorno!” he hissed, “You must keep your voice down when out here.”

His father scolded him in a curt whisper, urgency in his tone and clearly vexed. Giorno said nothing and turned his head back quickly to further inspect the animated lump, who was currently sitting there, cleaning itself with its tongue. Now that the initial shock has passed, Giorno was able to identify the animal — it was in fact a simple cat. Giorno had read about these animals in a book once — they used their tail like a rudder and had exceptional balance. The book also said something about them having nine lives, but he really struggled to believe that was true. He gingerly turned back to the man who loomed behind him, feeling a heavy hand pressing down on his shoulder again. Feeling very reprimanded, he looked up at his father with a freshly kicked puppy expression.

“I’m sorry father, I just got a big fright when the cat jumped in front of me — I won't do it again… I promise.”

He apologised in a low whisper, keeping his voice down like he had been told.

Rule no.3: Do not make a sound.

Father and son stood there together for a moment, watching the small animal wash itself. The cat then inquisitively looked up at the two and stood. Giorno watched the animal with skittish caution, stepping back slightly to be closer to his father as the animal approached, tail in the air. It sauntered closer, Giorno physically tensing up despite a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder from his father.

“Relax, Boy...They are harmless.”

His father reassured him verbally this time, which seemed to help somewhat, as Giorno's body relaxed. The cat strode closer and Giorno stood rigid. It meandered right up to the duo, before brushing its body against the young boy's leg, a pleased meow came from the animal. A surprised gasp escaped Giorno - he certainly didn't expect that sound to come from it. His father watched his reaction closely, a soft laugh leaving his lips.

“You can touch it. They're quite soft, cats. This one seems friendly too.”

Giorno looked back to his father with a confused stare, but he seemed sincere, so he took the man's word for it. He crouched down carefully and hesitantly reached his hand out but did not move to pet the animal. Instead, he left his hand outstretched, waiting to see if the cat decided it wanted to be pet or not. It did, and with a new sound leaving the creature, it headbutted against Giorno’s hand, the boy jumped a little at the sensation. His father was correct, it was indeed very soft. Giorno's lips broke into a soft smile as he ran his hand carefully down its back. He repeated this motion a few times, and the animal seemed to like it. It sat down, eyes closed, and head stretched upwards as it was shown affection. This was nice, Giorno thought. He liked the fact that he was relaxing the cat, and he took pleasure in its fluffy softness. Mutual benefit. When Giorno retracted his hand, the cat opened its eyes, gazing up at him again with those massive golden eyes. How beautiful. Like a flickering flame.

Before Giorno got too comfortable on his hands and knees in a dirty, dark alley, he heard his father’s slow footsteps retreating. So he wouldn’t get left behind, Giorno straightened himself up, brushed off his knees, wished his new friend farewell and began to trot after his father.

Once he had caught up to the man in the small street just leading back to the square, the boy noticed he appeared to be intensely scanning for something in the surrounding area. Before Giorno could ask what he was looking for, He heard it too. The foreign sound of human laughter not that far in the distance. It sounded like two boys were somewhere in one of the adjacent streets. Giorno’s stomach dropped, but this time it wasn’t like his little feline friend, his father wasn’t there to assure him everything was fine because he himself looked just as caught off guard. Panic set in. The echoed mumbling and laughter seemed to be getting closer by the second — much too quickly for Giorno’s liking and before he could think to react his father had grabbed him by the cloak and began speeding back in the direction of the square. The sudden gesture had caused Giorno to trip over himself and almost lose his footing; he was now frantically trying to keep up with his fathers long quick strides. The way he was being dragged didn’t help matters and he feared that if his father didn’t let go of his cloak and let him readjust his hood so he could see, he would be horizontal on the cobblestones in record time. Just as he said that to himself though, his father released his tight grasp, they had reached the square but didn’t stop. Giorno’s father, in one swift motion, pushed aside a section of Giorno’s cloak and grabbed his son’s hand — a much more dignified method of being dragged along, Giorno felt. The boy looked up to see they had almost reached the steps of the cathedral again. It was impossible to see that he was almost home, before when his hood was in his face, but it gave him the slightest sense of relief, a welcome feeling to his current overwhelmed panic. Funnily enough though, as he is being pulled up the steps, multiple at a time, he feels strangely… bittersweet? Once at the top step his father halted, turned around and rather forcefully placed his two hands on his panting son’s shoulders.

“Never, and I mean never let yourself be seen by a stranger… Understand?”

The boy nodded frantically, still trying to catch his breath. His father wasn’t caught for breath in the slightest.
“and if you are seen — or even see another person out here at night, you are to return to the cathedral immediately.”

Rule no.4: If seen by a stranger, retreat home immediately.

The boy started to respond but it came out in the form of a choked cough; his body really wasn’t used to that high level of stress or physical activity. His father released Giorno’s small shoulders from the tight hold as the boy coughed a few more times. Once Giorno felt capable of speaking without literally passing away, he cleared his throat and looked up at the man, “...Yes, Father.” he rasped. The man had a concerned furrow in his brow but before Giorno could make anything of it, he had turned his back to the boy and made towards the side entrance door. Giorno cleared his throat once more and followed after him.

He felt guilty to admit to himself that he was sad his little adventure was over so soon. Yes, he loved his home so much, but there was only so much variation he could add to the same monotonous routine and only so much excitement he could get from the same sights he has seen every single day of his life. He truly, truly loved his home though. He felt safe there, not unsure, familiar, but now that he had been granted just a taste, just the tiniest morsel of what the outside world had to offer, he wasn’t sure if he could tell himself he was content in the walls for much longer… After all, if that were Naples after dark… he could only imagine how fascinating it is illuminated by the morning sun. It’s almost overwhelming to fathom for the boy.

Just as his father placed his hand on the heavy wooden door to the cathedral, pausing before he pushed it ajar, he turned his head slightly around his shoulder, not enough to look at the boy, just enough to address him.

“Giorno.”

“Father?”

Almost as if he had been capable of reading his mind, his father spoke the last rule of the night, before pushing the door open and gesturing for Giorno to step inside. Home again. Home at last.

Rule no.5: Always return before sunrise.

Chapter Text

As the key turned in the door of their tiny attic home, Giorno hung up his cloak where his father had motioned to — a small hook in the corner, where his own much larger cloak was hanging. Giorno then sat down by the table and bent down to untie his boots. As he carefully removed the leather from his feet, The young boy couldn’t help but feel disheartened as he placed them beneath the cloak, feeling the floorboards beneath his feet. He wanted to go back outside almost immediately; experience Naples illuminated by the sun. But he understood and would respect his father’s rules - He wouldn't dream of disobeying his father. Always return before sunrise … rule number five and judging by how austere his father was when it left his lips, it certainly seemed like the one he expected him to heed religiously.

The candles they had lighting when they left were now withering but held on long enough to weakly assist him in his preparation for sleep. Giorno sank onto his bed, still on a high after his short-lived excursion. He had seen it- he had finally seen the city. If he was brutally honest, it may have been mildly underwhelming. The boy had built up this grandiose version of life on the outside in his eager mind and was left with something much simpler, not that he was dissatisfied though. He had just expected it to be much more of a life altering experience, like he would have a revelation about the meaning of life or something of the likes, but there he sat on his creaky mattress, unchanged, well mostly. A little sleepier, perhaps.

As he slid underneath the sheets and shimmied into comfort, he listened to the welcome sound of pen on paper — His father must be writing in his sacred book again.

The silence between the two was tranquil, comforting — Reminiscent of the soft breeze that brushed through the boys' hair when he bore himself to the night's previous elements. The consistent song of scribbling that usually sang itself at this hour never would never fail to ease the boy. There was no tension in this quiet, no awkwardness, only a family before bed. A traditional scene.

With his head smushed into his pillow Giorno mumbled, half lulled to sleep by the rhythmic scrit of his father’s jotting.

“ mm...Father?”

“Yes, son?”

The boy’s words slurred together thickly as he was losing the battle for consciousness.

“Thank you...for showing me the city.”

The following series of days, which then turned into weeks, were a welcome change of affairs in Giorno’s simple, quiet life. The boy had become acclimated to his new routine of restless sleep, waiting to see what his father’s temper was, slyly slipping in the suggestion of an excursion if his mood seemed level, then indulging in another night of stars and cobblestone. Some nights Giorno knew better than to even speak to his father, no mind asking to be taken out. He could be so easily agitated sometimes - the man had an extremely short temper. There were occasionally nights where Giorno would wake to his father already gone without him and he wouldn't be back before Giorno went to sleep again hours later. He had many theories as to why his father would disappear like that after consecutive nights of them getting along together at night in the city. Perhaps it was tiring for his father to watch over Giorno every night as they ventured into the city, he could remember back to his younger years when the man would get rather frustrated with having to keep an eye on his son at all times, it was probably something like that — as much as it may hurt Giorno to think that. His father probably needed his time alone, or something like that.

Giorno’s vault of first-hand knowledge of the outside had grown exponentially since his very first outing. While he knew of the existence of many of the organisms that called Naples home, nothing could compare to the pleasure (and sometimes displeasure) of seeing them in person. While cats, dogs and the occasional rat weren't as jarring as Giorno had expected, nothing could have prepared him for laying witness to his first firefly. He could have watched it fly around for hours, and he probably did. It wasn't long before its captivating glow died out though, much to the boy's chagrin. Other insects were not even half as gratifying in Giorno’s eyes, in fact he could now confidently say he had seen enough of them to know he really did not like them. He knew of the occasional spider or termite he would warily befriend in his attic but other than that, insects were not a hit with the boy. Since his inaugural venture, Giorno has had several impromptu playdates with his fluffy, golden-eyed cat friend. They had been well acquainted by the third encounter and were now (in Giorno’s opinion), the best of friends. The boy had even given his first companion a name, a simple one — Goldie — Like its large, inquisitive eyes. Giorno's father had encouraged him to give the animal a name; he most likely got tired of Giorno calling the creature ‘cat’ all the time. He had seemed rather amused by the name Giorno had settled on but did not discourage him all the same. And so, the friendly cat was christened Goldie. Some nights Goldie would even be purring, waiting for him in the square once he exited the cathedral entrance. The boy had tried to hold a conversation with his comrade once or twice, but a combination of the cat’s unfortunately limited mewling vocabulary and the occasional, not-so-subtle snicker from his father, he decided it would be best to try another time. Maybe when it was just the two of them.

Every night Giorno kept his promises to his father, who was always not too far behind him — watching. He kept his hood up. He never even went close to the fifth lamppost. He didn't make a sound (other than his futile exchanges with Goldie) and he hadn’t come into contact with a stranger since the first night, so he hadn’t needed to retreat. Lastly, he always returned before sunrise.

Giorno had seen the coming and going of the chill and snow, the latter being a very exhilarating event for the boy (The crunch of his boots against the white blanket was now filed safely in the boy's new list of favourite things). The nightly carol services that prohibited him from leaving the attic some nights had ceased too. Nights recently had a fresh dew to them towards the end of the early hours. Unfortunately for the boy, The crickets chirping and previously sparse flowers that were now blooming meant less night-time, and more sun . He took it all in his stride though. He had been without this liberating privilege for fifteen years. What was a few hours less, here and there?

Presently Giorno stood, cloaked, by the small door of the attic. He had gotten over the original exhilaration he experienced the first few times he explored the city, but even so the butterflies never failed to reappear in his stomach as he pulled on his slightly-too-big leather boots and pulled his hood up in preparation to leave. He remained there, shifting from foot to foot, watching his father close his book and swing his much grander cloak round his broad shoulders. Giorno took subtle note of the way his father slammed the book shut, it had been obvious from the moment the boy woke up earlier that his father was agitated and restless, and his temper was really not something to mess with right now. He contemplated suggesting he could remain indoors tonight instead but bit his tongue. Better not to complicate things, the man just seemed so on edge right now. The boy really hoped it wasn’t something he had done. Again.

After the tense walk down the steep staircase and through the nave, not a word being uttered the entire time, the duo made their way out of the entrance. It wasn’t a terribly chilly or humid night, just perfect in Giorno’s eyes. He was about to make his way down the steps, as he always did, when he noticed his father acting incredibly strange. He was surveilling the square and the surrounding area manically; Giorno had never seen his father so visibly agitated. The furrow in his brow wasn't one of anger or malice — it looked almost like pain. They had spent the last few consecutive nights together, and Giorno wasn't ashamed to admit to himself that he really enjoyed his father’s company. It did make him feel childish, though and he would never say it out loud. Now that the boy thinks about it, the past week has been the longest string of nights in a row in which they had remained unseparated. Giorno was so elated that it felt like his father was finally becoming more tolerant of his son’s apparent naivete, He wasn’t taking as many nights for himself and Giorno had been taking that as a sign that even he was beginning to enjoy their time together, more so than his “alone-time” — the boy felt less self-conscious to think of it that way. As he looked at his father’s distracted expression, everything inside of him was screaming to just go back inside; To just let his father go outside alone. You're probably a burden . He really had never seen the man so frustrated…. but why wasn't his father saying anything? He normally would have voiced his annoyance by now, so why was he silent? It was killing the boy — He wouldn't dare mention it though. It felt as though uttering a single word would send the man into a blind rage, or something of the likes.

Despite the fear of setting off the man, Giorno couldn't bear the silence anymore and parted his lips, about to speak. Though before any words fell out, his father broke from his dazed state and snapped his head quickly to the boy, cutting him off before he even got the chance to suggest anything. He placed both his hands suddenly on the boy's shoulders with such unconscious weight it almost caused Giorno’s knees to buckle. Giorno, with nowhere else to look except his father’s eyes, waited for the silence to break. His father’s eyes could have bore a hole through him at that point. With a noticeable shaky inhale his father began.

“Giorno…. tonight.” He paused, as if searching for the right words but just couldn’t seem to find them. “..Tonight I need to-”

With another shaky breath and the release of the boy's shoulders his father stepped back, apparently scrapping that train of thought all together. He straightened himself. Needless to say, the boy was extremely confused at this point. Maybe he should just butt in and suggest he go back inside while his father appeared more composed and less susceptible to snapping, but his father began again.

“Giorno…how about I leave you on your own tonight?”

The boy knew what that implied, he had also seen it coming but his heart still dropped. The night was perfect, too. There was a calm stillness in the air — it wasn't too hot, not too cold either. There was a gentle breeze, it was ideal exploring weather. Who knew if tomorrow night would be as splendid? He had to take advantage of this while he had the chance.

“You can head to the alley west of the main street… See if that ca- See if Goldie is there?”

“.....?”

“Go see if Goldie is there.” he stated with more certainty this time. “I have to… be somewhere. Right now.” His father muttered, looking around briefly with that same pained look in his eyes as before.

Nothing but more confused silence from the boy.

“Giorno. Do you understand?”

Did he? Surely this was a badly timed joke on his father’s behalf. There's no way he means he’d let Giorno explore... alone? He’d have the city all to himself? Well, Him and Goldie, of course. His father must have hit his head or something, that might also explain his overall strange behaviour.

“Giorno?”

He had zoned out again.

“Yes!...I mean... Yes, Father.” He hadn’t meant to yell it. He was worried he would be scolded for breaking the third rule — don’t make a sound.

He simply couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening.

“You know the routine, boy” His father turned from him — obviously extremely eager to get to where he needed to be. “Stay close. Be back long before sunrise, the nights are shorter…” he paused without turning to face the boy. Giorno wondered what his expression was saying.

“...I cannot guarantee I will be back before you sleep.”

And with that, he disappeared. Well, not literally. He swiftly descended the steps and turned a corner Giorno wasn’t allowed to go, vanishing. The boy just stood there, dazed. It could have been ten seconds or ten minutes, he couldn’t tell. All that he knew was his mouth had gone dry from hanging slightly open. He shut it and snapped back to reality. He was alone. Outside. In the city. Something thrilling slowly began to buzz inside the boy, whether it was excitement or anxiety, he couldn’t tell; probably both. He lifted his foot which had been planted there for so long it probably could have grown moss, and began slowly descending the steps of the cathedral, picking up the pace as the wind in his hair fuelled the elation inside him. The last few steps he practically skipped over and landed with a great hop on the level cobblestone. He winced a little at the echo that reverberated throughout the square.

He was free. Independent. A lone wolf. Well, for the next few hours anyway. Not quite sure if lone wolves usually had as many rules and limitations as he had. Not really wanting to think about it anyway, he made his way swiftly to the nearest gap in the buildings, practically skipping. He simply could not get the news to his companion fast enough.

Almost missing the turn into the dead-ended alley because of the bubbling haze he was in, he skidded right and slowed his pace to soft hops as he entered the shadows — he didn’t want to frighten Goldie away.

She was lying there on an old barrel, Curled up in a ball with her tail around her. Upon noticing the boy, she arose with a big stretch and had already begun to purr at the sight of him. Giorno’s giddiness didn’t seem to go undetected by the feline. She hopped down gracefully from the barrel, trotting over to Giorno, and weaved herself in and out of the boy’s legs, meowing demandingly. He relented, crouching down to scratch behind her ears — which seemed to please her a great deal.

“Guess what, Goldie!” he spat out with hushed excitement. The cat didn’t respond. “It’s just you and I tonight!” The cat didn’t respond again, but instead craned her head up to the boy and blinked. Progress.

Giorno figured that now his father wasn’t here making him feel self-conscious for conversing with his friend, there was never going to be a better opportunity for some top-notch secret telling, strictly boy to cat, no interference. He straightened up to stand and while doing so, Goldie whined in protest.

“Hold on-“ He pulled himself up so that he was seated on one of the barrels “I’m just getting more comfortable…don’t worry I’m not going anywhere pal” He patted his now level lap. Goldie obliged and perched herself on his thigh, folding her little paws beneath herself as she got comfortable, her rhythmic purring persisting as Giorno's hand gently travelled from her head to her back in repeated motions.

The two comrades sat there in each other's company for what could have been two hours. Giorno couldn’t tell, he just knew his legs were now very dead from hanging over the edge of the barrel. It had been an incredibly cathartic chat for the boy. He had divulged secrets and inner thoughts with Goldie that he wouldn’t even dare reveal in the confessionals. As it turns out, for someone who doesn’t seem to have much to say, Goldie sure was a great listener. Giorno noticed how she would mewl and purr in what seemed like agreement at what he was saying. Whether or not that was just because the boy had managed to scratch a good patch on her back, he’d never know. He wasn’t planning on dwelling on it for any longer anyways, so he gently removed the fluffy lump from his static feeling legs and hopped down off the barrel. The cat only protested slightly but soon got over it as it hopped down to the ground as well but then continued to meander towards the opening of the alleyway. “Goldie?” the boy called, almost feeling a tinge offended at the blatant abandonment. The cat stopped at the opening and turned her head to stare at the boy. Only when he began to walk towards the cat did she turn around and continue walking away from him. Giorno, visibly confused at this point, picked up his pace out of the alley so as to not lose track of his friend.

Once Giorno caught up to her, she had been waiting for him, but upon his quick arrival at her tail, she took off again. Was she making him follow her? He’d oblige, if so. After a few more checks from Goldie to make sure Giorno was still trailing her, he got the message loud and clear. The boy actually started to have a lot of fun with this big mysterious adventure she was taking him on. This was very like what he had imagined regular friends doing, so as he trailed behind his very first companion, he felt a bubbly warmth inside of him. The cat led him down even darker and even narrower alleyways than the boy was used to. At one point he even tripped on a weed in the cobblestone and almost stepped on Goldie’s tail. She would have let him know, with violence, if he did. Peeking down side paths and investigating the various new plants that were appearing to him, the boy began to completely disregard time. He didn’t care though, this felt right. Normal. Just two comrades on an impromptu escapade.

People always say time flies when you’re having fun; and for the boy who playfully skipped down the street, trying to catch up with his nimble pal around the corner, he was about to find that out for himself. He jumped through the opening at the end of the avenue and felt a warm gust of air hit him. He seemed to have landed on a main road, it didn't look like the market street though, so Giorno didn't panic. Now that he thought about it, it really didn't look familiar to the boy at all. Something small felt wrong, Giorno could feel it but didn't quite know what. He quickly started to look both ways to see which direction Goldie had sauntered — she was gone. He didn’t panic though, she couldn't have gone far, after all she had been going so slow until now. A quick check down both adjacent roads should suffice, surely. The boy did just that, running briskly in both directions, to check the paths. No sign of her.

After being unable to locate the cat down both routes, Giorno assumed that maybe she had disappeared down one of the adjacent alleyways. He went back to where he believed he had begun his search, and began peeking down every alleyway along the road, the warm bubbling that had been constant in his chest was dispersing, and something else was replacing it instead. He couldn't quite put a finger on what the feeling was yet, but it certainly wasn’t anything good. He wanted to find his friend- she had been taking him somewhere, and he had been negligent and lost her. She was probably waiting for him further along her trail, waiting for him to catch up.

Giorno continued his search and had eventually seen something that he thought resembled Goldie down one small street. He grasped onto the possibility that it was his comrade and ventured down the narrow passage. This then took him to another unfamiliar street, and another. Again, in the young boy's urgent search for his friend, he had taken no heed to the time, until he found himself in a much wider street. He paused in the centre of it, that feeling that had been building up in his chest was now much bigger, and much scarier. It felt as though there was something tight — something like a band around his lungs that prevented him from taking a full breath. He was also fearful — what if Goldie had become upset at him for disappearing? Maybe she wouldn't like him anymore and he would never see her again.

However, as he twisted around a few times, it became apparent to the boy that he was no longer anywhere near the area in which his father had allowed him to roam. Oh no — where was he? Nothing looked familiar. He couldn't see the high peaks of the cathedral like usual, there was no sign of the fifth lamppost. He had gone too far. Way too far.

Giorno then raised his head up towards the sky. And in that moment, it felt as though every inch of his body became as heavy as sin — and that feeling that had built up in his chest like a boiling pot, spilled over. The sky was no longer the darkness he knew so well. The stars that he had become acquainted with over the past few months were not shining brightly. What filled Giorno with more fear than the boy had ever known, was the new colour of this sky. It was a dull purple. And as the boy looked lower down in the sky, it became red, and then orange…

Dawn.

Sunrise.

Terror. The only feeling Giorno could grasp within him was sheer terror.

Rule number five.

He had to go, he had to get home. His father was going to be furious when he realised he wasn’t home. He had told him that he would likely be home after Giorno was already tucked into bed, asleep. But the man would return to an empty bed, and his son nowhere to be found. Because his son was lost. Very, very lost. Before the boy could fully register the feelings inside of him, his feet began to move. He didn’t want to run, then he would be breaking yet another rule. Don’t make a sound. Instead, the boy moved forward in a weird mix of a jog/walk, constantly looking around him for something he could recognise. He could feel his breaths getting shorter, he didn't know why though. Why did his chest feel this way? He had never experienced this before. As Giorno ran through the cobbled streets and with wide, petrified eyes observed the buildings around him, he stumbled over a few rocks, falling to his knees. He coughed and closed his eyes tightly, his breathing had become something like tight wheezing now, it was only scaring him even more as he couldn’t control it. He crouched there for a moment, feeling water drop to his hands. Only then did he realise he was now crying too, he choked back a sob. These tears which further blurred his vision, were only going to make it even harder to find his way home.

As he pushed his now trembling body to its feet, he tried to wipe the never-ending tears from his eyes, his hood had also fallen down some time ago in his panicked efforts of getting away. Then he heard something. It was a new sound; one he had never heard in his life. It caused him to go rigid. He turned around frantically, trying to find the source of this menacing sound. It got closer, and closer — and Giorno couldn’t find it in his tiny body to move an inch. With panic completely taking over his body and his eyes blinded by tears, all he could do was stand there, and wait for the source to come to him instead.

And it did.

Giorno stared at the peak of the small hill within the street, one he could not see the other side of. Over that hill, came a beast. A beast on four legs, like Goldie. Except it was big. Giant. Over twice the size of Giorno. Its head was long and menacing, its long legs holding its massive body up. Giorno simply felt as though he had stopped breathing for a moment, as this enormous creature came sauntering towards him. As his eyes whipped down the creature's body, He located the sound. It came from its feet - which were in no way like Goldies. They didn't look soft, and certainly not friendly like paws. They made a very loud noise that echoed through the street. Giorno in the past, would have known the name of this animal from story books but at present, the boy's brain had completely shut off. This was a threat. What has he done? His feet felt like they were nailed to the ground. As his eyes scanned over this animal once more, he gaped at the massive rattle cart attached to its rear. He then noticed something else. It had a strange sort of contraption on its face, and then a rope of sorts coming from it. And holding the rope was another person. Another person. The boy took one step back, his mouth wide open and everything shaking, as he stared at the figure approaching him. The person sitting atop the creature's back lifted his head for a moment, noticing the small boy a few metres in front of them. For a brief moment their eyes met — Giorno met eyes with another human.

That's when the boy set off, and this time, there was no care for how much noise he made. He had to get away. He turned on his feet and without even having time to gather his surroundings again, he took off -- sprinting down the street, tears streaming down his face, his chest stung badly from the sharp and irregular inhales caused by his frantic sobs. Despite this pain he was feeling, His legs were moving of their own accord now. They kept going and going. He didn't look back, but he couldn't necessarily see in front of him either. Which in turn caused him to collide with something forcefully, resulting in Giorno falling back, onto the ground, painfully. When he lifted his head to see what he knocked into, another pair of eyes stared back at him. This time they seemed angry, unhappy with the boy's presence. He most definitely wasn't supposed to be here, he did not belong.

“Watch where you're going — you damn street rat…”

The man spat at him with a venomous tongue, before walking by. Giorno shivered in a dumbfounded silence, before stumbling to his feet. Everywhere he looked now, people were appearing. Some even looked at him with that same disgusted gaze that the man had when he spoke. There were so many people… and now the sky had transitioned from a purple to a blue. The sun was rising fast. He had to hide. Now.

Looking around with eyes that were still blurred with tears, he found something of comfort — the tiniest bit of darkness. It remained untouched in an alleyway where the light had yet to reach. He stumbled towards it, Adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He found the darkest corner of the place, and practically threw his whole body down then crawled to wedge himself into the tiny corner. With his hood now yanked up over his head and his cloak wrapped around his fragile, trembling body, the boy shut his eyes and rocked back and forth slightly — he tried everything he could think of to bring himself some comfort. Anything to ground himself, to stop him from suffocating. He got some of his golden hair and tried twirling a curl around his fingers, but his hands were shaking so violently that he couldn’t even move his fingers. He was lost, terrified and alone. His father had to appear soon and save him. It was bound to happen. His father always protected him...

Is this what dying felt like? No, it can't be. Books always depicted death as something peaceful and natural, this couldn't have felt like anything further to the boy. If he wasn’t dying, then why couldn't he breathe? He felt so lightheaded and overwhelmed that at this stage passing out sounded favourable. He almost couldn’t think. The noises on the main street were gradually getting louder and livelier as Giorno became so aware of every second passing painfully slowly. If he could stay put and just shut off for a while maybe he could remain undisturbed until the sun went down again. It seemed doable.

He cleared his head as best as he possibly could in his circumstance, which was a pathetic attempt really, and then focused really hard on his breathing. He figured if he could somehow reign his hyperventilating back, his whole body might stop shaking violently. But his efforts proved futile - another failed attempt to ground himself. It was so hard to focus when there were so many voices out there. Every single one of them merged together in an unsettling buzz that was so foreign and unsettling to the boy. It was loud; louder than anything the boy had ever experienced. He wanted silence. He needed it. He so desperately needed familiarity right now, it was agonising.

Just mere metres away from the shivering boy there was a crowd gathering in the main street. Early mornings in Naples usually meant go time for the citizens. Each one of them set out in the early morning dew, with their own lives, their own stories to tell. They walked, greeted, chatted, laughed and existed in ignorant bliss of those less blessed whose very worlds were crumbling before their teary eyes. The street market was coming to life a few streets over, unbeknownst to Giorno — and it could be assumed that many of these loud people were heading to — or coming from it.

As Giorno remained in a ball there sniffling through unrelenting shudders, the loud drone of noise that seeped into him from the rising city was going to smother him. The constant rise and fall of incoherent voices — both high and low, fluctuated in intensity as the owners of said voices were passing by the opening of the alley. It was going to drive him to insanity, if his own thoughts didn't get there first. Just when the drone was all becoming far too much, two distinct voices didn’t come and go like the others. They lingered. It seemed they were not passing by the alley but rather stood still at the entrance of it. Giorno couldn't make out what they were babbling about but he didn’t know whether that was because of the harsh ringing in his ears or that they were genuinely speaking a different language. He could tell though, even in his mental stupor, that it was two boy’s voices, one more high pitched than the other but still male, nonetheless. If he tried with all his might, he could possibly will the ringing away but that still left his entire body trembling like a terrified puppy and his hitched, irregular breathing. He just really wanted to know what they were talking about and why they weren't moving on like the rest. He finally realised that the two voices were speaking Italian, and rather harshly at that. Maybe Giorno wasn’t going crazy; it made sense to him now that he was having difficulty understanding them despite their closeness.

“Narancia! Sei un idiota!” The deeper voice spat. To Giorno’s surprise he was slowly starting to understand more of their conversation. Perhaps the momentary distraction from his own inner self-imploding proved a good enough grounding method. He tried not to sniffle as he listened further. There were a lot of words he didn't quite understand — or maybe he did but he didn't have the mental presence right now to reflect on his ancient vocabulary lessons. From what he could grasp in his hazy state, one of them was called Narancia, obviously, and this other boy was very displeased over something. Great deduction skills on the boys’ behalf, no time to congratulate himself though. The voices continued. Something about i soldi ? Money! He remembers now. As the deeper scolded the whiney voice, Giorno picked up on something the latter spouted back. He had said a few completely foreign words that the boy didn't recognise which was strange in the context of the other words he could understand. From what he could grasp the voice was whining about a Buccisomething who would understand? Definitely strange, Giorno thought to himself. At the end of the whiner's quick rebuttal, he said a long drawn-out phrase… something like Meestah? Mista? He couldn’t tell.

In the boy’s intense concentration, he had almost completely forgotten about his previous discomposure. He was so focused in fact that he had forgotten about something else very important — the boy wasn’t breathing. Upon that realisation, Giorno quickly tried to take in a deep breath, his chest aching from lack of air in his lungs. However, the breath did not help at all — only resulting in a spluttered cough escaping the boy, expelling the air he had just tried to take in. His eyes widened and he clasped a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his harsh coughs and wheezes as he desperately fought for a breath. Once he eventually did catch his breath, it only returned to those sharp, shallow breaths he had been experiencing before — he was still unable to fill his lungs, his body simply wouldn't allow it. Giorno curled up even tighter again, one hand tugging his hood completely over his face to shroud himself in darkness even more.

Once the boy somewhat gained his composure or at least was able to breathe again, it only then dawned on him that the voices that had previously been arguing, had fallen silent. This caused Giorno to freeze up, entirely. Despite the earlier shaking, his body was now as rigid as the statues in his cathedral. The voices didn’t return either, but the boy could still very much sense the duo's tense presence. The only noise now was the distant sounds of whatever liveliness was happening a street away, faint voices buzzing, laughter. Giorno remained there — quiet as a corpse. He did not dare make another sound, one hand covering his mouth and nose, trying to hush his building hyperventilation. He kept his eyes squeezed shut — if he couldn't see the danger, it couldn't hurt him.

Then they spoke.

He now understood their words to perfection.

“Who's there? ”

Chapter Text

“Narancia! You Idiot!” Mista snapped, his tone harsh and aggravated. His moron of a best friend had just lost the coin purse they had so cautiously been trusted with, resulting in this frustration. These two grubby-looking boys found themselves bickering back and forth with each other at the mouth of a small alley over something that could easily be solved if they had just used this crucial time to search for the pouch on the streets they just came from, instead of bickering. There was a possibility that they had been mugged but Mista knew the other boy way too well to think that he had done anything other than just literally dropping it. The smaller boy piped up in his own defence.

“No! No, I swear I didn’t drop it! I know for sure it was when that old creep brushed up against me at the fruit stall, I swear!” Narancia was flailing his arms around very expressively, imploring Mista to believe him. He wasn’t buying it. “Trust me man! Look, I’ll go find that senile freak and i’ll smack it out of him!” 

Mista just rolled his eyes. No point in wasting more time when they might as well just go back to the fountain to explain themselves. “Come on, you idiot. Let’s just go back to Bucciarati and tell him you lost the money. He never gives out to you anyway.” He turned away to head back towards the street, but Narancia grabbed him by his sleeve, pulling him back.

“Miiiistaaaaaa! Pleeaase just let me look for it!” He whined “I really don’t want to have to ask him for more money, I'll feel terrible…”

“No. Come on Nar, we’ve wasted enough time already, let’s go.”

“BUT I-”

“COME O-”

A muffled barrage of choked coughs behind them stopped them both in their bickering. 

The two boys fell quiet, both turning their heads to look at where the sound originated. Then, without moving their heads, diverted their eyes to glance at each other. Still, among the silence, they seemed to have a conversation with their eyes.

“Did you see anyone down there?”

“No- did you?!”

“No… be careful. They could be dangerous.”

“?”

“What normal person is creeping in an alley at 8 in the morning?”

With one final confirming nod from Mista, the two straightened up. Narancia stepped behind the larger of the two, keeping a close eye out for any signs of movement as they approached, their steps as silent as they could be. With his dagger drawn from his waistband and at the ready, Mista spoke up. Better to try and talk it out before resorting to force as Bucciarati always says. 

“Who's there?”

He declared, definitely not making his voice slightly deeper and more threatening sounding as they approached. When no response came, Mista put out his hand to halt their advance, Narancia knocking into the arm as he was so focused on any signs of movement. When Mista looked back to him, he shook his head slightly. He hadn't seen anything. Whoever was hiding was staying dead still, not a single hair twitching on their body.

With Narancia standing back and his dagger also in hand, Mista took a wide approach towards the mystery behind the barrel. He kept his distance incase of an attack, so that he would have time to react. He spoke again before the individual came into view, in the same threatening tone as before.

“If you don't come out, i'm coming to you myself”. 

After stating this Mista glanced back to Narancia, who was also on standby. The tension in the alley right now was suffocating, the two boys on high alert for whoever or whatever was hiding from them.

After a moment more of silence, Mista finally began to approach. He stepped closer, and finally rounded the barrel. He didn't quite expect what he found, but from how Mista lowered his knife it was clear to Narancia that whatever it was, it wasn't an immediate threat. At first glance, it just seemed like a pile of old fabric. But upon closer inspection, Mista could make out a figure hiding beneath it. The pile of indistinguishable fabric was some kind of cloak? That must be it. The hood was pulled tightly over the culprit’s head, not leaving a single inch of skin visible. The toes of two leather boots stuck out slightly from under the cloak. Mista raised an eyebrow, stepping closer.

“Who are you?”

He pressed, but again, no response. He waved to Narancia to join him, but to still keep some distance. He got closer, now crouched in front of the sentient lump. Upon closer inspection they seemed to be… trembling? And quite aggressively, too. They didn't look like a threat… not if they weren't even trying to put up some retaliation. The teen stayed still for a moment, noticing how the body seemed to try to become even smaller, as if trying to make themselves shrink or something, in the hopes they would eventually disappear completely. Growing impatient, Mista reached out. He cautiously took hold of the end of the cloak's hood and yanked it upwards. The entire body flinched violently and tried to press itself even closer against the wall, as if wishing to phase through it. 

To the cautious duo’s surprise, it was just a boy. A shivering, sniffling, rather pathetic looking boy. Mista only got the tiniest glimpse of his terrified face before he dug his head back into whatever fabric he could get hold of. What remained exposed of the boy’s hunched over form was a pair of shaking shoulders and the most vivid golden curls.

Mista had quite literally zero clue what to do or say at that moment, with this disheveled, obviously very distressed lump of a person at his feet. The three of them just sort of… existed there for a moment before Mista figured he should probably say something. As he parted his lips to try and ease the awkwardness, Narancia beat him to it with as much delicacy and subtlety as could be expected from the dopey shit.

“So uh…What’s your deal?”

“Narancia!” Mista snapped. The lump flinched hard when he raised his voice. Mista winced at his movement, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Narancia…” He now said with a more hushed tone “he’s obviously scared or something? Don’t be an ass.” Mista turned to the boy on the ground and crouched down again. The lump didn’t seem to notice — he was far too busy shivering into his cloak.

“Hey, so uh-” he looked back to his friend then to the lump again. “Are you hurt or something?”

No response.

 They duo exchanged looks again. “It's not like we’re gonna hurt you or anything.” Narancia muttered from behind Mista. There still wasn’t the tiniest sign from the hiding boy that he was hearing what they were saying to him. Mista sighed, his knees were starting to ache from the awkward crouch he was in. Part of him wanted to just get up and walk away, it really wasn’t his problem if this strange boy wanted to waste away in this damp alley corner, but something instinctual within him wasn’t letting him leave. He didn’t know what it was, but there was just something so sad about him. This boy just seemed so terrified. Of what, they still didn’t know. But the way he flinched at the slightest movement or the tiniest rise in a voice, Mista could tell he was not okay. Narancia could probably sense it too even if he didn’t have any semblance of tact about it. Mista had to act, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

But before he could do that, he had to get this boy out of this dirty corner. “Can you even understand us?” He whispered, basically begging for some sort of response. The boy twitched, but still didn’t reveal himself. “Maybe he’s deaf?” Narancia inserted gratingly. “shhhh” Mista hushed him, he wasn’t about to let the boy revert to some sort of catatonic state when he felt like he was finally getting somewhere. Mista leaned in a tiny bit closer, not too close, he didn’t want to intimidate him. His knees cracked slightly with the slow movement. He spoke to the boy again, his tone now much softer than it had been originally.

 “if you can understand us, please… just let me know” he sighed “we uh.... we want to help you…”

The boy twitched again. This time though he didn’t immediately return to shaking, he lifted his head ever so slightly so that his eyes peaked through the mess of curls that had fallen over his face. They were bloodshot and tear stained. Mista didn’t think he’d ever seen eyes look more petrified in his life. God, what a pitiful creature, he thought. But as this little puffy face peeked back at him, he sighed with relief. Progress. Finally, some kind of progress. 

Mista gave the trembling boy an awkward smile, in the hopes that it would ease his nerves slightly. He wasn't entirely sure how to get this boy up and moving, he looked like he was glued to this spot and had been for some time. He tried speaking again, Narancia watching close behind.

“So… are you hurt? Can you move? We want to help you. But you need to get up for us to do that.”

He explained, scratching his head, ruffling his curly brown hair. The boy in front of him had golden hair like he had never seen before, though from what he could see under the hood, it seemed messy and unkempt. Mista waited for the boy's response, but he once again just had a pair of bewildered eyes staring back at him, as if he was some kind of two headed goat or something. This was going to be difficult.

“Maybe he is deaf.” Narancia spoke again, resting his weight on one hip and watching with a sigh. 

“Nar, shut your gob, will you? You're not helping”.

 Mista snapped at him, looking back with a frown. He sighed and turned to look back to this mystery boy, his attempt at a kind face returning. How the hell was he supposed to communicate with this kid? He looked quite young, too. Most likely younger than him and Narancia.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” 

He asked, raising a brow. Maybe Narancia’s irritating suggestions were correct, and he couldn't hear after all. But to his surprise, the trembling boy actually softly spoke up.

“...Yes… I hear.”

His voice was so quiet Mista almost had to ask him to repeat himself, but he gathered what had been said after a moment's thought. Thank God. He looked back to Narancia and stuck his tongue out at him in a ‘told you so’ gesture, before returning his gaze to this boy. His shaking had seemed to have calmed a little, and he wasn't as curled up. That was a good sign. It was also obvious even from those three words that the boy had some kind of accent, he couldn’t have been from around here. Running off of that communication, Mista put out his hand to the boy. He gave him an encouraging smile, anything to try and help calm him. It was like trying to tame a scared little puppy… He wasn't sure what would set him off. With his hand outstretched, he tried to speak to him again. This time he was much slower and clearer with his words, in the hopes the boy would understand him. 

“Come with us, ok? … We can help you…but you need to stand?”

He continued to leave his hand outstretched, resisting the urge to just grab him and drag him along. He knew that he needed to be patient, even if patience was never really his thing. Bucciarati would be much more suited to this kind of thing, he thought. Eventually though the boy’s (still shaking) hand reached out hesitantly from under the cloak, and gently took hold of Mista’s tan, calloused hand. The boy's hand surprised Mista, if he was honest. It was cold and thin, much more fragile looking than any man’s he had ever seen. It was pale and dainty, and the nails were quite long. He let out a sigh of relief and closed his hand around the stranger’s, nodding.  

“Great…Good — Uh can you stand up?” 

Narancia stepped back as Mista got to his feet, whinging softly. “So, I guess we're not looking for the purse then? Ughh...Bucciarati’s gonna kill me…” He huffed, kicking a stone along the cobbled ground. He had kind of just been standing there, watching Mista. He had tried to be somewhat patient, as hard as that was for him. It was strange. He saw some of himself in this pathetic excuse for a boy. Alone, scared, just like he had once been. Long ago.

He only received a preoccupied grunt in response from Mista, who had managed to pull this strange individual to his feet. He definitely was relatively short and did not seem to weigh much at all either. He was quite easy to help pull to his feet. Once upright, this young boy tugged the big hood purposely over his head again, but finally didn't make any attempt to try to run away. He somehow seemed to understand that these boys wanted to help him — and Mista was just grateful for his eventual co-operation. With a gentle squeeze to his hand, the duo began to lead him out of the alley and into the morning sun. Narancia kept a not-so-subtle eye on this new temporary addition to the entourage, frowning a little. The boy kept his head straight down, staring intently at his feet. No looking around, and if they passed any loud noises, he seemed to flinch a great deal. What a strange person…

They made their way carefully through the now bustling streets, Mista keeping a tight grip on this boy's hand for fear of somehow losing him. He had Narancia walking behind them, so if that did happen, they would most certainly be able to chase him. Mista did take note of how unbelievably skittish he was. The head down, the flinching… and overall, just seeming absolutely terrified of literally everything. They halted by a small pastry shop at some point, standing by the corner, Mista handed a small handful of spare change to Narancia. 

“You hungry?” He asked the cloaked teen, who looked up from his feet at him, gently curious. Mista realised he must not know what he meant somehow, so he pointed at the buns and cakes inside the window. “uh…Food?” he asked before gesturing back to the boy. The confusion left his face at that, and he looked back down at his feet again before giving the softest of nods. At least he was honest, Mista thought. They were regulars at this place, so if they were lucky Narancia would get some bread for free. 

“Go in and get bread or something. Say we're trying to feed a… OH! say we’re feeding a sick kid!” He told Narancia with a smirk, who then rolled his eyes as he walked towards the door of the shop. Who knows, maybe they weren’t lying at all? For all they knew, this boy could be on death's door or something, after all he was coughing and wheezing when they found him. The smell of fresh bread was clearly having an effect on him though, as raised his head up slightly from under his hood as the smell wafted from the open windows. 

While they were waiting in the street, the delicate voice spoke up again, almost whispering.

“...Where are we going?”

Mista was very taken aback by this as not only were these the most consecutive words he had heard the boy utter all this time; he also could not understand a single one of them. Did he just speak…English? Mista had heard others speak it a few times in passing, but he was practically useless at the language other than being able to identify the lilt of it. He furrowed his brow, unsure of how to respond for a moment. 

“Uh… I don't understand? Me? only Italian… Are you English?”

He asked, frowning as he bent over a little, peeking under the cloak to get a glimpse of the pale face again as he spoke. All he really got was a wide pair of unreadable eyes staring back at him, until a small unsure nod came his way. Ok… well that certainly didn't make things any easier, but now he knew to just use simple vocabulary for now. To try and make things more comfortable for all of them.

Narancia returned soon after that interaction with two small baguettes in his arms and his cheeks stuffed full of whatever he was munching on. Evidently, he had scoffed his fill the second he got his hands on it. 

“Tried to snag a pastry — for him obviously — but she got me” He stated between lip smacks. Mista grimaced. “s’all I could get-” he muttered as he held out the breads.

“It’ll do” Mista took both of them from him and turned towards the smaller teen beside him. He had been eyeing the baguettes like they were precious stolen treasure the moment Narancia came into view with them. Mista could gather exactly what was going through the boy’s mind right now — he needed that food, immediately. Mista contemplated teasing him with it for a second, it would be too easy, but then remembered he hadn’t a clue what might just trigger him back into his unresponsive state, he had just so painstakingly earned some of his trust too. Deciding the momentary entertainment wouldn’t be worth the risk, he handed the baguette carefully to the boy, keeping one for himself. He watched as the strange teen grasped at the bread in the most awkward manner imaginable and took a huge bite right out of the centre. Well, who were they to judge? Figuring it was best not to stare at the boy while he basically inhaled the bread, he turned his attention away to his own, finishing it off quickly and brushing the crumbs from his face. 

Now that the trio were finally satiated and as acquainted as they could possibly be given their very unusual circumstances, Mista decided to take the lead in resuming their journey across the city. He grasped the boy’s bony hand again — it didn’t seem as cold as before — and set off back into the crowd. Narancia remained behind the boy yet again, only this time it wasn’t in an unwarranted effort of keeping watch on him but more of an unconscious attempt at shielding him from the jostles of the bustling morning crowd. The boy kept his head down, his hood still up and his hand balled tightly inside Mista’s, except this time it was less like the older boy was forcibly dragging the younger behind him and more like they were all just walking together, single file. 

The density of the crowds decreased as the boys made their way further towards the outskirts of the city. They had one specific destination in mind and were not about to make any more detours along the way. They had just found a whole stray human and time seemed precious in the pursuit of his origin as they could not find a way to get more than two or three hesitant words out of this boy.

 They had long since ventured past the invisible border in the city, to where the upper class wouldn’t even lower themselves to point their noses toward. This territory was loud, messy and generally unsafe, but to Narancia and Mista, it was home. The buildings were unkempt and dirt, barefoot children ran wild through the streets, unattended. The parents of said children were off making ends meet by the hand of some higher untouchable figures — the usual around here. After a long while of treading in tense silence and a few quick checks back to the strange boy when he’d trip over his own unco-ordinated feet, Mista halted in a narrow street lined with worn-down houses. The hooded boy would have knocked into his back from staring at his own feet were it not for Naranica tugging the back of his cloak to get him to pay attention. Mista looked up at the windows on a derelict house to their left, leaned up but didn't let go of the boy’s hand and smacked his other palm against the closed shutters three times, causing them to rattle, nearly the whole building did. The boy flinched backwards at this, expectedly, then stared wide-eyed and concerned as Mista barked loudly into the closed off building. 

“Ay! Where’s Mr. B at?”

It took a moment for the awkward silence to break in the form of the rickety shutter creaking open just a sliver, not nearly enough to see inside though. A younger boy's voice spoke back to Mista sternly, “Fountain, why.”

“S’He busy?” 

“...’Course he is...Why.” The voice sounded vexed by Mista’s blatant lack of explanation.

“Mkay, thanks.” Mista tugged on the hooded boy’s hand and turned to continue walking but the voice raised again.

“Hey! Wait —” the voice was definitely pissed, the shutter creaked a bit further, “wha- Huh? Who’s the kid?!” 

Mista felt the skinny hand balled in his tense up slightly.

“Beat’s me, see ya-” He muttered dismissively and gave the timid boys hand a quick reassuring squeeze.

“What!? Mist—” 

Mista had reached up and slammed the shutter closed on the angry voice, rattling once again. He had gotten all the information he needed. With another soft tug on the boy’s hand, the three of them set off again in hunt for their destination. Narancia babbled over the boy’s head to Mista about something irrelevant that he was most definitely not listening to. As they walked Mista found himself getting rather anxious about how they were going to possibly explain themselves. Not only did they lose all the money they were given, but they also managed to pick up a whole ass person along the way. How on earth was he going to explain what made him take the boy. He just felt sorry for him? No, that wouldn't work. All of them had seen countless homeless, sick and dying people of all ages in the streets almost every day, that doesn't mean they just fucking adopt every single one of them. This is Naples, poverty and illness is certainly nothing new to the boys. What was it about this boy? Maybe Narancia could explain it? There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Narancia had felt that same impulse upon seeing the creature's sorry state too. If he didnt, he would have smacked Mista already, for taking this too far. 

It was at that moment though, while Mista was pondering how to explain this new addition, that it hit him. He didn’t even know his name. Mista wasn’t sure if the boy had ever mentioned it already? Probably not. He hesitated for a moment before turning his head slightly over his shoulder to address behind him, while he stayed walking forwards. 

“So... Uh...Your Name? I dont think you’ve said it…”

The boy looked up from underneath his thick hood at him with a confused twist in his brow. 

“Oh shit— yeah you can’t... uh-” He stopped his path and turned around to face the boy fully, the whole group coming to a halt. Of course he had forgotten the poor thing could hardly understand anything he was saying. Narancia peered around him to see what the obstruction was, before following Mistas gesture to come around the boy and stand beside him. He did this, Narancia glancing behind his shoulder for a moment. It was in this brief silence that the pair were able to hear the faint running of water. It only then became apparent to them how close the fountain actually was — one more corner and they would be right there. No better time to do this than now, the older boy thought. Now that they were both assembled in front of the very confused boy, Mista lifted his thumb to point to himself and began.

“Me? I’m Mista. Him?” He pointed to his friend who was grinning beside him, “He’s Narancia.” The hooded boy just blinked. “So, then you are….?” Mista pointed towards him. It looked like he was thinking, you could practically see the cogs turning in the boy's head. Mista was about to just drop it, it’s not like he necessarily needed his name before introducing him to the man they were bringing him to, but then just at that moment the boy slowly and hesitantly parted his lips.

“...I’m…. Giorno.”

The entire morning had been a complete blur to Giorno. After his hood was lifted by the tanned man in the alley, he had kind of just...followed, and didn’t really think much after that. Everything was hazy and sort of merged together in his head. That was until he had been brought kind of back to reality when they had arrived at what he assumed was a place that made bread, if what he knew was correct, those kinds of places were called…bakeries? The bread the two boys had given him certainly lifted his spirits slightly and had silenced the growling in his stomach which he didn't even notice had been happening until his attention was called to his appetite. Up until that point, he hadn’t really been paying attention to where he was being taken, just blindly treading behind the hand that was dragging him along. But these people didn't seem like they were going to harm him. They gave him bread. People who want to hurt you don't usually give you bread first, the boy considered. 

The language barrier was certainly proving difficult. They didn't seem to know much English, and Giorno's knowledge of Italian was extremely limited. He could understand it more than he could speak it and from what he understood, they were trying to help him somehow, and he was silently grateful for that. So he followed them, despite the nagging terror he felt as soon as they were out, and vulnerable, in the massive crowds of people. Thankfully though he was allowed to keep his hood up, his shelter intact, and nobody else saw his face. Two random strangers were enough for him today…

Right now, Giorno was standing still with these two strangers before him, and they had just told him their names. Mista and Narancia — they seemed like nice names and from what he had deduced, they were nice people. Though the taller Mista guy still hadn’t answered his question earlier about where he was being taken. However, with the way the two were acting now, loitering and kind of stalling, it seemed as though they had reached their destination. Before they began moving again, Giorno decided he would give them his name. He didn't exactly know why they’d need it but it seemed only fair, they had calmed him and fed him. Their sudden distraction in the alley had probably helped him a lot more than he could give them credit for, in retrospect. Had they not shown up, he would probably still be balled up there, maybe in a worse state, who knows if he would ever have been able to catch his breath again. 

“...I’m…. Giorno” 

He muttered quietly, looking up to actually meet the boys’ eyes. He had to be brave, this was the height of bravery to him. He had always been told to stand tall and speak clearly. Even if that seemed very difficult for him right now. His Father had drilled these manners into him. He hated sloppiness. Giorno felt slightly safer in this quieter part of town, where there were not so many people and no enormous beasts. He now wondered where Goldie had gone in the end… He'd have to have a stern talking with her once they met again. He was pulled from his thoughts wandering again when the one named Narancia spoke, he could tell it was his voice even when he wasn’t looking, due to the pitchiness of it, and how it was almost squeaky in a sense. Giorno liked it.

“Ok…uh...We’re going now...follow us?”

 He spoke slowly and simply. He enunciated his words clearly, in the hopes that Giorno would understand him. Giorno greatly appreciated the effort. He managed to grasp a few words, he recognised ‘follow’. And from where Narancia was pointing, he assumed they were heading around the corner that Mista had just rounded. He nodded slightly and now, without his hand being held, followed in a curious silence. He wondered what was behind the corner that could be classed as their destination. He soon found out. As they rounded the corner, a large fountain came into view. And sitting around that fountain were twelve children, their eyes all focused on the person who was sitting on the edge of the fountain. The man had neatly trimmed black hair and was wearing a polished outfit. He seemed overall, very well put together. With the kindest smile and an even kinder pair of eyes, he spoke to the sitting children fondly. Though he lifted his attention from them when Mista called to him, using a short word that Giorno gathered must be this new man’s name.

“Bruno! We’re back.” Mista called, waving as he walked over, Narancia and Giorno followed, not far behind.

The man glanced over to them, his eyes quickly darting to the cloaked teen, which caused him to hesitate in his steps, not advancing any further but Narancia gave him the softest nudge, making sure he followed close beside him. With his attention back on Mista, the kind looking man spoke again.

“You’re back early. Where's all the food? And who…” He trailed off, his eyes finally moving to rest on Giorno, who instantly recoiled behind Narancia. Those eyes seemed friendly, but they were piercing him, along with about twelve other small sets, all the children following Bruno's gaze. As Giorno hid, an awkward laugh escaped Mista, and he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Yeah... so funny story about that, well... Nar lost the money, and then we were about to go look for it-”

“-Nuh Uh! No, we weren't! You were saying we should just give up!” Narancia interjected, scowling at Mista who shot the teen a devilish glare. He fell silent again with a huff, folding his arms as Mista continued.

“I-...anway… We were about to go and look for it, but we heard a bunch of commotion and stuff. Then we found this kid hiding in the alley — he couldn't breathe and was shaking, looked desperate, really. He only speaks English, and he was starving. I dunno why but I felt we had to take him to you — you're just good with this sort of thing...”

Mista rambled, the man on the fountain just stared at him with an unimpressed expression. After a moment he stood, waving his hand slightly to the children, who seemed to understand this gesture and all got up, chatting, and running off in smaller groups, going to play. The man approached the two, who obediently stepped aside so that he had a clear view of Giorno. The boy stood there bewildered and shaken, having very little understanding of the current situation. He once again met eyes with the stranger, these ones were a deep, deep blue. Giorno swallowed a thick lump in his throat, trying to keep himself calm and composed as this man bent down slightly, to his level. He was offered a reassuring smile; it was definitely more affirming than the one Mista had tried giving him when they first met. 

With a hand placed on his chest, this new man spoke to him.

“Hello. I’m Bruno Bucciarati….and you are?” He asked, just keeping things plain and simple for now, having taken note of Mista’s comment on how Giorno couldn't understand Italian. 

Giorno stared back at him, letting out a shaky exhale. His voice was nice. It was authoritative but soothing… It reminded him of his fathers. That calming effect it had. It felt familiar. He clasped his hands tightly together beneath his cloak, trying to find the courage within him to actually open his mouth and speak. He eventually managed it, though it did take a moment. Thank God this man was patient.

“I… I’m Giorno.” He replied, relieved to see that this Bruno seemed satisfied with that answer.

He smiled with that heavenly kind smile again. “It’s very lovely to meet you, Giorno.” 

Bruno turned his attention from Giorno to the two boys, shifting awkwardly by his side. It was quite impressive how he could so quickly turn his expression from warm and reassuring to oppressive and threatening. Narancia squeaked. “Tell me everything.” the man warned.

“We did! That’s it!?” Mista exclaimed in his own defence, “We just found him and brought him to you! He couldn’t tell us a single thing about himself…” The man named Bruno sighed at that. “It’s all we know…. I’m sorry…” Mista looked like a scolded puppy.

Giorno suddenly felt extremely self-conscious as even though he couldn't exactly follow along with what was being said, he had a feeling the two boys who saved him were getting reprimanded...and something told him it was probably his fault. Bruno brought his hand up to his chin, thinking. His gaze absentmindedly fell back to Giorno, the boy fidgeted beneath it. What was he thinking? A ball formed in Giorno’s throat for the umpteenth time this morning. Oh, how he desperately wished his father was here with him, he’d know what to do. He always did. The gravity of the night's events were slowly catching up to Giorno as adrenaline began to leave his body, he felt heavy with an age-old exhaustion he couldn't seem to shake. His head hurt incredibly bad, all of the crying had left him with a pounding headache, and he just wished he had his duvet and pillow with him at this moment so he could just collapse to sleep right there and then. His throat felt red raw, all of the gasping and cold air was much more than he was used to. As he was lost in the burden of his own circumstances, Bruno’s previously absentminded stare had turned to one of intention. He now looked to the boy with concern, Mista and Narancia copied. Giorno didn’t realise he had started to sway; his gaze was absent. The man moved Giorno's hood back slightly and lifted the back of his hand to the boy’s forehead, brushing his curls aside. Whatever debate was going on in the man’s head prior had taken a backseat now to the sickly-looking boy before him. Giorno leaned into the man’s touch, he couldn’t help it when his eyes began to well up. 

“Goodness, you look exhausted-” Bruno brushed his hand down to the boy’s cheek, cupping it gently. He used his hand to gently lift Giorno's head, so he met his gaze again, his eyes once more having a strange calming effect. “You’ll be okay, boy, it’s okay… we’ll help you.”. Giorno also couldn’t help it when a heavy tear fell down his cheek, Bruno brushed it away with his thumb. The boy had never felt fatigue like this before.

Bruno rested a hand on the top of the boy's head and pulled him closer, as if to shield him from the conversation around him — it’s not like he could understand it anyway.

“Narancia.”, The boy stood to immediate attention. “Run to the apothecary and get the boy some medicine. Here-” the man reached into his back pocket and handed him a few large coins. “And do not lose it this time.” He warned with the fiercest glint in his eye. “I- Y-Yes!”, with that the boy took off.

“Mista.” The other boy now looked at Bruno expectantly. “Get a piece of paper from my book by the fountain and write a note. I want it to say everything that has happened, write to meet us at my home this evening, sign it with my name and take it to the royal guard’s quarters.” The boy scuttled to the fountain’s edge, ripped a piece of paper hastily from the book which lay there and stole a pen too, he began to take off around the corner right before the man called after him “you know his room number, yes!?” The boy turned with a wink before shouting back “Sure do!” and vanishing.

Just the two of them standing by the fountain now, Bruno gently caressed the top of the boy's hood. He wondered if he had already fallen asleep standing upright, leaning against his chest. He wouldn't have doubted it until he heard a soft, wet sniffle from the boy in his arms. He was now feeling it too. The intangible thing which Mista or Narancia hadn’t even mentioned to him. This unshakable urge to just shelter this boy. He didn’t know a single thing about him, none of them did in fact, but each of them all just had that instinctual urge to protect him. This child needed rescuing, even if he wasn’t even aware of it himself. They needed to find out more about him, even if he couldn’t give them the information directly, they would find it themselves. They were going to help him. They might be able to save him. From what? They didn't exactly know yet, but they could do it. Bruno was certain of it. He had done it before, and he could do it again.

As Bruno held the shivering boy in his arms, standing by the fountain, here in the city he knew so well, he slowly realised something.

He had just been given a new mission.

Chapter Text

Dio returned from his night-time disappearance.

He strode past the fifth lamppost, rolling his shoulders as he walked through the empty street. If he was honest, he really did regret how he had treated his son earlier. He had been harsh and used force he very rarely expressed with the boy. He had been spending too many days inside with him at night and then had to keep watch of him on the nights when they were outside. He thought he could just ignore the pangs inside of him that just got more agonising as the nights went on, a foolish desire, but no, his body wouldn’t allow it. All of the time that he chose to spend watching his boy had prevented him from taking his usual retreats to quench his… urges. 

He was a vampire, after all.

 He needed the life of others to prolong his own, even if he didn't particularly take any pleasure in the activity anymore. 

Ever since finding Giorno, Dio completely changed his course in life. More had changed in the past 15 years than all 200 years of the man’s long and unorthodox existence. Caring for and raising another human was a much more profound experience than he would have ever imagined. He hated whenever he would become self-aware and suddenly remember his situation; that he was apparently a father now — it was unsettling. That being said, and he would never admit it to himself, he wouldn’t change that fact for the world.

Impulsively deciding to take in that tiny human fifteen years ago had gradually helped him realise that there was something quite magnificent to life; The way it always seemed to persist despite any circumstances. This gave way to a disorientating feeling of self-loathing — Dio had never been one to doubt himself. 

He sometimes grew envious of his son's mortality; He, himself, couldn’t exactly pinpoint what that sensation was — knowing that at some point your life will end. Watching Giorno grow filled him with the strangest, contradicting sense of both pride and melancholy. The boy did grow way too fast for the man’s liking anyway.

As he finally approached the doors of the cathedral, Dio noticed something peculiar—that cat. What had Giorno called her...Goldie? She was sitting at the cathedral steps, she seemed to be scanning the square? Strange. Usually, his boy would spend the entire night with the cat… where was he? Perhaps he had just gone inside, and he had missed him. With a dismissive sigh he stepped over the cat, and pushed open the small side door, not needing to duck his head this time. For the smaller doors where the stairs led to their attic, he was usually ducking for the entire journey up the staircase. He scanned around aisles of the cathedral, looking for any signs of his son. 

"Giorno? It's time." He called, the man's deep voice echoing through the cathedral. He waited at the top of the main aisle, looking around for a golden head of curls. Had he already just gone upstairs? He had told him he might be back long after he fell asleep, so he had probably headed to bed already. It was getting very close to morning anyway. Giorno always followed the rules perfectly.

He walked towards the Apse, ducking his head as he began ascending the old, winding staircase. He sighed, glancing down at his hand, and suddenly noticing the now dried blood on his hands — shit. Giorno would definitely question that if he saw it. So, Dio haphazardly wiped his hands on his thighs, hoping the colour wouldn’t be too obvious against his dark bottoms.

Once making it to the top of the stairs, Dio quietly and carefully pushed open the heavy wooden door, and practically tiptoed into their shared home. He really did not like waking the sleeping boy whenever he arrived home; It always made him feel guilty. Keeping the volume down he removed his boots, placing them by the wall. Focusing on his own attire, he didn't notice the absent pair of much smaller boots that were not in their usual spot. As he turned to hang up his cloak he stopped suddenly-

The hook was empty.

He turned, not even taking the time to hang up his own cloak and paced rapidly to the lump of duvet and pillows on the small bed. No longer caring if his steps were loud, he only hoped there was a boy to wake at this point. He felt as though he knew what was coming but that still didn't stop his stomach from dropping. As he stood over the bed, with his slightly blood-stained hand, he whipped back the sheets with immense force, the linens landing in a heap on the floor. And on the bed, no boy lay sleeping.

Giorno was gone.

Giorno woke to the muffled sound of foreign voices from behind a door. As the rest of his senses returned to him from sleep, he felt as though he had been hit by an extremely heavy book in the head. While trying to overcome the initial blow of this painful headache, he rolled over on his side and got comfortable again. Before he even opened his eyes he contemplated just returning to the safety of slumber, the confusion could wait for all he cared. Why did everything ache? Also, why did his pillow smell so different? Who cares…?  Thinking hurt, dreaming didn’t. So before better judgement could have any say in the matter, the boy quickly fell back into unconsciousness.

An incomprehensible amount of time later, the boy felt himself being pulled back to the land of the living by a cold hand on his forehead — that felt nice, he thought. He nuzzled gently into the soft touch and before he even knew where he was or what was going on, a voice, not his father’s, called his name.

“...Giorno?” It said in a very soft whisper, the unfamiliarity of the voice should have been cause for panic in the boy, but just as before his better judgement was severely clouded by the aches and exhaustion that wracked his entire body. Besides, the voice sounded so caring; gentle voices like that normally didn’t come from ample threats, the boy considered. He genuinely couldn’t think straight at this point. He only realised he had fallen back to sleep when he was woken from it again. A hand was cupped around the back of his neck, it was cold again — probably the same hand as before. It lifted his head up from the pillow beneath him, gently. He felt another hand on his forehead again, this time it wasn’t cold — a different hand perhaps? No. Definitely a different hand, because all of the disruptions and movement was causing Giorno to forcefully come to, whether he wanted to or not. When his capacity to grasp his senses awoke too, he heard voices again, more than before. This didn’t feel right. The feeling of wanting to fall back into unconsciousness was still pulling at him but now, an even stronger feeling of unease was pulling him in the other direction. Voices, three… no, four were all deliberating around him, it was so loud. Or maybe it wasn’t, he couldn't really make any solid judgement in his current hazy state. They weren’t speaking his language and his brain was only barely awake enough to register the voices, never mind what they were saying. He slowly cracked open his eyes to assess the situation.

Strangers. He was surrounded by strangers. Someone he didn’t know was holding him and he didn’t like it. A hand was reaching for him from another stranger, a blonde boy like himself. 

Once Giorno's eyes opened fully and focused on the person in front of him, he jumped back. Waking up to find yourself in an unfamiliar place surrounded by strangers was rather frightening to the normal person, and especially to Giorno following this morning's happenings. As he pushed himself up rapidly, the hands that had been supporting his neck and head also disappeared. In his sudden panic he looked around, gathering information on everybody else in the room. His eyes were wide with shock, until they rested on the black hair in front of him, and the kind face watching with a concerned expression. Giorno recognised that man… but who was he? He was sure his name began with a B or something…

B… br.. Bruno! That was it. He was slowly beginning to remember now… The morning terror, and then… the two guys sat behind Bruno now — Mista, and the other name was longer… Narancia; that was it. He then turned to stare at the other blonde in the room, he did not know who he was, he had never seen that face before. But he seemed to be acquainted with the other three, so maybe he wasn't a threat. His body slowly began to relax as his memories came back to him, and he reassured himself that he thinks he was in good hands. Once it was apparent that Giorno was feeling slightly more ok than when he initially came to, Bruno spoke to him in that simple, broken Italian to help the boy understand.

“Good afternoon, Giorno. Are you ok? You are safe here; do you remember me?”

He asked to which Giorno slowly nodded. “You are Bruno.” He replied in his terrible Italian. Bruno gave him a smile and a nod, Helping the boy to lay back down, as the effects of a slight fever took hold of him again. “You are sick, you should rest.” 

Giorno faintly nodded as he allowed Bruno to let him back down, his body calming down now. He looked to Bruno as he lay, the soothing cold hand coming to rest on his forehead again as Bruno checked his temperature. When he took his hand away again, he turned to the blonde male sitting beside him, and began to speak in fluent Italian that Giorno, in this hazy confusion, couldn't understand at all. While they were speaking, the young boy took note of his surroundings. He was in a small room, there were a few armchairs, and a small table in the centre. He noticed he seemed to be laying on a sofa of sorts, with a pillow supporting his head. The room was bright too, with open windows. It was still daytime… that put Giorno on edge slightly, even if he was indoors.

“I'm pretty sure he has a high temperature, once he's a little more awake i’ll have him take some medicine for it. You should probably introduce yourself and so on, I’ll go and make him something to eat.”

The feverish boy turned to watch as Bruno stood, speaking to Giorno again. “I’m going to get some food for you, ten minutes. Ok?” He held up all his fingers “Don’t worry.” He reassured with that same kind smile, and Giorno watched as Bruno left the room, leaving him alone with the other three. The boy closed his eyes and sighed, his body aching with every movement. He was about to drift off again, his heavy eyelids drooping closed.

“My name is Fugo, by the way”.

That brief sentence woke Giorno up more than a bucket of cold water being thrown over him could. Giorno could understand what was being said completely — the boy had just spoken in English…accented, but most definitely English. He opened his eyes and turned his head, staring at the boy named Fugo. He was so surprised that for a moment he couldn't figure out what to say in response. Mista and Narancia stared at Fugo for a moment, before mumbling things in Italian to each other. Was this new boy the only one who could speak English then? Even so, it took a massive weight off of Giorno's shoulders. It gave him a way to communicate with everyone… he would finally be able to explain how he needed to get home.

“...You can speak English?”

 Giorno asked quietly, definitely feeling more comfortable now he knew there was somebody he could communicate with. Fugo nodded in response, leaning back in his chair slightly and watching Giorno. 

“Mhm. Unlike those jackasses-” Fugo briefly nodded back to the other two behind him “-I’m still in school, well, college actually, so I’ve learned English and latin on top of my Italian. You...can't understand them I guess - which is weird. But then again you don't look very Italian…” 

He mumbled to himself, frowning a little as he watched Giorno, leaning forward to further inspect the boy. Giorno cowered away a little, averting his wary gaze from the other’s scrutiny. He wasn't fully sure what he should respond with, Fugo seemed to be lost in his own train of thought, and before Giorno could come up with a response, he was off again.

“I was told you kinda just passed out after meeting Bruno by the fountain, so he took you here. Right now, we’re at his house, you’ve been asleep for a few hours, and you do have a slight fever. Bruno’s gonna be back soon with some lunch and medicine for you and well… nobody else here can really speak English that much besides me— they never really stayed in school.”

He explained, Giorno simply nodded in response. He had a basic understanding of what ‘going to school’ was, even though he himself had never done it. He had been taught to read and write English by Dio, and Pucci had long ago given him his very limited knowledge of this group's native tongue. 

Upon closer inspection of the blond boy, it was apparent that Fugo’s attire was of a much higher quality than the others in the group. The fabric seemed to be somewhat similar to that of the priest's robes he had seen in the cathedral, and it had interesting details of embroidered flowers across the satin vest he was wearing. He was overall more well-kept and cleaner than the rest of them. Giorno was slightly enthralled with the elegance of his appearance, it was in stark contrast to blunt and informal mannerisms. It was almost like he was playing dress-up as a character who was not himself. Curious about his observation, but really not wanting to pry, Giorno hesitated to speak. A gap in the other boy’s incessant ranting showed itself and Giorno took the opportunity.

“Y- … College?”

“Huh?” The boy just blinked at him, understandably confused.

“...You said you were... in college?”

“Oh, yeah.” A look of realisation crossed his face. “My folks wanted me to progress pretty fast...I went through a couple tutors in the past few years, you know, the likes-” Giorno, in fact, did not know ‘the likes’. Fugo continued “-anyways, I started college two years ago, so I’m the youngest in my year...obviously.” 

Giorno wasn’t quite sure of the normal age of a college going student, but he was confident enough in his limited knowledge that Fugo did look rather young for that title. So, he perked up a tiny bit, genuinely curious now and asked quietly. “...How old are you?”

“Sixteen. Everyone else in my year is twenty or older.” the boy said with a faintly smug smile. He must be rather proud of his advancements, Giorno thought to himself. Fugo must be highly intelligent if he was in college so young. And he seemed to know that about himself, too.

 “What about you?”

This caught Giorno off guard. It had been a while since he was the main topic of conversation and if he was being honest, he preferred not to be. 

“...hm?”

“Your age. I told you mine. You never told me yours.” 

Fugo responded, waiting for an answer. He was just so forward with the way he spoke…  Giorno wasn't sure if it was because it wasn't his first language or that it was just genuinely his personality. Probably both.

“Oh…sorry…. I’m Fifteen” He whispered, self-conscious because it felt like he had just been scolded. And he didn’t want to get on the wrong side of these people. If that happened, they might not help him return to his father.

“Fifteen?!” The boy raised his voice with seeming surprise, contrasting his previous monotone voice that had been rambling about his academic success. This caused Giorno to flinch both with fright and pain, His headache making itself known again. Why did he sound so shocked? Was that not what he wanted to hear? Fugo turned to the two other boys that were sitting, crouched against the wall in the corner. Giorno had honestly started to forget they were still here, they looked like they had been zoning out, unable to follow the foreign talk. However, the sudden switch to their native language, on Fugo’s behalf, called them to attention. He said something which Giorno could only assume was him telling them his age, and in response they looked just as shocked as Fugo. What was so surprising about this? Narancia then exclaimed something obviously profane, very loudly in Italian and Bucciarati could be heard shouting some quick scolding from the next room. Narancia winced, quietly mumbling something to himself in response. After the two boys had gotten to their feet, Fugo turned his attention back to Giorno, who was now overwhelmingly confused at the entire situation. Mista and Naranica were staring at him now too. 

“Giorno, are you serious?” Fugo asked with an expression that could only be described as doubt and concern.

“...yes...why?” Giorno was genuinely lost at this point. Did they think he was lying? about his age? What was the problem here…?  Was he in trouble?

Fugo whipped his head back around to the boys again, only a look was exchanged though, no words. “Giorno, you just...look so young…” Fugo said tentatively.

Did he? He didn’t think he did, but then again when has he ever had any comparison. But since the other three had had several comparisons in their lives and had seen several sick, malnourished children in their time, they could tell that Giorno really didn't look like the average fifteen-year-old… to all of them, he looked to be only about twelve, thirteen at the most…  his skin was very pale, almost sickly, not a single blemish or freckle in sight. He was noticeably thin with visible cheekbones, and from what they had seen of his body he was extremely thin, with bony hands and wrists. He was shorter than your average fifteen-year-old, too. That only added to their initial assumption that he was a child, and not in fact a teenager… Giorno's hair was also somewhat of an anomaly to the three Italians. It wasn't like Fugo’s, whose hair was a fair blonde. It was golden, almost. Unkempt, very knotted and curly, in desperate need of brushing and a wash, but it held a striking rich colour that none of the others had ever seen before.

While Giorno sat there in a confused daze the other three mumbled to themselves in Italian, leaving him in the dark for now. 

“He looks like a kid… I thought he was like eleven or something” Mista muttered, resting his chin in his hand as he observed Giorno. Narancia nodded in response, leaning back.

“Yeah, and he's super pale… Fugo — ask him if he's literally ever gone outside.” Narancia suggested, looking at the blonde who rolled his eyes slightly, figuring this would be what most of his evening would be spent doing — translating for everybody while they tried to get some answers out of this kid. He turned back to Giorno, once more speaking in English so the boy could finally get an idea of what was going on. 

“We’re just surprised… you don't look fifteen, we all thought you were just a child or something. You’re extremely pale, have you ever actually gone outside? I’ve never seen someone that's…  living, as pale as you are” 

Giorno listened, and looking down at his own arms it then became apparent to him that he was in fact extremely pale in comparison to the likes of Narancia, and Bruno was also quite tan. Mista's skin was similar to what he had seen of Father Pucci and seemed to be deeper than olive or what would be considered ‘tan’ skin. He nodded a little to let Fugo know he did understand his question and lifted his head to respond. To their unmitigated surprise, Giorno shook his head gently. No. he had not. He literally had never gone outside in the sun before…

“I go outside… But only at night time, when my father allows it. I’m forbidden from being out in the daytime...It's dangerous, he says.” Giorno quietly explained, feeling rather awkward again that all the attention was on him. 

This baffled Fugo even more, but he just nodded in agreement for now. He didn’t want to let on to the boy that what he was saying made very little sense.“Alright. So where do you live then? Where is your ‘father’?” He inquired, genuinely wanting to know more. 

Giorno felt his heart skip a few beats when asked about his homeplace, finally, they were getting somewhere… he could tell them that he had to get home. 

“I live in the cathedral — I live with just my father on the top floor. I need to retur-” 

Before Giorno could continue, with what he considered to be the most important part, a clearly flabbergasted Fugo interrupted him by whipping around to speak to the others in Italian. Repeating what he had said to them, Narancia’s jaw practically hit the floor as he gawked at the pale boy sitting on the couch across from him. 

“YOU LIVE IN A CATHEDRAL?!”

This startled the life out of Giorno — he hadn’t been yelled at like that in a long, long time. The loud shriek caused him to flinch quite violently, ducking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. He eventually opened them after hearing Narancias rushed apology, about to respond with a ‘yes’ when the door opened. Bucciarati marched in with a concerned look on his face, a plate full of pasta in one hand and a fork in the other.

“Okay, what on earth is all the noise about?! Are you trying to give the poor kid a heart attack?” He reprimanded as he strutted across the room, towards the couch. He sat down beside the frightened boy and gently placed the plate into Giorno’s lap, putting the fork into the food for him. Giorno didn’t quite know what to do with his hands at this moment, so he just awkwardly placed them on the sides of the plate. Bruno raised his hand and brushed back the curls on the boy’s forehead, he held the back of his hand against his head for a moment and then relaxed, seemingly pleased with whatever he had discovered from that brief touch.

“Oh...Bucciarati..about that…” Mista spoke hesitantly; he didn’t want Bruno to give out again, even though he hadn’t necessarily been the one causing trouble. “He’s..uh..not really a kid...per se…” Mista was just taking forever at this point so Fugo cut in, as blunt as could be expected from the boy.

“He says he’s fifteen, Bucciarati.” Fugo elbowed Mista in the side. Bucciarati turned slowly to look at Giorno, who was staring eagerly at the plate of food in his lap, fully oblivious to the discussion going on about him. Bruno’s expression was unreadable at this point, it was always so hard to tell exactly what he was thinking. The others often wondered where he picked up this talent, and why. There was one person who could always read him, but he wasn’t here right now. Bruno seemed lost in thought for a moment as he stared at the boy’s profile. Giorno, again, was oblivious as ever to the man’s scrutiny. After what seemed like several minutes of silence, Bruno lifted his hand again. He reached forward and gently tucked a stray curl behind the pale boy's ear. This seemed to catch his attention finally as he didn’t flinch, but turned to meet the man’s gaze, slightly puzzled. “It's for you, you know” The man said with that pure, kind smile the boy was now well acquainted with. Giorno just blinked back at him, lost. “The food...I made it for you. You need to eat, Giorno.” 

Fugo parted his lips, about to translate for the boy, but the understanding expression on the pale boy's face told him he didn’t need him to. Giorno turned to the plate in front of him once more, keen. He had been eyeing it for a while, not fully sure whether or not he was permitted to eat it. The context suggested it was intended for him, but he really did not want to overstep his boundaries. Why were these people being so kind to him? What had he done except disrupt their day?

This Bruno man…  What was it about him that made Giorno want to cry? He never, in his entire life, imagined he could feel comfort like he did right now, outside of the cathedral walls. It was disorientating — The blind trust he felt in these strangers. It felt so inherently wrong to the boy, but so right at the same time. 

So, as he picked up the fork and brought a helping of pasta into his mouth, he couldn't help but feel unbelievably pathetic as his eyes began to sting as he chewed. He couldn’t help it when his lip began to wobble, he couldn’t help it when the ball that had formed in his throat became difficult to swallow and he certainly couldn’t help it when the first tear finally rolled down his cheek. The three other boys shifted awkwardly, very unsure what to do with the strange atmosphere that had developed in the room. Bruno, however, was as calm as ever. It was as if he expected this to happen, he always knew how to deal with these things. He tenderly placed his hand on the sniffling boy’s back and rubbed slow circles. The honest care with which this touch was given was almost too much for Giorno. He dropped his fork down and began to softly sob. Bruno reached forward with his other hand to move the plate off the boy’s lap, Mista moving to take it out of their way before he pulled him into a tight hug. With Giorno’s face now buried in Bucciarati’s chest, the man turned his head towards the three boys, still standing there staring like fools, and he gave them a look which they knew the meaning of — Privacy. So, they all got up and shuffled out of the room, quickly, Fugo quietly pulling the door shut behind them.

Giorno didn’t even notice that the others had left, but that still didn’t stop him from crying with no inhibitions. He sobbed into the kind man’s chest as he held him. It had been years since his father had hugged him like this. He never knew why he suddenly stopped, and oh how he had missed them. The embrace felt so nice, he wanted to curl up and stay here forever if he could. Why couldn’t he stop making a show of himself? He wasn’t supposed to even talk to strangers, never mind cry in their arms, in their house, far away from home. Where was he even? Father was going to absolutely kill him. Speaking of which, he still hadn’t gotten to tell these people that he needed to get home, and fast. He tried many times, but all had been in vain. God, why couldn’t anyone let him finish a sentence here. No. Why can’t he just speak up? It's not their fault they have to poke and prod him to get anything out of him. Why was he being such a burden to everyone? Those boys? This kind man? His Father? Oh God, his father. His stomach turned to lead every time he thought of what his father must be thinking right now...

The man’s arms tightened around Giorno. He brought one hand up to the back of the boy's head and was now softly caressing him and running his fingers through his hair, as best as he could with the mess of tangles that it was. The boy looked and felt so much more fragile without his huge cloak on. Bruno could wrap the entire boy in an embrace with only one arm if he needed to. His bony shoulders still shook, but Bruno could tell he was starting to calm. Not a word was spoken between the two, there was no need for any. Both had a silent, mutual understanding that right now this fragile, trembling boy needed nothing more than a hug, and a shoulder to cry on.

Hearing that this boy was fifteen made Bruno’s heart sink. He, like the others, had assumed him to be prepubescent maybe, thirteen at the most. He just looked so delicate and young. His eyes still had that innocent childlike glow to them that people always seem to lose over time. It was a look of wonder and naivete; and through the boy’s tears and worry, Bruno could still see that shine. Under normal circumstances, one would think it a good thing that someone one his age still had that radiance; but in this case, Bruno could only find himself wondering: what had this boy been robbed of? Yes, growing up meant experiencing hardships and pain that always stay with you, but it also meant so much more. It meant overcoming adversities, finding your people, seeing what the world has to offer, making memories together. It meant living.

Oh. Bruno finally realised.

This boy hadn’t lived yet.

Bruno was pulled from his thoughts, and the boy from his sniffling, as they both looked towards the door. The house rattled slightly as there was a loud bang from somewhere in the kitchen. Bruno felt the boy’s shoulders tense up in his arms, but he gave him a reassuring squeeze and pulled him out of his chest so he could speak to him, eye to eye. Trying to keep it in as simple Italian as possible, he explained.

“Don’t worry, It’s just the front door.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling slightly as he finished his explanation “Someone must be home.”

Giorno’s body relaxed as he seemed to have realised there was no cause for panic. It warmed Bruno’s heart to know that this boy trusted him so much, so quickly. It certainly made things a lot easier for the man too. If he had to spend days trying to get this boy to trust him, it might be too late to give him the help he needs. 

The boy looked up at Bruno with wet, puffy eyes. He was truly adorable, Bruno couldn’t lie. He took the edge of his sleeve and reached to wipe the boy’s runny nose, he accepted it graciously. Bruno glanced past him, to the edge of the couch where Mista had set the plate from earlier and saw that it was still slightly steaming. Good enough. He reached forward and took the plate and fork again, setting them back in the boy’s lap. He hadn’t even made a dint in it before he broke down. It would be a shame to waste it and Bruno could tell that after that long needed cathartic cry, the boy was bound to be hungry again. 

He watched as Giorno picked up the fork and shovelled a massive helping of pasta into his mouth. He tried to suppress a laugh as the boy's cheeks puffed out as he chewed. He was still sniffling as he shoved more pasta into his mouth… This kid.

With Bruno and the boy preoccupied with each other, neither of them heard the commotion beginning in the kitchen. There was some sort of discussion or maybe argument going on between all of the people in there. There were certainly more voices than before. After a few bouts of movement and scuffling, and a couple of squeals from Narancia, as per usual and a long-winded string of muffled explanations from what sounded like Mista, the voices started to move closer to the room with Bucciarati and the boy, who was now almost finished devouring his meal. 

The click of hard heels on tile was very different to what would have been expected from the previous footwear of the boys. This made Giorno look up from his plate quickly, the approaching sound was visibly startling him. Bruno rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder, yet again to reassure him nothing was going to happen. This quickly felt like a lie when the voices that were now close outside the door, still muffled, raised in volume. Mista was clearly trying to stifle the unwanted escalation, going by the tone of his voice. God, what are they after making a mess of now, Bruno wondered to himself with a sigh. He pulled Giorno close to him as it was clear they were about to get very rowdy company. Giorno quickly set the plate down beside him, concerned and huddled close to Bruno. He copied Bruno in looking expectantly at the door as the voices were now right outside. 

“...We had no idea! I swear-” The conversation became more intelligible, the closer they got. Bruno could just start to make out what they were rambling about.

“That doesn’t matter, kid! You still-” This new, deeper voice, very obviously unsettled Giorno as he clung closer to Bruno’s shirt. Bruno knew this voice well, but he can’t say he wasn’t surprised to hear it so riled up. Now even he was mildly concerned. Mista’s voice rose just as the wooden boards right outside the door creaked.

“NONONO DON’T-”

The door swung open suddenly.

The boy jumped and grabbed Bruno’s arm. A man, in black clothing, with long silver hair stood tall in the door frame, brow furrowed. Bruno looked up at him, concerned.

“..Abba-”

“Bruno.” The new man interrupted “That boy. The attic. Bruno… I know who that boy is.”  

Chapter Text

Naples’ cathedral bells rang out across the city at the crack of dawn. A shifting lump beneath rough sheets groaned loudly, burying his head deeper into his pillow as the sun began to peek in through a window. This semi-conscious individual was the unceremonious Leone Abbacchio, in all his disgruntled glory, silently cursing the singing bells. They were a deafeningly loud wakeup call when you resided a matter of feet away from the bell towers. 

Leone sat up in his bed with as much grace as a manatee on land. He pushed his long hair out of his face and yawned, stretching his arms to the ceiling. He wearily looked around his room, letting out a heavy sigh as he lugged himself out of bed. The young man currently resided in the royal guards’ private living quarters, a decent enough place to be, if he was honest. He was lucky to be assigned one of the individual rooms this year, though he can’t say he appreciated any single metre where he was closer to those godforsaken bells. He stayed here the nights before he was on duty, which was most of them. He needed to be ready for duty sometimes even before dawn broke, depending on the church's calendar. He couldn’t realistically make it to his shifts on time if he was staying at the complete other end of the city each night — he’s tried. As much as he wishes he could spend every one of his nights at Bruno’s (which was a lot), his duties simply wouldn’t allow it.

The guards’ quarters were located to the east wing of the cathedrals grounds, beyond the adjoining parsonage. Taking a towel and a bar of soap, Leone trudged towards the communal showers, needing to wash himself up before a day of work, dealing with pilgrims and the like. There was a service this afternoon as well according to the schedule, and it would be busy at that time. He quietly greeted some guards coming from the night shift, the men mumbling to each other about some incident that happened during the night. He shrugged it off, entering the showers, setting himself up by a basin of water. 

He began to wash himself but not long after he noticed two of his colleagues — Tiziano and Squalo entered the room, giving them a subtle nod that would suffice as a good morning. There was relative silence for most of their wash, the occasional unintelligible quiet interactions between the two others; though as Abbacchio began to dry off, Tiziano spoke, now audible as the splashing water had stopped.

“Y’know about those foreigners who live in the attic right? Yeah well, I kind of overheard a couple of guys from the night shift and well... There's a rumour that the young one was taken last night... I don’t know how true it is though — You didn’t hear it from me.”

Leone looked over, raising an eyebrow. The still groggy man listening to the duo's conversation about the event. Not even a cold bath could successfully wake him up. He didn't interject into their conversation, just listened quietly as he accessed his locker nearby, beginning to change into his uniform.

“Seriously? I wonder who would take them… It's a boy, right? Do you think he's gonna be sold off or something? ”

“Who knows. I doubt he’ll last too long though — He's probably never even been out on his own… I’ve never actually seen him, have you?… Apparently, the Archbishop brings him meals during the day...” 

Tiziano replied, opening his own locker to change now. 

Leone had known about ‘the vagrants in the attic’ ever since he came to live in the cathedral at the age of eleven. In the many years since arriving, he had heard vague stories from older kids and cadets about some mystery child who lived in the west attic of the cathedral, with his father, claiming sanctuary. Everybody that worked there, and every member of the clergy knew rumours of the boy and his guardian, but nobody actually knew them. No one he knew of had ever laid eyes on either of them. Apparently, the high ranking night shift guards see the boy’s father very occasionally, but they are under strict orders to never engage with him. The old attic remained forbidden to all except Archbishop Pucci. After all, he was the one who granted them sanctuary there in the first place.

Quietly dismissing the gossip Abbacchio fastened his sheath around his waist, doing one final check in the mirror before heading out through the sacristy. Thankfully now a little more awake than earlier, he signed himself into the registry book for his hours of duty and made his way out to the grand entrance to the building. That’s where he would remain posted for the day. As he passed through the nave of the cathedral, he always found himself half-heartedly glancing at the much smaller, older door to at the other side of the apse. He knew what lay beyond that door, everyone did, but with it being locked almost 24/7, entry was impossible unless you had the key and the only one with said key was the Archbishop — presumably, the mystery vagrants beyond too.

He exited the building eventually, greeted the previously posted guard and relieved him of his duty. Leone rubbed his eyes as he straightened up, settling in for a long, unimaginably boring day of standing here in the same spot, constantly on watch for any disturbances or suspicious activity. He often wondered to himself when he had an abundance of time to get lost in his thoughts on these uninteresting days — why on earth did he spend so much of his time guarding something he cared so little about? Sometimes he couldn't really think of a valid answer… But the pay was decent, and provided him with a pretty easy, stable lifestyle. He finished this shift at 2pm today, so he had the rest of the day to himself to spend however he wanted. It wasn't all that bad, in the grand scheme of things then. And today, Bruno would be coming to meet him for lunch, like he did most days. That always made the long shift a little more tolerable. Bruno made everything more tolerable.

The hours passed by painfully slow as usual, no disturbances to report, although sometimes he wished at least something interesting would happen. Then, about an hour before the man was supposed to be relieved for a short break, a boy he very quickly recognised as Guido — the giveaway feature was his garish red bandana that he insisted on wearing every single day, and wasn't washed nearly enough as it should be — came barrelling through the square. But seeing the energetic guy run up to him holding a note, this close to his lunch wasn't something he exactly wanted to see. He only wanted to see Bruno. He scowled at the younger man, Mista instinctively raising his hands in defence. 

“Don't shoot the messenger — Narancia is fine, Bruno too. But something else came up, Bruno can't come to you today. Here-” 

With that a breathless Mista handed Abbacchio the note he had been holding, which the older took with a cautious look. “His father?”  

“-He’s fine too, I swear. Just read the note, dumbass” Mista grumbled, planting his butt down on one of the cathedral steps. While unfolding the piece of paper, it became instantly apparent to Leone that this had not been written by Bruno. Although he wasn’t of the higher class, the ravenette had the most extraordinary handwriting. This, however… Left much to be desired.

“Did you write this? It looks like shit. Is it supposed to be legible?” He teased Mista, who just shot him a fed-up glare.

Abbacchio huffed in response, scanning over the writing, having to take extra time to decipher some of the words in this atrocious handwriting. The note was signed with Bruno though, so he must have approved of it at least. 

“He told me to write it as if it was him — I didn’t know you were gonna be out here so I thought I’d just slip it under your door or something, jeez…” Mista groaned. Abbachio threw him an incredulous look and slowly turned his attention back to the letter.

The boys brought me a kid today, he doesn’t seem well.

I’m going to take him back to my place and see what we can do. I sent Nar to get him something at the apothecary.

Please come back to mine when you are finished with your day. - Bruno

“A kid, huh…” The man muttered thoughtfully under his breath, once he had finished reading. Bruno’s heart was far too good sometimes, Leone too often feared that he was going to wear himself out one of these days. He just did so much for others. 

Kids. They certainly had their fill of them in their lives, Leone thought. He wondered if this new kid would be another one of those cases; He really hoped not. For the past few years, Bruno, in Abbacchio’s eyes, had essentially been single-handedly raising the rough kids of the city’s lower district. Their actual parents were just far too preoccupied to do it themselves apparently. Abbacchio couldn’t tell if it was just the ravenette’s ultimate passion or that he felt he was obligated to by some unrelenting higher power. The line had blurred too much to know by now. Abbachio used to try and help Bruno whenever he could, but he had never possessed that effortless nurturing aura that the ravenette always had.

 The kids of the slums didn’t really like Abbacchio anyway, and he understood that. Who could really blame them? They saw a man wearing the uniform of an establishment that represents everything they detest, everything corrupt and everything that has betrayed them and their people. He wouldn’t scorn when a few dirty kids would spit at him. He understood. He would just accept it. His circumstances weren’t simple, and the words always came out hollow anyway. Just far too much effort to explain that he was one of them too — they weren't going to listen to him. Let them hate and jeer. If it keeps them from causing trouble elsewhere, what is the harm?

He didn’t really have his family. So now he would much rather die slowly than admit to the others that he considered them as such. He had Bruno...he can’t (or refuses to) remember a time when he didn’t. Then there’s Narancia, that imp, he practically imprinted on Bruno the very first time they found each other. Sometimes Leone worried if Bruno babied him too much, after all, he was almost an adult — which is incredibly hard to believe, but he does have his issues. There’s also the rascal with his butt planted beside Leone at that very moment, Guido. Leone had actually been the one to introduce him to Bruno, when they were all much younger and fresher than they are now. Yet again, he would rather be stabbed in the foot with his very own dagger than admit this, but he was obnoxiously fond of that boy. They had both known each other for so long at this stage that it really was hard to believe they weren't actually family. Leone supposed he should probably stop thinking of Guido as a boy now, He’s a couple of months older than Narancia after all… That meant he was a young man. Scary.

Then, there’s Pannacotta Fugo. From Leone’s perspective, he sort of just appeared one day. As far as he knew, the kid had a nice home, a stellar education and a very promising future; so in truth, Leone had absolutely no idea why he hung around with them, but Bruno seemed to know why. Leone had never felt the need to pry about it. If it was something he needed to know, Bruno would have told him by now. And if Bruno trusted Fugo, so would he. He could never find it in himself to disagree with the ravenette. Fugo seemed like a good kid — for the most part. He did have a few behavioural quirks and he was a bit full of himself at times but that is to be expected with his upbringing. He got along exceptionally well with the other two and that's all Leone could ask for, really.

Now this aforementioned mystery child. Leone folded the note slowly and sighed while doing so. Was this going to just be a passing case? They had many of those. Injured or lost kids from the ghetto who just needed a place to stay for the night, or a meal in their tummy. Bruno had an incredibly hard time turning away kids in need, his conscience ate at him every time. It occasionally led to his unyielding kindness being taken advantage of. Leone had to intercept a few times in the past where he felt things weren’t going to end well, it may have resulted in an argument or two. Bruno was stubborn and was never one to give up, but to Leone, as long as Bruno and the boys were okay in the end, he didn’t mind an ache in his chest for a few days. But now, this kid.

“s’He injured?” The man asked finally.

“Huh?” Mista had zoned out, drawing shapes with his finger on the dusty steps, assuming it was just taking Abbacchio a lifetime to decipher his illegible script.

“The kid.” Abbacchio clarified.

“Oh, I dunno actually. ‘Think he spent the night in the cold, not sure though. Bucciarati said he looked sick so he’s gonna let him rest at his place...” The boy lifted his gaze from his artwork on the ground to meet Abbacchio’s, whose eyes had widened in surprise at Mista’s response.

“Wait, sick? How sick? And Bruno’s just going to bring him home with him? What if he’s got somethi-” Dread hit the guard for the briefest of moments, before Mista intercepted him, stopping the rising panic right in its tracks.

“Woooaaah, relax! It’s not like that!  Look I know you love him and all, but you really gotta put more faith in him” Abbacchio felt the tips of his ears turn red in embarrassment, shooting Mista a dead cold glare as if to remind him where they were. Mista raised his hands defensively as he continued “He’s not an idiot, he knows what he’s doing!”

Abbacchio copped that little remark earlier and was suddenly very grateful for the long hair falling over his ears. This brat…

“Hey. What do you me-” Abbacchio started to demand before the boy interrupted him again. He was on thin ice now.

“Look at Narancia! When has Bruno not known what to do when he gets bad again? Relax, man. You worry about him too much...”

Abbacchio just sighed in defeat. He didn’t have a response and he was vexed now. He really just didn’t feel like arguing with the brat and he was already in a worse mood anyway, since he would now be spending lunch alone. He just rolled his shoulders and spoke; he would be relieved for his break any minute now.

“How much longer are you planning on sitting there?”

“Oh, yeah… I should probably head back.” Mista hoisted himself up and arched his back into a stretch “Look, anyways, you get the point. Come to Bucciarati’s this evening. Meet this kid for yourself, I guess…” and with that, Mista hopped down the steps and began to jog away into the crowd in the square. Before he was gone too far, Abbacchio snapped himself from his thoughts again, crumpling the letter slightly that still remained in his fist.

“HEY!” 

Abbacchio hollered, the boy in the crowd whipped his head back around to the cathedral, still jogging though.

“...THANKS KID.”

Mista threw up a wave and a goofy grin from the square, before turning around and gradually disappearing from sight. Leone watched him until then. Once he had vanished Leone then turned his attention back to the expanse of the crowd, he was supposed to be surveilling after all. But of course, like always, there was never anything out of the ordinary. His job always consisted of standing around, trying not to fall asleep and trying to communicate with the odd pilgrim who he very rarely shared the same language with. He had a decent knowledge of English, but much less French. He didn’t really pay attention in training, but besides that minor setback, it was mostly up to hand gestures and body language. 

Shortly after Mista’s departure, Abbacchio was let off for his short 15 minute break. Instead of heading towards the usual spot he shared with Bruno, the man made his way back through the cathedral, to the shared quarters behind the parsonage where they served meals throughout the day. It was almost like a canteen but a lot smaller, it would never need to house too many people at once. Also on occasion, there were a few cadets from the training school who would eat there too when they were on their apprenticeship. 

When Leone made his way into the dining hall, there were actually three of those teenage cadets sitting together at a table, already eating. Leone didn’t bother to acknowledge them, and he just went straight to the kitchenette and fetched himself a bowl of whatever soup they were serving today. The cooks had already left at that point. He made his way over to one of the empty tables at the other side of the dining area and minded his own business, which was more difficult than he expected. What were those kids so rowdy about? He tried not to eavesdrop and instead focus on his mediocre soup, but he eventually gave up. From what they were ranting about, the ‘attic boy’, which he didn't even think they would have known about at their rank, was causing a lot more trouble than Leone had initially expected. Leone wasn’t one for rumours, but he had to admit what those boys were saying was really capturing his attention. Apparently, there was talk among the higher ranks that they will be sending an unpaid incognito squad out at nightfall to search for the boy. Why hadn’t Leone heard of this yet? If he hadn’t yet been officially informed it probably wasn’t true…. He hoped. Knowing his status, he would probably be one of those unfortunately selected… and on the night he was going to spend at Bruno’s. What a pain. If he finds that kid or the ones who took him, he’s really going to teach them a lesson. Nothing had caused this much trouble among staff and clergy in years.

The cadets had gathered up and left a few minutes before Leone, presumably to get back to their post on time. They were normally under much stricter supervision by their superiors. Leone really did not miss those days. He took his time finishing his lunch and feeling sorry for himself over the general lack of Bruno that prevailed through his break. Once finished he begrudgingly went back to his station.

The hours passed as they always did. Pilgrims and confused foreigners looking for directions, nothing to report. When the evening came, a younger guard came to relieve him for the night and Leone made his way back to his dorm to change out of his suffocating uniform. All the armour and plates that covered his chest felt so heavy towards the latter end of the day. He never got used to the weight of them, even after all these years. Once changed he packed up some of his things. Leone realised for a moment that he never did hear any follow up on those rumours from lunch. Maybe they were just that after all, rumours. He trudged down the winding staircase from the guards’ quarters and made his way to the nave of the cathedral. Even though there was an exit by the guard’s quarters, Leone still liked to take the detour through the main body of the cathedral. There were never any services going on at that time, and the sun was always low and hit the stained glass just right at that hour. He entered the main body and his steps echoed dramatically as he walked around the apse to the centre aisle. The place was completely empty. How strange. 

Just as Leone was halfway down the pews, he heard and echoed creak from behind him, near the altar. He didn’t stop walking but just turned his head to check. It was the attic door. And coming from it was none other than the archbishop of the entire cathedral, Fr. Pucci. The first thing Leone noticed was how he was practically creeping away from the door. He obviously didn’t realise there was anyone else in the main body. Also, why did he look so shaken? The archbishop was a man who could effortlessly command the entire Clergy and Royal Guard to attention, so why in that moment did he look so small. Leone felt the need to get out of there fast, it clearly wasn’t his business. He hurried his way to the main entrance and took the smaller wooden door to the side. A gust of warm wind hit him and as he looked up, the sky was a beautiful orange. He stepped down the dusty steps right before he heard his name being called from behind. 

“Sgt. Abbacchio!”

He stopped in his tracks. The footsteps approached him down the steps. So, he turned around to meet their gaze. Of course, it was his superior officer, because why would he get off so lucky.

“Sgt. Abbacchio. Here-” He handed him a white envelope. “Your orders, directly from the archbishop himself.”

Leone looked down at the envelope he was now holding with disdain. It was no surprise what was in it. When he looked back up, his superior was already returning to the cathedral.

“Sir, I-” Leone called after him, but he didn’t turn, just shut the entrance behind him.

Great.

A long and silent walk to Bruno’s wasn’t exactly what the doctor ordered but it did help Leone get his thoughts in check. The letter was exactly what he had predicted — he had to be back at the cathedral before midnight tonight for his briefing. God, what a pain. He honestly hoped this stupid kid had been actually kidnapped or something because if it was a case where the brat just ran away, he was going to see stars if Leone found him. Not only was he losing his already limited free time with Bruno and the boys, there was also this other kid he would have to put up with this evening. When he arrived at Bruno’s he had no doubt it was going to be all trouble about him. Fucking kids. Leone had had enough of them.

He finally arrived at the path to Bruno’s cottage. It was really exactly what you would expect from a homesick fisherman’s son. Potted plants which you could only find naturally along the coast of Italy, cracking plaster that the man was far too busy to fix, it didn’t seem to bother him anyway; and sloppy blue shutters that Narancia had insisted on helping paint. Leone’s boots crunched in the gravel as he made his way to the door. Bruno always told him, he never needed to knock — it was too formal — so Leone didn’t, and he made his way inside. He shut the door behind him, accidentally loud, he had forgotten there was apparently a sick child being nursed somewhere in the house. When he turned around, he found the three boys sprawled out across the kitchen. Mista, sitting on a pulled out mismatched dining chair, his legs spread very gracelessly. Naranica, perched where he very clearly shouldn’t be, on the counter ledge, cheeks stuffed with whatever baked goods he had found in the cupboard. Fugo, with his back turned from the others, opening a shutter. All heads turned towards the bang with a wince.

Abbacchio looked to everyone, before glancing back to the door that had grabbed everyone's attention upon his entry. He shrugged it off, not bothering to apologise. “Where's Bruno?” He opened with, just really wanting to see the man after his shit day. The letter he had received had only worsened it, and he needed to tell Bruno about it anyway, maybe receive some moral support? A kiss would be nice as well… However, as Abbacchio headed towards the door leading to the living room where they often all sat together, Mista stepped in front of him, intercepting and waving his hands stupidly, giving him a cheesy, clearly cautious smile. It was very obvious to tell when Leone was in a bad mood, so they really had to be careful as to not set him off. They did not need another upheaval today. 

“Hey, hey wait… he’s in there with Giorno — that's the kids name. You probably shouldn’t go in there… He got pretty upset so Bruno was comforting him.” He explained, looking over to Fugo who now piped up, folding his arms and leaning against the counter. 

“He isn't a kid, Mista. He’s fifteen, nearly the same age as us” Fugo reminded the other, who just nodded quickly. Abbacchio frowned, his confusion only growing. Turning back to Mista who started to fidget a little under the man's glare. 

“You told me he was a child, the note said a sick child” Abbacchio pressed, to which Mista’s voice went all pitchy, clearly trying his best to control the situation. His voice always raised under pressure.

“Weeeeellll, we all thought he was a kid at the start… He looks like he's only twelve, but then he told us he’s fifteen! He can’t really speak Italian so we had to wait for Fugo to arrive so we could speak with him...” 

Mista explained, glancing quickly over to the blonde who just hummed in response, watching Leone as he worked things out in his head. The older man sighed heavily and moved over to lean his back against the counter, absentmindedly smacking a biscuit from Narancia’s hand, taking the jar and putting it back in the cupboard. This only earned him a disappointed squeal from Narancia, who had been very much trying to subtly enjoy his stolen treat. Abbacchio just ignored the teens' whines, looking back to the bandana-wearing rascal who was twisting on the balls of his feet as he explained the situation.

“Tell me more.” He pried.

“Ok, well… Narancia and I found him early this morning. Turns out he had been out all night and he was like super terrified of everything, it took us like twenty minutes alone to get him to come with us. We eventually brought him to Bruno at the fountain and he kind of passed out there? I dunno, it was weird. That's when I was sent with the note to you. He was asleep for ages and only woke up about an hour ago.” Mista briefly explained the situation to Leone, and then Narancia chimed in.

“Oh! And he told us he lives in a cathedral.” He added. That made Abbacchio’s stomach drop. Without moving his body, he panned his eyes over to give Narancia a glare capable of burning a hole through the teens skin. 

“… He what?” 

Narancia’s eyes widened when he saw Abbacchio’s mixture of shock/confusion/anger, instantly jumping down from the counter and nodding hastily. He had just so happened to forget that Abbacchio literally worked at said cathedral…  “Y-yeah! He told us he lives in the attic of a cathedral or something? Super weird place to live if you ask m-” 

Before Narancia could finish speaking, Leone pushed himself up from where he had been leaning against the counter and started powering towards the door. Mista muttered a quiet ‘shit’ under his breath, before rushing to try and stop the guard. But Abbacchio was ahead of him, hand already on the doorknob. 

“NONONO DON’T-”

Ignoring Mista, Abbacchio swung the door open quickly, staring at Bruno who was sitting on the couch. Then, his eyes panned down to the terrified looking blond boy beside him. That damn kid… He was the fucking kid from the attic. The reason the staff were up in chaos, and he was not going to be allowed to spend his night with his Bruno, was sitting right in front of him, found. What the fuck. 

Without taking his eyes off Giorno He quietly greeted Bruno with a brief exchange of names, his brows furrowed deeply as he tried to compose himself. He was furious right now.

 “That boy. The attic. Bruno… I know who that boy is.”   

“You- … what?” Bruno’s face was just full of utter confusion. The brat was trembling.

“The cathedral, Bruno. Of course I know the brat. He’s basically a fucking urban legend back there-”

“Leone!” Bruno scolded half-heartedly but then his face became one of more concern while he was still rubbing the boy’s shoulder. “What do you mean by that… and why on earth are you so heated!?”

Great. Bruno was mad at him now, but he couldn’t blame him. He needed to explain himself — Quickly.

“Look. Bruno, I don’t think you understand.” He stepped into the room fully, the small boy flinched. “That boy. The entire clergy and Guard is gonna cause a riot looking for him-” 

He suddenly remembered the letter in his back pocket. He reached in and grabbed it. “Here! Orders from the Archbishop for me to be part of the search party for him tonight!” He stomped across the room and handed the letter to him. Bruno lifted his arm from the boy’s shoulder to take hold of the letter with both hands. This brat was literally vibrating with fear because of Leone’s threatening proximity. The audacity. While Bruno read the letter, Leone turned his attention towards the boy. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused!?”. Mista tried to get Abbacchio’s attention from the doorway, all of the boys were now eavesdropping on this confrontation, not so subtly “Abbacchio, he can’t-”

“Everyone thought you were fucking kidnapped; did you know that!?”

The boy was terrified. Of course, Mista was attempting to let Leone know that he probably couldn’t understand him when he talked so fast, but whether Abbacchio remembered the boy’s language barrier or not, it was clear he didn’t care either way. Abbacchio continued his berating.

“Turns out you just ran away!? for God’s sake, you better-”

“Abbacchio.”

Bruno dropped the letter to his lap and whipped his head up at the man. His eyes were fiery with disappointment. Leone had let his temper take over again, hadn’t he? Shit. He never wanted to see that expression coming from Bruno, especially when directed towards him.

He looked back to the boy he had just been taking all of his frustration out on. Wow, he really looked pitiful. He was gaping back up at him, trembling, his big eyes were so wet and wide, Leone was surprised a tear hadn’t fallen yet. Now that he had gotten a good look at the boy, the others were right. He did look exceptionally young for his age. Leone wondered if that was just genetics or malnutrition…. Wow, he really looked like a monster now. This Giorno kid had been living over Abbacchio’s head for years. Who knows what he’s been going through all this time? Why did Abbacchio have to be so inconsiderate? He hated himself sometimes, this is the reason he should keep things to himself.

He continued to just stare at Giorno, taking him all in. He was dirty, Filthy actually. Bruno and the boys did say he was sick too, and that he had collapsed or something? This kid….

Bruno put his arm back around the boy and resumed rubbing his shoulder in a gentle, reassuring manner. Leone saw a visible tension fall from the boy's form at the touch. Leone looked over to Bruno who could probably sense his eyes on him as he then returned the look. Leone didn’t have anything to say. Or rather, he couldn’t say anything. Apologies were difficult. He didn’t like them, so he didn’t give them, But Bruno knew that at this stage. Abbacchio was stubborn as all hell, but he wasn’t a bad guy. The look in his eyes showed the ravenette that he really was sorry and then without a single word exchanged, Bruno smiled up at him, warmly. Beautifully. God everything about that man was beautiful. 

Abbacchio knew he had to make amends. And with this kid ogling up at him, not trembling anymore, just sniffling, Abbacchio knew he had to help him. Wait. If only the kid would stop looking up at him like that. His wet eyes could have bore sorrowful holes through Abbacchio’s heart if he let it continue. What was this? He was furious with the brat mere seconds ago and now he just wanted to comfort him and make him stop crying. Gross. Leone Abbacchio didn’t like brats. He didn’t. So then, what was it about this one?

No. He didn’t like brats. But this one just happened to be dirty and sick, and he happened to be in the position where he felt like he owed some gross apology to the kid. So, ever the master of words and feelings, Leone Abbacchio spoke.

“You’re filthy. We need to get you washed up.”

Chapter Text

“You’re filthy. We need to get you washed up.”

Giorno, teary-eyed and shaken, just stared up at this man, visibly dazed. He assumed he had just been reprimanded by the strange man (who he must say, looked weirdly familiar, though he couldn't place him), though now, the man seemed to have changed his tune slightly. It looked like Bruno had scolded him for his confrontation, to which Giorno was entirely grateful. This silver haired man, who Giorno gathered, went by the name ‘Abbacchio’ was now awkwardly standing there, shifting his weight and looking expectantly at Bruno who still had a protective arm around the boy. Abbacchio received a reassuring smile from the man, and then turned when Fugo spoke to him in English — It was always such a relief to Giorno when he could actually be in on what they were discussing…

“Abbacchio, you have to talk to him in English. We already told you he barely understands Italian”. 

The boy said matter of factly, scowling at him. Abbacchio grunted in response, clearing his throat, and turning back to Giorno. He didn't meet his eyes this time, somehow he seemed cautious of him now. The boy had only just stopped sniffling, after all. Giorno looked back at him though, feeling secure enough in Bruno’s arms. He felt safe with him, with this group of people, even in spite of the most recent addition…

“Oh shit, yeah — uh… I said you're filthy, I'm going to help clean you up. Mista, go get a hot bath ready” The larger man spoke, Mista mumbled something under his breath before disappearing. Giorno just sat there as things went on around him. He tensed up a little when Abbacchio moved to take his arm. In response to him reaching out, Giorno retracted his arm away from him quickly. Even if the man was a well trusted figure by every other person in the room, he had yet to give Giorno reason to feel safe around him. Bruno sighed, scowling at the man who pulled his arm back in annoyance as he saw Giorno refuse. They had a short exchange in Italian while Giorno just watched them. 

“You’ve scared him, you oaf, of course he's not going to want to go with you now. Tell him I'll come too, I think he would be happier then” He suggested to Abbacchio, who frowned and just nodded in response. 

“Uh… Will you come with me if Bruno comes too? We’ll get you some different clothes too… You look terrible” He stated without much remorse, but his question still stood. Giorno looked down for a moment, then to Bruno before nodding softly, sitting up slightly and trying to act a little more confident in himself. A wash would be nice… Giorno then, in his usual shaky voice, replied.

“ … Yes.”

“Good. Let's go then” Abbacchio turned, and promptly left the room to head towards the bath. It was nice that another person there spoke English. Giorno definitely recognised him from somewhere, but where would he have seen anybody like that? The man knew him, though… could he be from home? Were they looking for him? Suddenly he didn’t like the way his heart sank at the prospect of people out there looking for him. That was what he wanted wasn’t it? To go home to his father. Maybe it was just the thought of a warm bath that was preoccupying his thoughts. That must be it. It had been so long since he had had a wash anyways, never mind a bath. Giorno had never even seen a real bathtub before, the anticipation of the whole event made him giddy.

Giorno rose to his feet and sheepishly made his way out of the room, Bruno following close behind. The area just outside where he had been was a bright and spacious kitchen; the low evening sun was shining through one of the open shutters, illuminating the space with a gentle golden hue. He looked to his left and saw both Fugo and Narancia sitting together and at a round wooden table, the latter giggling over something. All of the chairs around the table were mismatched and worn but looked rather comfortable. The entire area, similar to the room he was just in, had that exact same homely and comfortable feel to it. Each surface in the cottage seemed to be cluttered with knick-knacks and small trinkets, but not to the point where it felt messy, just loved and lived in. Everything was warm and airy. The boy thought it humorous that he could feel so utterly at home and secure in a place that was the polar opposite to his bare, stuffy real home in the attic. Giorno had always thought he didn’t like change.

Maybe, he just hadn’t experienced the right changes yet.

The muffled voice of the silver haired man called him from an open door, adjacent from the one he just exited. “Kid.”  Two doors down, along the same wall, a door to what seemed to be a bedroom lay open and Giorno, when beckoned, began to walk towards it, acknowledging Fugo and Narancia, who looked up at him from the table, with a soft nod. Once he stepped into the next room, he saw Abbacchio rifling through a chest of drawers at the end of the cozy-looking bedroom.

“C’mere” he waved his hand, gesturing for Giorno to come closer. The boy obliged and upon closer inspection, Abbacchio was looking through a drawer of clothes, nothing seemed to be what he was looking for though. Bruno appeared in the doorway soon after. He noticed something, then began to rant quickly in Italian, walking closer to the pair.

“Hey, wait, Leone — those are my winter clothes, you’re not going to find anything in there… Look, here —” he reached over the man and swung open a large cabinet, stuffed with a pile of colourful fabrics “— I might have just what we nee-… aha!” 

He pulled out something from the pile with a careful tug “Perfect! I didn’t think I still had these…” He handed them over to Abbacchio, who unfolded them to inspect the man’s findings. A light blue shirt and matching shorts, they were the same thin, poplin material. It was now clear that it was an old set of pyjamas, clearly not belonging to the ravenette though, they were meant for someone much smaller. “They were Narancia’s, from a while ago… They might be a bit big on Giorno right now, but it will do for one night, don’t you think?”

Abbacchio gave an affirmative hum while he refolded the pyjamas and lay them over his forearm. 

“Bath’s good n’ hot!” Giorno whipped his head around to see Mista appearing from another door inside the bedroom. An ensuite perhaps? Everything was happening very fast and before he knew it there was a conversation in Italian happening over his head while Bruno’s hands were on his shoulders, leading him to the bathroom door which Mista just came from.

“Leone, grab some fresh towels, they should be at the top of the hamper.” Bruno requested as the three of them piled into the steamy room. “I know…” Abbacchio responded, complying. Bruno pulled back a thin curtain to reveal the source of heat in the small, tiled room: a full, hot bath that already had Giorno longing for it. His muscles ached and his skin felt sore, nothing looked more appealing right now than that tub. Leone plopped the pyjamas and some folded towels in a neat stack, on a wooden stool by the bath and reached across the tub to grab a bar of soap. “Here kid-” he pressed the bar into Giorno’s palm “Use this. There’s a rag in the tub. Scrub the dirt off with it. Don’t worry about draining the water.” 

Giorno looked to the man as he started towards the door, Bruno was still eyeing the boy with concern. “Giorno. Are you sur-... Are you okay?” Abbacchio sighed from the doorway at Bucciarati’s hesitation “Bruno, he’s not five. I’m sure he can manage a bath by himself.” He directed the most subtle of smiles towards the ravenette that Giorno had to blink twice to be sure he hadn’t just imagined it. “Come on. We should give him some privacy.” Bruno clicked his tongue, defeated “You’re right.” He turned to Giorno once more, speaking slowly again “If you need anything, we will be right outside, just call… Don’t be shy.” and with one last kind smile from the man, they left with a click of the door, and Giorno was alone. 

He just stood there staring at the tub for a moment, unsure about how to go about it. He heard muffled chatting begin in the kitchen and a wave of calmness came over him; he finally had a moment to himself. The tiles were already wet with the steam and Giorno thought it best to hop in before the temperature dropped. He placed the soap by the bath and as he reached down to his feet, only then did he realise his boots had already been removed. He didn’t even notice and now was wondering where they might be. Moving past that, he undressed himself and before he felt too vulnerable, hopped behind the curtain. There wasn’t much room between the edge of the tub and the curtain, so Giorno found himself on his tippy-toes, hesitant to step into the bath. This had to be some kind of milestone for people, right? Their very first bath. While most people normally crossed that off the list in infancy, here Giorno was, at fifteen years of age, having known nothing other than cold buckets and rags his entire life. What a luxury this was. The boy had no way of knowing what he had done to deserve it, all of this unconditional kindness was baffling to him.

Without further ado, the boy lifted one leg over the edge of the tub and dipped his toes in. It was hot. Very hot. He sucked in air through his teeth at the sensation, though it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Submerging his leg further, the initial shock of the temperature dissipated. When his foot hit the bottom of the tub, he brought his other in, having to slowly coax it into the heat as well. Chills fell over his whole body at the contact, but in the best way possible. He was suddenly very aware of the portion of his body which wasn’t submerged, feeling cold in comparison.

He held onto the rim of the tub as he sank down. God, this was heavenly. This was exactly what he needed — the warm water was already helping to sooth his aches and pains. He had a small scrape on his knee from falling earlier that morning, which stung a little at first but that too had faded away as he submerged himself further. Heat rose to his cheeks, and he let out a long, heavy sigh, relieving his tension-filled body. To think the citizens of the city just had contraptions like this to use at their disposal whenever they felt like it… Giorno was feeling euphoric at the thought of ever doing this again. The chances were slim, but a boy can dream. He waded his arms around in the water, gently enough as to not splash it over the edge. He thought it would feel suffocating to be submerged in water, but it was the opposite — it was so relieving. It was a comforting pressure. After a few moments of revelling in the warmth, he reached forward to grab the bar of soap and the rag. This feat, he was familiar with. He recalls memories, semi-fondly, of his father drilling into him the routine of washing himself when he was very young. Giorno used to cry as a young boy when his father would wash him, no matter what he used to tell him, he never got used to the cold water on his bare skin. His father lost his patience fast with him at times like that but looking back Giorno can only laugh. How trivial it all seemed now.

He lathered up the bar of soap in his hands and began to scrub the dirt that had literally become caked onto his fingertips. He hadn’t noticed at the time, but he must have been desperately digging his nails into the dirt earlier that morning. He cursed his earlier self for making this cleaning job more tedious when he just wanted to enjoy his hot bath. Moving on from his now relatively clean hands, he began to scrub the rest of his body with the rag, he didn’t like the way the water had become murky or what that implied. Giorno hadn’t noticed just how filthy he was until he wasn’t anymore. He washed his hair before the water got too tepid and attempted to comb out some of the knots with his fingers but failed miserably — it was simply far too tangled at this stage.

As much as it saddened him, his fingers were pruning, and the water was quickly growing cold. It was also a very unappealing shade of greyish-brown now and he felt that if he sat in it for any longer, the dirt would somehow reattach itself to him. So, he pulled himself up as the water swished around, immediately starting to shiver, exposed to the cooler air. Stepping out of the bath and trying not to slip, he reached for one of the folded towels and immediately wrapped it around himself, his teeth chattering slightly. It was so incredibly soft that Giorno yet again wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve this treatment. He almost felt guilty.

The pyjamas that rested on top of the stool were calling his name. The only clothing that Giorno ever got to wear were hand-me-downs found for him by Pucci and his father. He had never had a designated set of pyjamas, he always just wore whatever he had on him, so to him, this was the height of luxury. He finished drying himself off and slipped into the soft shirt. He had to roll the ends of the sleeves up a tiny bit, so they didn't hang over his hands but other than that, it was perfect. The shorts on the other hand, were struggling to stay up on his waist, so he had to roll those a few times too. He wouldn’t dream of complaining about them though. He felt truly honoured. The ends of his long hair were beginning to drip onto his shirt, so before he could ruin his perfect new shirt, he grabbed the towel again and wrapped it around his shoulders to catch any more drips. He felt… calm. Despite all of this change, unknown people and experiences, Giorno felt calm. That was new. Even when he was at home there was always something unsettling deep-down nagging at his nerves, but he had gotten used to it. Now, all of that was either overridden or washed away with the bath water.

As he started for the door leading to the bedroom, he gave one quick glance back at the bath and realised he had left his old clothes scattered across the tiles. That was no way to show your appreciation, he knew that much anyway. So, he quickly scurried back, gathered them and folded them, placing them neatly on the stool he had gotten the new pyjamas from. 

Once Giorno stepped out of the bathroom, his eyes found Abbacchio sitting, relaxed, on the double bed. The man was somehow giving off a much less threatening aura than before, the young teen almost didn't notice him sitting on the bed until he turned to him. He had tied some of his own silver hair back out of his face, and in his hands was a hairbrush and a few different sized combs. He then spoke to Giorno, his voice was also a lot calmer and quieter than it had been earlier — though it still had that tone. 

“Nobody else here knows how to deal with long hair, so I thought I’d have a go at fixing that tangled mess you have. Bruno and Narancia are making everyone dinner right now, They’re all in the kitchen. So, sit down — uh… please.” He stumbled over the last part, quickly remembering the stern reminder that he was to be kind and ‘welcoming’ (or as welcoming as he could be after his first impression) to their guest.

Giorno looked to the door that led out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, he believed what Abbacchio was saying, some heavenly smell was wafting through the home, and chatter could be heard beyond the wooden door. He glanced back at Abbacchio and nodded, walking over to the bed and sitting down at the edge, his feet resting on the wooden floor. Of course, he was a little apprehensive to be left alone with this man after their first introduction, but after his bath, and knowing that Bruno trusted him, he believed that no harm would come to him here. So, sitting quietly, Abbacchio began to comb through his wet, tangled hair, starting at the very bottom and working his way up laboriously. It hurt Giorno at times, as the knots were worked out, but he didn't say a word — he hoped it would be worth it in the end.

After a considerable passage of time, Giorno's hair was finally left with no more tangles. Now that that was out of the way, Abbacchio began to carefully brush it out, smoothing it down and drying it slightly with a towel. Throughout the entire process there had been little to no words spoken between the two, but both just silently existed with each other. Abbacchio combing Giorno's hair, and Giorno quietly enjoying the act. His father had once done this for him but had stopped long ago and Giorno often just forgot to take care of his hair, and over time the knots had become too difficult to work out so he gave up. But to feel a brush run so smoothly from his scalp down to the ends of his golden locks, it was a feeling he had very much missed.

Once the hair was brushed out, Abbacchio gathered his hair up in his hands, and carefully separated it out into three sections. While doing this, he broke the eternal silence between the two. It came as a surprise to Giorno, but not an unwelcome one. 

“I uh… I didn’t mean to upset you earlier. I had a shit day and because you're missing, everyone was supposed to go back to the cathedral tonight and work unpaid hours.” He mumbled, gently braiding the golden locks while Giorno sat quietly and listened to him. “How did you actually get lost?” He finally asked. The question took the teen by mild surprise. He thought about not answering truthfully at first, but something told him he could trust Abbacchio with his answer. 

“...I accidentally went past the boundaries my father had set out for me”. 

He spoke very bluntly, not really sure how to word it any other way. Behind Giorno, Leone made a contorted face of confusion, but continued trying to gain more information on the boy's bizarre disappearance.  

“And how did you manage to do that?” 

“I was following my friend — Goldie… She’s a cat.” That response surprised Leone. He knew of several stray cats that often hung around the square… There was one in particular though that always lingered around the entrance in the evening time, with blue/grey fur and piercing yellow eyes. Leone often fed her leftovers of meals he had while staying in the guards’ quarters for night shifts. The name Goldie seemed rather fitting for it, if that was who he was referring to. He hummed in an encouraging response, tying the braid neat and tidy for now, he wanted it to be secure. He wanted to pry more with Giorno but didn’t want to overstep boundaries and freak him out again. So, he supposed he should just explain himself for his earlier outburst. 

“I’m a guard — at the cathedral. I usually stand outside during the day, most of the guards know of you and your father, not a lot of ‘em believed it was true though. We were supposed to be involved in searching for you and bringing you home. I got angry at you earlier because everyone thought you had been kidnapped or something…” He mumbled, leaving room for Giorno to respond if he so wished. At first, he remained silent as his hair was finished up, Abbacchio tying it at the end and beginning to loosen it up slightly, pulling at sections. So, people were searching for him… He should feel happy about that. Right? But something deep inside him resented that fact, for the second time that night... He wanted to go home, of course. He wanted nothing more than to return to his father. However… Everything he had experienced here. Bruno taking care of him, the pasta, the hug, the bath… And now this, this quiet moment with someone who he had feared about an hour ago, who had just taken the time to comb out his hair and style it for him. 

His entire experience of the outside world to date had been the complete opposite of what his father had raised him to believe. People were kind, they had helped him in his time of need. Why had his father taught him that they were nothing like that? It was all so baffling to him. He was taken out of his thoughts when Abbacchio spoke again, tapping Giorno's shoulder. “Turn around to face me” He ordered, to which Giorno obliged. Lifting his legs up to sit cross-legged on the bed, he turned around to face Abbacchio, who was also sitting in a similar position. For such a large man, he was quite flexible it seems. The man had some hair pins sitting on his knee, and silently he began to sort out the shorter curls of Giorno's hair, which refused to stay in the plait. He sectioned them out as well, and began to twist, and pin them up for Giorno, to keep them out of his face. While Abbacchio was working on the third and final twist, the silence was once again interrupted. This time by Giorno, who was thinking hard about something, his brow furrowed.

“Are you going to take me back?” He asked, eyes averted down towards his lap, awkwardly playing with his hands. He was nervous to ask the question because he wasn’t sure what kind of response he truly wanted to hear. 

Abbacchio paused when he heard the question, pulling his hands back for a moment, and looking at Giorno. He exhaled for a moment as he thought about an answer, before shrugging and finishing up the last curl. “I'm not sure yet.”

Once satisfied with his work, Leone got off of the bed, and put his things away in a drawer in a dresser Bruno had in the corner of his room. He then headed towards the door, resting his hand on the doorknob before glancing back to Giorno, who was still sitting on the bed. “Come out when you’re ready, I’m sure dinner is nearly finished by now.” He responded, and once again one of those blink and you’ll miss it smiles came from Abbacchio. And this time, directed at Giorno. That was something he had not expected to see… In spite of that Giorno gave a slight nod, watching as Abbacchio exited into the busy kitchen. The teen was once more left alone for a while. He then finally reached back, running a hand along his hair. He was shocked to feel how soft it was — it had begun to dry while Leone worked with it. A small smile of his own crept onto his lips, feeling the smooth, clean texture of his hair now it was washed, and clean. He noticed there was a mirror sitting on the dresser Abbacchio had left his stuff in, so he walked over to it…  He barely recognised the person standing in front of him. Yes, it was him, Giorno. But… He had never seen himself look so proper before. He looked so clean, and his hair had never been so put together in his life. He traced the curls lightly with his fingertips and moved the plait slightly so it hung over his shoulder. He liked how he looked… His hair looked as bright as his father’s always was, and for once he looked almost as elegant as him too. His comfy pyjamas on top of this new, clean hair, Giorno felt like he might have been on cloud nine. He smiled at himself in the mirror before turning towards the door leading to the kitchen. The smell of whatever Bruno had made was absolutely divine. It was calling him…

He turned the handle slowly, the door creaking as he opened it. He expected the chatter to stop when he appeared — he didn’t want it to — he just assumed it would. However much to his surprise, nothing changed. He stood in the doorway for a moment and captured the scene: Fugo was still sitting at the table, but this time joined by Mista, they were arguing over something that must’ve been intense because Mista was more animated than the boy had seen him yet, he was waving his hands around and leaning on the very edge of the chair. Narancia was at the stovetop hip-to-hip with Bruno, both facing away from the rest of the kitchen and the younger was giggling quietly again, the older smiling; obviously the two were privy to something no one else had the pleasure of hearing. It was all so… domestic. 

The last of the bunch was the first to notice the boy in the doorway. Abbacchio looked up from where he had been leaning against the countertop with his arms folded, sipping on a glass of red wine. He nodded his head in a gesture that told Giorno to come to him. The teen obliged, his bare feet pattering across the tiles as he approached the counter. He made eye contact with Mista and Fugo along the way, who both did a double take as he walked past them — that definitely didn’t help how self-conscious he was now feeling. Once in front of Abbacchio, he placed the glass down on the counter and then rested his large hands on the teen’s shoulders, spinning him around quickly to face the duo occupied at the stovetop and cleared his throat deliberately. This caught Bruno’s attention as he turned his head to look. In a moment’s beat his eyes went from Abbacchio to Giorno and back, then…  He gasped, accidentally dropping the spoon into the pot he was stirring. 

“Wow! …Leone… this is…” Bruno stepped towards them and examined the boy. Giorno didn’t know what to do so his eyes fell to the floor again, standing there awkwardly. “He looks so… good!” His speech turned slow and careful, as it was clear he was now addressing Giorno “You look wonderful, Giorno! You look so much more… Your age…” He cleared his throat “Are the pyjamas okay?” the man gestured to his shirt. Giorno nodded softly, his cheeks were flushed red from the positive attention. He didn’t love it, but he really didn’t hate it either. He could feel Mista and Fugo’s eyes still on him from the corner of the room. Narancia, eyes still glued to his work on the stovetop, hadn’t even registered his presence yet. Bruno turned his attention to Leone again.

“Well done on his hair, I wouldn’t have even known where to begin.” He lessened the gap between himself and Abbacchio, lowering his voice slightly, conscious of the boy’s proximity. Even if he hadn’t lowered his voice, Giorno wouldn’t be able to understand him talking that fast anyway. Having listened to everybody in this little group speak Italian throughout the day, it had become apparent that Bruno sounded quite different to the rest, he had a very thick accent. Giorno couldn’t have known that implied he was from the countryside, but it was apparent to him that he probably wasn’t as local as the others within the group.

“He looks a lot better now that he’s washed up, don’t you think? He’s still so pale though… but I'm starting to believe it’s not because he’s sickly…”  The ravenette mumbled, Abbacchio hummed in response and Bucciarati continued “Still wouldn’t hurt to get some more food into him, right? Narancia and I made my father’s stew — I know it’s your favourite… Take it as compensation for me leaving you alone at lunch today-” Abbacchio removed his hands from Giorno’s shoulders and interrupted the man. “-Bruno, you know you didn’t have to-” The ravenette moved closer. “It’s okay, Narancia wanted to make it anyway. I’ll get the boys to set the table now. You wouldn’t mind helping me dish it out… Would you?” He put his hand on the taller man's shoulder and smiled “It would be my pleasure…” Abbacchio practically purred and Giorno could say he had never been more confused at an interaction in his life. Maybe it was a grown-up thing to stand that close to one another — Bruno was basically leaning on the taller man. Amidst Giorno's confusion, Bruno suddenly snapped his head around and quipped something very quickly in Italian to the rest of the room and the boys, including Narancia, all stood to attention and moseyed towards the cupboards. The two older men stationed themselves at the cooker and whispered to each other cryptically, excluding everyone else from their little world. Chuckles and so on emanated from their little bubble, and Abbacchio’s hand lay to rest around the other's waist. They looked so comfortable together.

 When the boys turned around from the cupboard, plates and cups in hand, Narancia’s eyes found Giorno standing in the middle of the room fiddling with his thumbs. He gasped as loud as humanly possible, dropping the cutlery he was holding. Dramatics could always be expected from him of all people. Thankfully, he wasn’t holding anything breakable, although he did make everyone else in the room jump. 

“Y-Your hair!? And are those my old clothes!?” He was pointing cartoonishly and Fugo was already half-way through an eye-roll, bending down to pick up the forks he had dropped.

“Yes Nar, I hope you don’t mind? You never wore them anymore anyway, and there was little else that would’ve fit him.” Bruno expressed, not even turning away from the stovetop.

“wh- I-… No, I’m fine with it!” The boy laughed “I just thought I’d lost them, turns out I left them here… My bad!” 

As if nothing had happened everyone got back to work, stirring, or setting down plates and bowls. Giorno watched everything happen around him. This felt like the kind of scenario he should be offering help in, but no one looked like they needed it and he didn’t want to get in the way; so, he just stood by awkwardly and tried to make himself small, almost going over to just quietly stand in the corner until he received further instructions. He didn’t really know what he could have done without messing up anyways. He just felt the need to give back in some way, but he didn’t quite know how yet.

Once Bruno came to the table with the pot and ladle, everyone else started to sit down around it. Giorno still stood by idly in the centre of the kitchen though, unsure of what to do with himself, only growing more anxious as he felt he was about to be addressed, and he was right. Bruno turned his head after he had dished out the first bowl to Mista, and looked over at the boy standing there, offering him a kind expression.

“Aren’t you gonna come sit?” He beckoned with a subtle smile.

Giorno jolted in surprise, embarrassed as everyone sitting at the round table looked up at him expectantly. “Oh, Sorry.” He scurried to the nearest free chair and sat down quickly, wanting desperately for the attention to be taken off him.

“Don’t apologise, kid” Abbacchio muttered, bringing a spoonful to his lips.

“I- Sorr-” He clamped his mouth shut before he could embarrass himself more, lowering his head in defeat.

Narancia laughed under his breath and Mista flicked a piece of carrot at him in response.

Bruno finally finished with the pot and laid it back on the stove, sitting down to join them. Giorno looked at the bowl in front of him and his mouth began to water. First the pasta, then the bath, now this? This truly was the height of luxury. He looked around and copied everyone else, fishing himself a spoonful of broth and vegetables. If only food at home could be this tasty! The ‘meals’ he normally ate were stale-ish bread and soup leftovers Pucci brought him from the parsonage and whatever pastry his father occasionally found as a small treat. If people on the outside ate like this every day maybe he’d prefer to stay… Wait. Just what was he thinking? He shouldn’t think things like that, he was just distracted. He had just seen too many good things out there and good people. There were way too many horrible elements out there to try and justify the goodness, he shouldn’t be fantasising like that. Horrible things that his father had warned him about like… Like… Like what? 

On that note Bruno put his spoon down and looked at Abbacchio in agreement before speaking up.

“So… Leone and I were just talking earlier-”

“What about?” Narancia asserted, mouth full of food.

“Would you let the man finish? Jeez... And stop talking with your mouth full of food. It's gross.” Mista spat, trying to listen to the ravenette.

“Well… Do you want to tell them Leo?” Bruno continued.

Abbacchio swallowed what he was eating before he began, blunt as ever. “Bruno and I were wondering how all of you would feel if we didn’t return Giorno to the cathedral tonight.”

Fugo dropped his spoon and gaped. “What!?” He shouted “Abbacchio, you could lose your job!” The silver haired man sighed before the blonde boy continued his ranting “Besides, we don’t know enough about him yet! For all we know he could just be a thief lying about everything!”

“Pannacotta!” The ravenette shouted “Do you not trust Abbacchio’s word?”

Things were getting loud and Giorno just froze, staring down at his half-eaten stew, unsure and scared of what was escalating. The two other boys sat there, staring right at him, pondering Abbacchio’s question.

“OF COURSE, I DO, BUT STILL-”

“THEN WH-”

“Stop it.”

Abbacchio’s voice commanded everyone's attention effortlessly. “Ironic, isn’t it? I was the one being scolded for scaring him earlier… but please… don’t yell like that. You’ll scare the kid shitless.” He looked at Giorno; he seemed to be all in one piece anyway. “Look… the two of us just think there’s a lot more he should… experience — He's lived in that attic his entire life, and as far as I know this is his first time actually leaving that damn building. I mean yeah, we are going to send him home eventually but… Jesus, I don’t know.” He sighed and rolled his eyes “How ‘bout we stop arguing and just fucking ask him?” 

Bruno bit his lip. It could only be seen for a split second, but his eyes flashed with a combination of guilt and concern before turning to look at Giorno, placidly. Fugo sat back in his chair with a defeated huff. Both Mista and Narancia were still silent, which was rare for them. All of them slowly turned to look at Giorno, who, sensing the commotion coming to a halt, zoned back into his surroundings. When his eyes rose from his bowl and came to see every other pair of eyes meeting his, he shrunk back in on himself. Had he done something wrong again? And why did everyone look so tense? He turned to Abbacchio, who was sitting to his left. He seemed to be the only one that didn’t have that ‘walking on eggshells’ look to him. Had Giorno been asked something while he wasn’t listening? Hardly. He would have noticed the switch from Italian to English. Unless it had been addressed to him amongst the yelling? Then, just before Giorno’s brain could overheat, Abbacchio finally spoke to him, in the English he had been longing to hear.

“Look, kid. We were just… discussing it… and we wanted to know what you would think if we didn’t send you back to the cathedral just yet —” He sighed and ran a hand through his own long hair “How would you feel if… we took you a few places and uh… showed you some things first? I’m probably not bein’ too convincing with this but uh… what would you say to that? Just a day or two before we take you home?”

All eyes on him again. He had heard every word loud and clear. He knew what he was supposed to say. His head knew how he should answer — but he knew he couldn’t. With more passion and fervour than the boy had ever spoken with before, his heart spoke before his head even got the chance.

“Yes please.”

Several hours had passed since Dio first discovered Giorno to be missing. He had alerted Pucci as soon as he possibly could, and apparently the news had spread throughout the royal guard fairly quickly. Meanwhile, the man had spent all day pacing back and forth within the attic, at this rate he would burn holes in the old wooden floors with his tracks. He was worried. Of course, he was, it was his son, and he was missing. Dio didn’t know if he had been taken, if he was hurt, or if he was even alive anymore. He needed to get him back, he needed his son. He checked his pocket watch — it was around 2pm. It had been roughly eight hours since he had arrived home, and that was eight hours Giorno had been missing, in the city of Naples. A low growl escaped his lips, shoving the watch back into his jacket and returning to his anxious pacing. 

For a man who had more power than a small army, he felt truly helpless right now.

This fear… this unrest he was feeling due to Giorno absence, wasn’t only what might be considered paternal care. To Dio, Giorno was his last attachment to humanity, to mortality, to his past. To Jonathan. When the man thought back to events long in the past (over a century in the past, to be exact), he would never say it, but he really regretted his actions. Why couldn't he have just accepted his new life back then? He was treated better than he had ever been, he had finally gained a loving father, and a kind brother. But instead, he had to be obsessed with wealth and fortune, an unimaginably ugly trait that he had inherited from his sad excuse of a biological father and all because of that man, he eventually sacrificed his very own humanity because of that insatiable greed…

But that child… that baby he had found fifteen years ago, had allowed Dio to somehow reclaim some of that humanity. Whether or not he deserved it, was debatable, though, he felt that in raising Giorno, he could hold on to that part of him for just a little longer. He wouldn’t have to spend this immortal existence forever cursing his past actions. But now his last connection to the mortal world was missing, and he was deathly afraid of once more becoming that lonesome monster who lurked in the shadows during the day, only to come out at night and feast on some poor soul.

He had tried writing earlier but was in far too much of a state to focus on it and had ended up breaking a quill in the process. So, since then, he had just been sitting up there, restlessly, for hours. The agitated Dio eventually sat himself down on Giorno's small bed, the wooden frame creaking beneath his weight. He placed his hand on the creased sheets where his son would sleep, frowning. That boy better be alive… He was pulled from his thoughts when a knock rang out on the door, Dio instantly got to his feet and pushed his hair back, standing tall. 

“Come in.”

In walked Pucci, the only person allowed in there anyway. He was the only member of the cathedral staff who had ever seen Giorno’s face. He bowed his head slightly to Dio, who spoke before the archbishop had a chance to open his mouth.

“Well? Have you found the boy?” He questioned, voice deep and commanding. 

Pucci stood in front of Dio, hands gathered in front of him. The man shook his head, sighing softly. “Not yet, I have organised for the guards to go searching when it is dark, I believe he would only make an attempt to move at nig-”

Dio’s disappointed expression told Pucci all he needed to know- that that wasn’t good enough. He went to speak again but the much taller man spoke first.

“That simply isn’t good enough. What if he's moving now?! He could be getting further and further away from us and you're wasting precious time not searching!” Dio snapped, stepping closer to the clergyman. In his worked-up state, the man lost his temper quicker than ever. “He must be found as soon as possible. I need him to come back.” He snarled, Pucci stepping back slightly as the vampire towered over him, a low growl escaping as he spoke. The archbishop had rarely ever seen the man in such a state, it scared him. In an attempt to ease his nerves, Pucci waved his hands up in front of the man, making an effort at a response.

“I understand that Dio; but we don’t want to raise suspicion of any commotion throughout the city. If the citizens see our guards searching the streets midday, people will begin to worry. I’m sure he is just fine, that boy is very bright-”

Pucci's reassurance didn’t do much for Dio at all. He grumbled under his breath and turned away from the archbishop — he didn't say anything for some time, Pucci patiently waiting for something to be said. Then all of a sudden, the blonde let out a frustrated roar through gritted teeth, slamming his clenched fist down on the table with so much force that the leg came out from under it. The contents that sat on the table — a candelabra, book, ink pot, they all came crashing to the floor, causing the other to freeze with shock. With wide eyes, Pucci looked back to the other, whose back was still turned. But then, Dio’s head twisted slowly, turning to look at the clergyman. Now, his eyes were unlike their usual colour, even that was noticeable in their dark attic. They were red. And glowing ever so slightly. That glare took the breath out of Pucci. He had never seen the man look so… devilish before. It scared him. More so than he had ever been before. 

“Find my son. Now.” 

Dio’s deep voice pierced right through the man, who couldn’t find it in himself to respond in any other way than nodding and whispering a quiet “Yes Sir” and with a final bow of his head, he exited the room. He left Dio in the dark room once more, alone. As Pucci descended the winding staircase, he began mumbling under his breath, praying. He carefully reached under his robes and pulled his rosary from around his neck, clasping the crucifix in his hand as he lowered his head. Dio scared him. He terrified him. This man had lived in his cathedral for fifteen years, he had allowed him to. And now, he was horrified by him — and his power. It simply was not of this world.

He was not of humanity.

Chapter Text

Hours ago, dusk came and went, the sky now adorned with bright stars. The clique had since migrated from the now-messy kitchen table to the ravenette’s living room, spirits levelled and bellies full. Laughter and conversation were kept hidden from the sleeping city, muffled by the now closed shutters. A faint yellow glow emanated through the cracks of the windows, which was the only telling that anything exciting was going on inside. No one else in the city was privy to those moments; only those six, who had against all odds, found each other.

Guido Mista was the effortless storyteller, although he had a knack for nonsensical embellishments which Narancia would gullibly eat up and Fugo would bluntly correct. Narancia liked to tell anecdotes himself, but he was much harder to follow. He would get lost on tangents and forget about parts which he would revisit later at the least fitting time, confusing everyone trying to gain some continuity. It was endearing though, no one would get annoyed because it was just so hard to actually get mad at the boy. Whenever he talked, it wasn’t so much about what he was saying, but more so how he said it. His mannerisms and habits were so effortlessly entertaining that even when he hadn’t said anything necessarily funny, the room would occasionally burst into laughter, much to the boy’s animated confusion.

Pannacotta Fugo was a listener, not a very good one though. He would butt in with corrections if he was a character in said story, and questions if he was not. He was never one to initiate a tale, but always one to add to it. He remembered details which the other two always seemed to forget, like times and places, occasionally the weather, even if it wasn’t at all necessary to the story. His brain was a lot more organised than the other two and this was painfully obvious amongst the chaos of their ramblings.

The two older men’s dynamic in this was as such: They would listen intently, for the most part. When one would inevitably zone out, the other would elbow them awake, lest it become too obvious to the boys that they were losing their audience. The two gave each other occasional knowing glances and smirked at the odd inside joke but other than that, they were happy to just sit and listen. Neither of them ever really told stories about their days to the boys anyway, they both knew they wouldn’t be interested in adult monotony so why burden them with tales of it when they should go enjoy their simple chaos while they still could. They saved their own stories for one another.

The outlier in this strange familial dynamic was the new golden boy who was sitting, carefully sandwiched, between his host, Bruno and the plush arm of the sofa — constantly falling in and out of a light sleep. Not only had he gotten about two hours of sleep in the past twenty-four, it had been an incredibly taxing time for him both emotionally and physically, and with the lull of speech surrounding him in a language he wasn’t going to try to pay attention to in his drowsy state, it was so easy to drift off — so he did. Only waking slightly whenever the couple beside him would shift in their seat or when there would be a rise in laughter or volume. It wasn’t long before he was out for the count though, head plopped not so gracefully against the back of the couch, mouth hanging open slightly as he snoozed. 

At this point Fugo had excused himself for the night. He had classes to attend the next morning, so he headed home earlier than the rest. His family had a curfew in place for him anyway, considering his behaviour. If he did not return home when requested he wouldn’t be allowed out for a considerable amount of time, so he thought it best to abide by this rule, at least.  Narancia was now stifling a massive yawn and Mista took that as their sign to head out too. Although his place wasn’t too far away from Bruno’s he didn’t feel like carrying the guy, so he felt it best to leave before he conked. Narancia always surfed around from house to house among the group. Whenever he couldn’t stay at Bruno’s, he’d camp at Mista’s. Abbacchio even recalls a time, not so fondly, that he woke in his dorm bed to find Narancia snoring in a heap at the end of it — he had absolutely no clue how he even got there. Narancia technically had a house, but he hadn’t returned there for years at this point and he wasn’t about to start now. It may be his house but it wasn’t his home. These weirdos were his family, and wherever they were, was his home.

The two men got up to see the boy’s out, Mista calling over his shoulder from the ravenette’s front gate that they’d be there for breakfast the next morning. Naranica, too tired to add anything,  just drowsily waved and then they were gone. Abbacchio shut the door gently and turned to see Bruno standing in the doorway to the living room, his back turned to him as he leaned on the doorframe. Leone, curious, walked over to see what the other was staring at. Now that the boys were gone Abbacchio could let go of his authoritative tone, not that they even bought into it anyway. He tiptoed up behind the ravenette and leaned forward to rest his chin on the other’s shoulder, his arms snaking around his waist and clasping his hands together around Bruno. The other didn’t even seem surprised, the two were always so at ease in each other’s presence and if anything he even leaned into the other’s touch. Abbacchio looked straight ahead to see what he had been observing.

Neither of them knew just when the strange boy had fallen asleep, as they hadn’t heard a peep from him the entire evening after dinner, but they assumed he must have been out for a while as he was now lying horizontal on the sofa, face nuzzled into one of the pillows that had been behind Bruno. The duo must have jostled him when they got up to see the others out for the night, but even with that movement he never woke.

“He must’ve been exhausted, huh.” Abbacchio whispered, barely even a breath as his intended recipient was mere centimetres away. Bruno softly hummed in response, which was then followed by, what the guard knew from experience, to be a troubled sigh.

“What’s the matter?” 

Abbacchio turned his face towards Bruno’s, closely observing his expression. Bruno didn’t turn his face to meet him, just his eyes. He flicked them purposely at Abbacchio’s then back to the sleeping teen. Abbacchio knew to wait as the ravenette intended on speaking, he was just thinking heavily about what to say first. Leones joined him in returning his gaze to the boy right before Bruno spoke softly. 

“...I don’t know, Leone.” another gentle sigh “This is way riskier than any of the others, isn’t it?”

“...How so?” Abbacchio presumed he knew what he meant, he just wanted to hear Bruno say it himself.

“Well first of all-” He stopped himself from continuing and removed Leone’s hands from his waist. He carefully backed up and closed the door between them and the living room, granting them privacy in the kitchen. Just in case he woke — the boy really didn’t need to hear this. Bruno turned to him and resumed; his tone serious but still hushed in a whisper. “Leone, this boy has some serious issues. I don’t know if its stupid or presumptuous of us to assume we can help him?” He paused briefly; his gaze fixated on his fidgeting hands as he expressed his feelings.

“...He’s just-...Leo, what if we only make it worse for him? What if we’re putting too much on him by doing this? You were the one who said he’s lived in an attic his entire life, right?” Abbacchio didn’t know exactly what to respond to that, so he just let the other continue. “And you, Leone.” Abbacchio blinked at the sudden addressal. “Don’t you think what you’re doing is ridiculously dangerous?” The ravenette lifted his hand up to run back through his own hair, leaving his fringe pushed back out of his face, The guard could finally see just how furrowed the other’s brows were, he hated seeing him in such an anxious state. Bruno always was one to worry over everything.  “You could lose your rank for this… or worse-” 

Although the silver haired man felt extremely privileged that this side of Bruno was one only he got to see, he knew he had to stop the man right there before he burnt his brain cells out from overthinking. 

“Hey.” Abbacchio stood tall and Bruno finally met his gaze.

“You’re doing it again, Bruno. All of us can handle ourselves just fine. Especially me. I know what I’m gonna say if questioned, and if not, I’ll just mind my own business, like I always do, right?”

Bruno snorted at Abbacchio’s self-assuredness — he always wondered how he managed it.

“And look. The boy will be just fine…” Abbacchio scratched his neck, attempting to convince himself of that fact too “ … think about how much he’s already opened up to us so far. He trusts us, Bru.”

Bruno smiled at that, visible stress releasing from his shoulders. Worry bomb defused successfully.

“You better be right.” Bruno sighed heartily before glancing behind Abbacchio at the clock on the wall. “It’s pretty late, do you want to stay her- Wait.” Realisation hit his face like a curse “Weren’t you supposed to be at the cathedral now?!” 

Shit. One look at the clock confirmed the ravenette’s question. He was supposed to be at the cathedral twenty minutes ago. 

So, with no time to gather his bearings, or even finish his train of thought, Leone booked it for the front door, and out the gate. Bruno appeared through the door after him, which the guard wouldn’t have noticed had Bruno not shouted “STAY SAFE!” after him.

Now, with the edges of his mouth rising into a subtle smile and his heart racing, Leone Abbacchio disappeared into the dimly lit streets of the city, to begin the search for the boy he had already found.

That left only Bruno Bucciarati and the conundrum sleeping soundly on his sofa.

Shutting the front door again and this time locking it, Bruno made his way back towards the living room. He smiled fondly at the thought of Abbacchio sprinting frantically across the city and let out a heavy sigh. He was right — they could all handle themselves just fine, and they would help Giorno. Just a few days outside, and they would bring him home like they had agreed on at dinner. It broke Bruno’s heart to think about how little of the world that golden boy knew, and how much he had yet to learn. But he, and the others, would help show him — at least, what they could in the short time they would be together.

Bruno carefully opened up the door to the living room, to find said boy still dead to the world on the couch, tiny snores coming from him now. Bruno chuckled softly at the silly sight, leaving him briefly to grab a decent pillow and blanket. Upon returning he opened up the blanket, about to throw it over the boy before pausing. Should he not give Giorno his bed for the night? He pondered the idea, lowering his arms and staring at him for a while. He had been through so damn much in the last 24 hours… He deserved a good night's rest. But he seemed so comfy where he was… What if he woke up though and couldn't find a comfortable position again? Bruno’s couches weren't exactly luxury upholstery. He eventually made up his mind, throwing the blanket on the adjacent sofa for now. He deserved the bed after everything that had happened today. Bruno could manage the couch for the night, even though he knew Abbacchio would scold him for being unnecessarily out of his way in the morning.

Before doing anything with Giorno he went to his bedroom, tidying the room slightly before facing the bed. He realised Giorno shouldn’t have to, nor would he want to sleep in dirty sheets, he was sure about that… So Bruno spent the extra ten minutes to grab his clean bed linens from the cupboard and make the bed, ensuring the bed was nice and fresh for his guest. He didn’t usually do this with the kids he helped, but none of those kids were Giorno. That boy was different, that he was certain of, but it was impossible to pinpoint what exactly it was. That didn’t bother the man though. When he saw someone in need he helped them, no questions asked. 

After pulling back a portion of the duvet, he returned to the living room. Carefully, Bruno slid his arms underneath Giorno's back and legs, scooping up his small frame to carry him to the bed. He already knew how light he was after carrying him here this morning, but it was still such a shock. He was fifteen, no fifteen-year-old should be this light. 

With great care he walked the short distance down the small corridor to the bedroom, manoeuvring sideways through the doors so as to not bump any part of the sleeping boy off of a door frame. Then he carefully lowered him onto the bed, resting his head on Bruno’s soft pillows. He tensed when he noticed Giorno stirring slightly, only removing his arms once he could tell the boy was still far off in the realm of sleep. Bruno pulled the sheets over Giorno, up to his chin and made sure he looked comfortable before quietly leaving the room, putting out the oil lamp that had been lighting in the corner. 

He then carried out his usual night time routine of brushing his hair back and rinsing his face, then tugging on some random pyjamas that he deemed cosy enough to sleep in that night. Bruno went around and put out any remaining lights around the house, before returning to the living room. He then collapsed onto the couch and yawned, stretching his arms over his head. As he got comfortable, he turned on his side, staring out at the darkness that now surrounded him. Now alone, and in the black, the thoughts that had been bothering him started to re-emerge. Retelling himself the events of the day… Mista and Narancia appear to him with some… creature, only to find a sick boy who he later found out wasn’t a boy at all, but a missing teenager. A missing teenager who lived in a cathedral, of all places. The more Bruno considered that fact, the more questions he had about it. Why in the hell was that boy made to live in a cathedral? More importantly, why was he never allowed outside? He seemed so different… Was there something to this character that he was yet to discover? He sighed and rubbed his face, he was working himself up now over all of this again. Maybe Abbacchio might tell him more about what he knew tomorrow. He should have the day off tomorrow… a rare occurrence, but certainly a welcome one. 

Exhaustion was creeping up on the man and his thoughts and before he even knew it, he had fallen into a deep sleep himself.

Halfway across the city, Abbacchio had just reached the steps of the cathedral, panting and dishevelled. He met one of his superiors who, very sharply, ordered him to head straight to the canteen, where the posts were being assigned. Once he entered, the eyes of commanders and cadets alike landed on him. Thankfully no one reprimanded him though, so he quickly and quietly made his way to the line of guards in his rank. The highest commanding officer resumed the briefing. From what he was there to pick up on, they were to search the streetways and alleys at night. No one was permitted to carry out house searches yet, thank God for that. One thing he did think was very strange was the fact that if any civilians were to ask what the patrol was about, they were ordered not to disclose any information regarding the missing boy. It didn’t make much sense to him and he had no idea why they were even stressing that part so much. Although yet again he was thankful that the search efforts weren’t too invasive, considering his current awkward position. He just wanted this search to be over as soon as possible, so he could get back to the others and enjoy his day off tomorrow

 Too many hours later, the sun was finally rising again and there was a very well slept teen groaning through a stretch in a bed far from his own. The last time the sun rose, it was the end of the world for Giorno but this time, he didn’t even notice. The only thing he did notice was how ridiculously soft his bed suddenly felt. It also smelled a whole lot fresher than he remembered. Something floral perhaps? How strange. The lack of dreams last night was certainly something new. Normally his imagination would be rolling for hours on end while he slept. Sometimes good things, sometimes bad, but right now — nothing. Maybe his brain was too tired to dream. That sounded about right.

He rolled over to his other side with his eyes closed… and his face was met with another pillow? Very strange indeed. But in his semi-unconscious state of comfort, nothing was truly alarming enough. An imperceivable amount of time later, something was alarming enough. A steady flow of soft creaks approaching him and a hand — definitely not large enough to be his fathers — pulling back the duvet slowly and resting on his shoulder. His stomach dropped like an anchor on land. If anything was going to wake the boy, it was that unfamiliar hand. He jumped at the touch and jerked away from it, making himself as small as possible. He felt the hand retract from him quickly, but he still didn’t want to open his eyes, he was too afraid to do so. He grabbed for the covers in panic and yanked them back over him, head and all. From his makeshift cocoon on a bed that he now realised was definitely too big to be his own, his heart pounding loudly in his ears, Giorno just barely heard a voice say his name.

“Hey hey wait! Giorno… You’re okay!” The voice soothed. Giorno was still in a hazy state and couldn't fully recognise the voice though...

Italian. Where did he know that voice from again? Everything was fuzzy and the sudden burst of adrenaline was wearing off fast. 

“It’s only me… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you like that-” The deep voice spoke slowly and carefully. Giorno’s tremors persisted but he acquiesced and lowered the duvet just below his eyes to peek at his attacker. He wasn’t feeling so ‘fight or flight’ anymore. Sapphire eyes met his own with eyebrows pinched together inscrutably. Concern? Confusion? He couldn’t tell. But everything was making sense now and terror was peeling away to slight embarrassment. How could he have forgotten this? Once Bruno noticed Giorno making sense of things at last he approached him once more, though he still kept some caution in his step. Giorno pulled the duvet off his face fully and slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. Even though he remembered whose house he was in, he had absolutely zero recollection of falling asleep here. The last thing he remembered was everyone in the living room, laughing. And then what? Bruno sat down delicately on the edge of the bed, his butt was barely even on it if Giorno was honest, but with his heart rate still trying to level, he really appreciated the effort at giving him space.

“I’m sorry for frightening you… Do you know where you are?” Yet again the man spoke with such articulation and care that Giorno knew was entirely deliberate in order for him to understand. It was considerate of him, the boy thought to himself. Giorno gave a nod to the man and he breathed a sigh of relief and continued.

“Well… I was just going to begin making breakfast, if you wanted to join me? Narancia and Mista should be arriving soon and Fugo won’t be joining us till the afternoon.” He looked at Giorno for a moment to check if he was still following him, and he was. Sort of. “Abbacchio never got the chance to say if he was coming back here after patrol or if he would stay in the quarters…. So I don’t know if he will be here for breakfast.”

It wasn’t lost on Giorno how Bruno’s face hid a hint of concern under indifference. He moved on quickly with the conversation. “I left some new clothes on the end of the bed for you, but if you’d like to stay in what you’re wearing now for breakfast, I can guarantee you no one would bat an eye. I’m just going to get dressed — if that's okay.” He got up with a warm smile and made his way over to the wardrobes where he pulled out what looked fairly similar to what he had on the day previous — a white blouse and black slacks except from the quick glance Giorno got, the frilled collar of the blouse had some sort of black polka dot pattern? He didn’t mean to stare at the man when he had his back turned but he got some kind of amusement from seeing him like this. His black hair, which the last time Giorno had seen him was perfectly straight, shiny and lying flat, was now pushed back messily and sticking up in strange places. His attire was so professional and elegant before but now he was standing in a matching set of night shirt and pants that were entirely too big for him, the pant legs pooled around his ankles and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He looked so comfy.

The idea of pyjamas and nightwear always appealed to Giorno. All his life he had always worn the same clothing in bed and out of it, minus the shoes of course. Aside from that, there was never any need to change, since no one was going to see him anyways. His father never wore nightwear either — He had never seen his father sleeping, he probably waited for Giorno to fall asleep before he himself retired. So, as he watched Bruno shuffle across to the bathroom with new day clothes draped over his arm, and Giorno sat there in his very own set of night clothes, he felt like he was finally a part of something he had always read about in books about the outside world. Something he had never been a part of; Society.

Giorno finally got up from the bed and decided he wanted to change into his day clothes, too. The clothes that were left for him seemed to fit a lot better than the ones from before, even better than what he had arrived here in. After a few minutes of him attempting to get his stupid butter fingers to button the new shirt, he heard some subtle clattering noises coming from the kitchen and a voice? Probably Bruno, Giorno thought to himself, there were two doors to the bathroom after all. Was he talking to himself? 

He finally managed to get the button at the top done and he made his way to look in the mirror on the small vanity. Presentable. He made a small, dejected noise when he noticed one of the curls on his head was coming loose. He didn’t want to try to fix it though, he would only make it worse. Maybe the silver haired man could teach him how to do it himself the next time he saw him? Wishful thinking. He probably had better things to do than teaching Giorno how to do his hair.

One last look in the mirror satisfied Giorno. The clothes seemed a bit too nice for his liking and he really hoped they weren’t new. The boy’s chest hurt to think they would spend any deal of money on him… He had done nothing to earn such a thing from them, and he'd been way too much of an annoyance already. Either way, Bruno had suggested for him to join him in the kitchen, and he was not about to disobey.

When he left the bedroom, his eyes landed on the man looking the same way he was yesterday, effortlessly dignified in his appearance and pouring his heart into whatever task he had begun. Making breakfast — Giorno deduced, ever the cunning detective. His now sock-clad feet made their way tentatively to Bruno as he turned around from the stovetop to see him. 

“Oh Good morning again!” he chirped, Giorno noted that he seemed a lot more spirited than he was earlier “Look at you!” Giorno’s cheeks pinked as the ravenette gestured towards him with a wooden spoon, smiling brightly. “Do you like the clothes?” He turned back to the stovetop, clearly not expecting an answer. “Fugo left them in a parcel on the doorstep, this morning before school. Wasn’t that kind?” Obviously another one of those questions he didn’t expect Giorno to answer He probably wouldn’t be able to form a coherent response in Italian, anyway.

“Oh, and while you were getting dressed, Leone came home-” ah, that must’ve been who he was talking to. “He’s exhausted, so maybe don’t go into the living room.” He wasn't planning on it.  “and also try not to make too much noise… he’s a very light sleeper…” He also wasn’t planning on that.

Giorno wondered idly for a moment if there was any correlation between Bucciarati’s improved demeanor and Abbacchio’s recent return, but his deductions were interrupted when he was beckoned closer to the stovetop by the man. “Would you like to help me?”

That seemed like a question he expected an answer to. Giorno nodded in response.

“Oh, perfect.” He handed Giorno the wooden spoon he was holding and made a circular motion that Giorno guessed he was to imitate in the small pot, so he began gently stirring whatever mysterious tan liquid was in it. 

“Do you like hot chocolate, Giorno?” Bruno asked over his shoulder while he flipped something that sizzled. Good question. He wouldn’t know, he had never heard of it. The safest option was a shoulder shrug, so he went with that. Bruno hummed strangely at his response. Did he give the wrong answer?

Giorno was about to open his mouth to try and correct himself when the front door swung open and scared the living daylights out of both of them. Giorno accidently dropped the wooden spoon into the pot amongst the fright. Bruno winced at the loud noise and shot a dangerous glare at the culprits — Mista and Narancia, who sauntered in, oblivious to the sleeping hazard in the next room over. Bruno had an impressively threatening finger to his lips and when the boys noticed, winced too and Mista whispered an apology. This must not be the first time this has happened, Giorno thought to himself, watching the whole interaction before he realised — the spoon. Oh god the spoon. He needed to fish it out before Bruno realised he had messed up the one task he had trusted him to do.

Giorno remained silent, glancing at Bruno who had left him by the stove to go and talk to the other two by the table (quietly). While left alone, he turned his attention back to the pot which now also contained a spoon. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, panic conjuring itself up inside his chest, as he tried to figure out what to do. Could he just reach in and pull it out? But he could feel the head coming from the liquid as he had been stirring, he wasn’t sure how safe that was… But he had dropped Bruno’s spoon! He could gather quickly enough by himself that having a spoon cooked in this liquid wasn't a good thing and might make the taste go bad. He didn’t want to ruin everybody's breakfast. In the end the boy decided to bite the bullet and reached in, quickly finding the spoon and pulling it out. 

Unfortunately, his speed was no match for the steaming pot of hot chocolate, and before he could keep himself quiet a small yelp of shock escaped his lips, and he shook his now scalded hand rapidly to try and eliminate the searing sensation. As he shook it the spoon only fell again, this time onto the floor which caused a clattering sound that alerted the other three stood at the table. They all turned to stare at Giorno, who stood rather pathetically by the stove now holding his hand, having been defeated by the hot chocolate. Bruno put two and two together rather rapidly and rushed over to aid the poor boy. He took his hand and rushed him over to the sink, putting it under the faucet and allowing the cold water to flow over the boy's hand. Instant relief was felt by Giorno, and he gave Bruno a thankful gaze.

“Keep it there for five minutes. Ok?...Don’t worry” Bruno reassured him, and went to pick up the spoon and continue with breakfast. 

Giorno stood there, defeated, keeping his hand under the water. He had expected Narancia to join him by the stove like they had been last night, But when Giorno looked over to the table the previously energetic and chatty teen was sitting quietly at the table. He was almost closed in on himself, arms folded around his body. His eyes seemed glazed over almost, definitely a totally different character than yesterday. He noticed Mista place a brown bag on the dining table, and then ask Narancia something in Italian. The other glanced up at him with those spacey eyes, shrugging as a response. What was wrong with him…?

Eventually Giorno was permitted to leave the sink, and Bruno told him to go and sit down beside the others while he dished up breakfast. There was fresh bread from the bakery on the table, which Mista had picked up on the way. The breakfast smelled divine as well, whatever Bruno had made. Mista went over and helped to bring some things over, placing a cup of the now feared brown drink in front of Giorno. He gave the boy a smile, telling him to drink up. He stared at the drink for a moment, a little bewildered by it. He had never seen anything quite like it, he had only ever drunk water really, but he noticed that even the downcast Narancia eagerly took his cup, so he assumed it must be something tasty. Soon enough the four were sitting around the table eating some fried eggs, along with toast and sausages. Giorno pretty much inhaled his own meal, all the while trying to retain his manners at the table. Although his father practically never sat down to eat with him, Giorno had been taught from a very young age about table manners, and how important they were to a gentleman.

As Giorno was just about finishing up his breakfast and downing the last of his hot chocolate (which he had learned was in fact delicious, despite how it hurt him earlier), he glanced over at the newspaper Bruno had opened up,and was reading the cover page, Giorno couldn’t help but take note of the large headline, taking up a large portion of the front page.

“Five dead in shocking return of murders”

Giorno read over the title again and again, making sure he had read it correctly. Bruno had taken notice of the boy's curiosity, pushing the paper towards him slightly so that he could have a better look. Giorno glanced up at him after a moment, pointing to the title and just looking a little confused. He wasn't sure what to ask, but he wanted to know more about the story. 

Bruno figured out what Giorno was silently asking, and sat back as he tried to figure out what to say. How did he tell this boy that a serial killer ran rampant through the city and murdered people every few nights? Would that not frighten him? He rubbed his chin for a moment before glancing back to Giorno, keeping the language as simple as possible.

“Oh… the murders… ? Well, there's a man in this city who has killed a lot of people. The polizia say they know all of the killings have been committed by one individual… something about the method… There were none for over a week, but two nights ago he came back and killed five people...”

Giorno frowned as he listened, shocked by the news. That was terrible… He had read books before about stuff like that… People who committed murders for no reason… He had always thought so ill of them. Why would you do such a thing? It was heinous. He nodded in understanding of Bruno's explanation, sipping on his hot chocolate for a while. He wondered why the killings had stopped for so long, and then the night of his disappearance there's five of them… It sent shivers down Giorno's spine. 

As if reading his mind, Mista piped up then. He had been relatively quiet up until now, enjoying his meal and keeping a watchful eye on the dull Narancia. “Lucky he didn’t get you, you could've been dead meat.” He commented, to which he earned a scolding glare from Bruno, he shrugged in response, knowing he was right anyway. Giorno shivered slightly, not wanting to think about it all too much. What if he had been caught by this murderer? Then he would never have known any of this… He would have died scared and lost, too. He didn’t feel lost anymore… 

They spoke for a little longer about the killings, Giorno learned that they had been going on for a long time, around 15 years, according to Bruno. Narancia had eventually joined the conversation too, giving his two cents on how one morning he was walking past one of the murders, which had been some drunk guy in an alley. It had been nice to hear Narancia speak up, he had been so worryingly quiet all morning. But just as soon as he spoke up he went quiet again, the conversation dying down. Bruno and Mista spoke between each other for a while, too natively for Giorno to understand, so skimming through the paper, gathering a rough idea of things that took place in this city. After a few moments, a loud sound grabbed his attention. He looked up, looking across the table again to see Narancia, who had just dropped his cup of hot chocolate to the floor. He looked at his hand and then up to Bruno, muttering something very faintly in italian to him. He looked a lot paler than before and it only took a second for the ravenette to react, and soon he had an arm around Narancia’s waist, and was helping him out of his seat. He brought the boy slowly into the bedroom. Giorno frowned as he watched them go, glancing at Mista who also had a very concerned twist in his brow as they disappeared into the next room. What happened there? He watched as the door quietly shut behind them, the two boys left sitting at the table turned to look at eachother. Giorno was rightfully confused, having no real clue about what had just happened. Mista just looked pensive.

“I probably should have checked if he was feeling better before we got here…” He said to no one in particular. He met eyes with Giorno’s once more and could probably see the boy’s visible combination of confusion and concern around the current situation. “Hey, don’t worry.” That caught the boy's attention. Don’t worry? Giorno was definitely no expert on people, but Narancia’s current situation certainly felt like something to be worried about… “‘Happens more than you think — with Narancia, I mean.” Mista continued. “He’s got… I don’t really know how to explain this- uhh his circumstances would be different than ours? I guess that's one way to put it- oh wait are you following?” He stopped to ask, realising he’d been speaking a bit too fast. Giorno gave him a nod that said honestly ‘not really but go on’ “Ah good. So, He uh- Fugo would be better at this- basically, every now and then he has bad days… Most of the time he’s good though! This mornin’ he did tell me wasn’t feelin’ the best and I just thought he must’ve been tired so I told him we’d walk to Bruno’s and I made him promise me he’d say something if it got worse and of course-” he made an encompassing gesture with his hands “the idiot kept it to himself again…” He sighed genuinely. Giorno didn’t have anything to say to that. What was there to say? Words of comfort he wouldn’t even be confident enough to verbalise? That seemed like what someone like Bruno would do… but he wasn’t him. There was one thing that he wasn’t quite sure he understood about Mista’s vague explanation so he thought he’d chance his arm and ask for clarification. Maybe it would be better than the awkward silence they were sentenced to as of the past ten seconds.

“...Bad days?” he basically whispered it, embarrassed by his probably bad pronunciation.

Mista didn’t even call him out on it, which was appreciated. These people were so tolerant. Instead he continued with his explanation. Giorno listened very intently this time.

“Yeah… He sometimes suffers from-” he said a word Giorno hadn’t a hope of understanding. He would ask him to explain but he had already bothered him once by asking him to break down the current subject. He didn’t want him to get mad. “They used to be really bad — like scary bad — but he hasn’t had one like that in years, I think.” Giorno was still lost but was going to pretend like he wasn’t. “Aside from those we gotta be super careful anytime Nar gets sick, yano?” He didn’t know. “That’s how it all started… I dunno if I should even be telling you all this… ” Giorno shrugged. “Hmm… It’s probably okay… If Bruno yells at me, it's nothing I can’t handle, hah!” His mouth grew into a wide smile. Mista’s smile was the kind that reached his eyes. It was infectious. 

“Anyways- oh, stop me if i'm going too fast for ya-’' Giorno nodded but he was not going to. “Basically, when Nar was really young — like even before we all met — he got really really sick. It was something to do with his eye? An infection, I think- I dunno i’m bad at this- anyways, It spread to his brain and things got pretty bad super fast. Bruno said after that he should have died from it, but he didn’t, Thank God...” Giorno could see a tension in Mista’s body disappear when he sighed “His mother died when he was younger from something really similar… sorry, i’m getting off track. Well, ever since then he’s gotten-'' There's that word again. “but it’s nothing we can’t manage! Bucciarati just gets super nervous whenever Nars’ sick cause’ lets just say… He’s kinda prone to it… Oh- don’t tell him I said that! He’ll kill me if he thinks I’m callin him weak…”

Okay. That was a lot.

Not even taking into account all of the vocabulary Giorno couldn’t understand — he got the picture well enough. So, Narancia, the boy who out of all of these people here seemed the most carefree, was dealing with something like that? Mista was wrong when he thought he was calling him weak… If anything, Giorno just realised how strong he was. He never would have known until Mista told him, and Giorno always thought he was good at reading people… maybe that was just his father.

And just as he was thinking about people who don’t like to show their true thoughts, who would appear but none other than Leone Abbacchio. The door from the living room creaked open and out of the darkness like an angry bear out of hibernation, he materialized. He was still in some sort of armour and the big black rings under his eyes were currently his most defining feature. He looked deceased, if Giorno was honest, though he wouldn’t dare say it out loud.

“You look deceased.” Mista announced.

Giorno did his best to not flinch at the murderous scowl that was fired in their direction. If looks could kill, he had no doubt all of Italy would have dropped dead at that very moment. Dead, bloodshot eyes panned dryly over the kitchen before the upright corpse finally decided to speak.

“Where’s Bruno.” he croaked. There was already zero patience left in that man and he had been in their presence all of thirty seconds.

“Bedroom.” Mista responded “Narancia wasn’t feeling well so Bruno’s with him now.”

That woke the man up faster than Giorno thought possible. “He wasn’t feeling well?” His eyes looked considerably more alert than before “Did he-”

“No.” Mista interrupted. “He’s fine, just lightheaded I think. Don’t worry.” He turned more in his chair to fully face the man still standing at the living room door “...didn’t you only get like...an hour of sleep? How are you even awake right now?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He stated bluntly before he made his way across the kitchen and to the pot on the stove. He was still wearing his boots, Giorno noticed. He must’ve come home and literally collapsed onto the sofa. The thought of Bruno trying to welcome him back while he was basically sleepwalking to the living room brought slight amusement to the boy.

Abbacchio grabbed the largest mug available from one of the cupboards and began to pour himself something steaming from a pot. Giorno couldn’t care to think about what pot contained what. Then, ever the man to not beat around the bush, he traipsed over to the table to join them, placed his mug, wilted into a chair and looked up at Giorno then turned to Mista, austerity in his eyes and challenged:

“So, with him, where to first?”

Chapter Text

“D’you think we should bring his cloak thingy?”

“No… I think he’ll be okay.”

Mista stood eagerly in the kitchen holding a small satchel open, shifting his weight between each foot while Abbacchio sluggishly filled a metal flask with water at the faucet. The group didn’t usually bring a whole bag full of miscellaneous items on a day out in Naples, but nobody really knew what they might need for Giorno. There were no guidebooks on how to introduce feral, constrained teenage boys to society and the outside world, that usually took place from the second they were born. Not for this kid, it seemed. The gang really didn’t know what to expect when they took the boy out — Mista could recall their first meeting, and how completely and utterly afraid of him Giorno had been. He had been terrified of the crowds too; Mista had deduced by now that he had never once in his life experienced a group of people larger than two, and now five. Hundreds of citizens in a bustling marketplace must have been terribly frightening for him. Guessing what to expect would have to be good enough for now. Mista was happy to take orders on what to pack, he already had the bag filled with some snacks and pocket change, that seemed to satisfy the group enough, and the teen fastened up the satchel once the canteen full of water had been added...

Giorno currently stood in the corner of the kitchen, silently observing the preparations. He would often zone out of the hustle and bustle until they would talk directly to him. The boy was still hung up on Narancia and Bucciarati at breakfast and whether or not they would be coming too. A few minutes earlier, Abbacchio had creeped into the bedroom on his own to have a word with Bruno, and Giorno wondered what was exchanged while he was in there because he was out again in mere seconds. Was that a good thing or bad? He didn’t know about that, but he did know he would really prefer it if they came with them. It wasn’t that he was wary of the other two, the complete opposite in fact — he definitely trusted them, but something about Bruno not being there made him feel uneasy. He trusted the black-haired man the most out of everyone and he wasn’t even sure why. Something about his voice, how unintentionally authoritative it was, but in such a kind and sincere way, helped Giorno feel safe with these people. Like no harm would come to him if they were around. 

It seemed that the two men in the kitchen were ready now and Giorno rose to attention. Mista, with a satchel around his shoulder, gestured him over to the door and gave him one good look over.

“You ready to head?” He said with a cheeky smile.

“ … Head?” Giorno questioned — Mista was pretty hard to understand some of the time, he seemed to speak with a lot of slang terms that the blonde struggled to pick up on.

“He means are you ready to leave now.” Abbacchio intercepted in English, deadpan. Giorno assumed he was probably tired of seeing him stumble his way through amateur understanding, which made him quite embarrassed all of a sudden. Abbacchio continued anyway. “With your new hair and clothing, no matter who we might see, they won’t know who you are… but still, we’re going to stick to the outskirts — We don’t need to see too many people…” Giorno nodded in feigned understanding, he wasn’t about to ask a question on something that Abbacchio went out of his way to explain to him in the only language he could fully understand.. He wouldn’t allow himself to be that irritating. “Oh, also Bruno won’t be coming with us right now, he’s going to stay wi-” The click of the bedroom door opening stopped Abbacchio in his explanation. As if summoned Bruno appeared with a gentle, unassuming smile on his lips and walked towards them at the front door.

“Don’t count me out just yet.” He exhaled, as if humoured by Abbacchio’s surprised expression

“I thought you wer-”

“I’ve changed my mind.” Bruno interrupted the guard, their discussion once again in Italian, briefly leaving Giorno out of the loop.  “I decided I couldn’t miss this.”

“Okay…” Abbacchio exchanged a confusing look with the ravenette and he smiled softly in response. Giorno noticed how those two seemed to have their own silent language with each other… Maybe it was just another one of those adult things that you learn after a while.

“Alright then. So, where to first?” Mista asked with his hand on the door handle, ready to head outside. Giorno was rather stumped by the constant changing of arrangements but if no one else was concerned, he had no right to be either. Well, all except for one thing that sat constant and heavy at the back of his mind. As Mista opened the front door and the light streamed in, Giorno gave one last glance over his shoulder at the bedroom door — that look wasn’t lost on Bucciarati. The boy felt a gentle palm in between his shoulder blades that drew his attention from the door to look at who the touch belonged to. Bruno smiled, leaning over to subtly whisper in his ear. “He’s okay, just resting.” He stood back and gently beckoned for Giorno to walk out into the sun. How did Bucciarati always know what he was thinking? Was he that easy to read?

The day was hot, but pleasant. There was a light breeze that ran through the boy's blonde locks, rusting his curls slightly. Abbacchio had tidied up his hair for him again, having noticed one of the twists had fallen out when Giorno was asleep. The sun that had previously meant the end of the world to Giorno was now not so terrifying, still a little daunting to him but enjoyable. He stepped out a bit further and closed his eyes, he could still feel some new kind of warmth on his face. Bucciarati closed the front door behind them and Giorno opened his eyes (though squinting, he was in no way used to such bright light) to see Mista and Abbacchio standing at the small steel gate, waiting for them. Bucciarati stood beside him, waiting for him to take the first step out as if he didn’t want to leave him behind or out of his sight. It was refreshing to watch Giorno react to this experience, he was just taking a moment to absorb everything. Giorno hadn’t seen the front of Bruno’s house before, he was unconscious when he first arrived apparently, but looking at it now it was just as he had expected from the inside. A white cracking plaster cottage which shone bright against the beaming sun and a small garden, mildly overgrown with wildflowers. It was humble and charming, just like the ravenette.

Not wanting to cause any annoyance, Giorno pulled himself back to reality and skipped towards the men at the gate. The boy couldn’t see it at the time, but Bruno’s smile widened at the hop in his step. Maybe this day wouldn’t be so nerve racking after all. Bucciarati didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he had been terribly anxious about taking Giorno out, he had no way of guessing how the teen would react to being outside, but the boy seemed to be in a good mood so far, which eased his nerves a great deal. 

“The docks would be a good start, I think.” Bruno grinned as if it were an inside joke within the group. Mista turned around with that same toothy smile, maybe it was one?

“Way ahead of you Mr. B! That's what me and Abbacchio were thinkin’ too- well, more so the beach. There's less people there, we thought it would be a better place to start, ease him in a bit” Mista explained, Abbacchio giving a slight nod in agreement as he waited for the go ahead to leave.

“Hmm, Good idea.” Bucciarati walked beside Giorno, slow in his pace so he wouldn’t overtake the boy’s short strides. Giorno kind of wanted to trail behind, unfocused on, but every time he would slow down or stop for a moment Bucciarati would too, almost automatically and he wouldn’t even address it. It was like he didn’t want to let the boy out of his sight. Giorno couldn’t understand why Bruno was being so attentive with him, he was so used to trailing behind his father’s huge steps that when it came to walking side by side with someone, he didn’t really know where to look or where to put his hands. Staring at the gravel and keeping his arms close to him seemed like the safest option. 

The streets they walked along were a lot less populated than the last time Giorno was outside. Perhaps that was what the silver haired man was referring to when he spoke to him earlier. After a few minutes of walking down narrow streets and trying to work out what the others were talking about, the sun beating down on the back of Giorno’s neck was starting to burn. He reached his hand up to rub at his nape and was surprised by how hot his skin was to the touch. Was that normal? He glanced up from staring at his own feet to look at the others who were watching the path ahead, idly chatting in Italian of course. None of them seemed off put by anything? Perhaps this was really normal. He’d build a tolerance to it soon enough (he hoped). He didn’t want to create another problem for them because his stupid skin felt a little hot… 

As they walked for longer the colourful multi-story houses that filled the centre of the city were getting more and more scarce and smaller cottage-like houses like Bruno’s became more frequent. A vast landscape was growing visible in the distance now too, what with the lack of taller buildings. Giorno squinted as he gazed ahead at what looked like an endlessly rolling blue nothingness. His eyes seemed to be playing tricks on him because he couldn’t see an end to it at all. Surely there had to be more land in the distance? And as his stare intensified, even though his eyes burned with the harsh brightness, he could clearly see that this vast stretch of blue was all wobbly? Wait, no way…  This had to be one of those massive bodies of water that he read about in that really heavy encyclopaedia that he could hardly lift up. Giorno made a small gasp at the realisation that the salty smell in the air confirmed his deductions. What was it called...was it the sea? Or the ocean? Was there a difference? He couldn’t quite remember...  Bruno subtly glanced over to the boy beside him and saw that his eyes were practically sparkling with childlike giddiness and awe. He almost let out an amused chuckle but refrained, he knew at this stage that the boy would probably become self-conscious yet again if he was caught in a display like that. 

Mista turned around just at the moment as if he was about to say something to the boy, but upon noticing the look of wonder on his face he exchanged an understanding nod with Bruno before turning back around. No one wanted to take this moment away from Giorno. After all, none of them could probably even fathom what it was like to see something like this for the very first time. The shores and beaches of Italy had been a part of their lives for as long as most of them could remember, so seeing Giorno’s face in that moment was like seeing someone receive a new life.

After a five-minute walk, they reached the opening of the docks where there were a few small boats moored, a group of three old men sitting around them talking; one of them noticed Bruno and waved him over with a disbelieving smile on his face. When the rest of them turned around to see him they all made the same expression beckoning him over to them. Bruno’s ears tinted red and he gave a look to Abbacchio that said ‘I won’t be long’ and he strolled over to greet them on the pier. Giorno would have questioned who they were if not for his unstoppable infatuation with the sea, which was constantly distracting him as they walked. His eyes were no longer locked onto his feet out of sheer awkwardness, but instead traced keenly on the infinite sparkling blue ahead of him. He craned his head up at the squawk of some seagulls circling right above them, the pitchy cries making him jump slightly. What a funny song they sing. Abbacchio and Mista had already started for a set of steps on the side of the pier, leading down even closer to the water. Giorno quickly scampered behind, eager to get closer and investigate this new fascination of his. On the steps Abbacchio spoke gruffly, not turning his head to the teen but still clearly addressing him. Giorno figured that gruffness wasn’t anything to be afraid of at this point, it was all part of Abbacchio's character. And by now he had learned that under that threatening facade, Leone was a very kind, generous man.

“Bru- Bucciarati is very well known along these parts… His father used to be head of the fisherman’s union. Those men must’ve known him as a boy.”

How do these people keep reading Giorno's thoughts? Was he that blatantly obvious all the time? Once they reached the end of the steps, fine rocks began to crunch beneath the boy’s leather boots. Looking ahead the water creeped closer and closer to the stony walls of the docks. The rocks further out the shore got finer and lighter till there was mainly sand closest to the sea. Mista looked giddy at this stage too, the sea must have an excitable effect on everyone…  Like a young child trying to show a new friend his favourite toys, Mista turned around and reached for Giorno’s hand. After the action he realised what he did and looked warily at the boy — he was extremely cautious about frightening Giorno again. but much to his surprise, Giorno didn’t pull away or look afraid at all. That was invitation enough for Mista to pull the boy out towards the sea, laughing and skipping over rocks. Giorno tripped over himself a few times as he stumbled after Mista, but the butterflies in his stomach were making him feel floaty and invincible — was he really allowed to be feeling this way?

Mista stopped just before the stony ground beneath them faded into fine sediment, letting go of Giorno's wrist for a moment before reaching down, tugging his sandals off of his feet. He looked back to Giorno and gestured towards his feet, encouraging him to do the same. The blonde was a little lost at what to do for a moment, but eventually crouched down to loosen the laces fastening his boots, wanting to be as quick as possible, he wanted to get closer to the sea.

“If you don’t take them off sand will get into them, it’s the worst”

Abbacchio chirped up from behind as he caught up to them, hands stuffed into his pocket. The sea breeze was whipping his hair around not so gracefully, which seemed to be bothering him somewhat. He himself removed his own boots, though he didn't intend on going much further. He often was tasked with looking after everybody's stuff when they came to the docks, he was not fond of the water. 

Mista grinned when he noticed Giorno’s feet were now bare, taking his hand again and tugging him along into the sand. Abbacchio gave him a slight nod when he looked back, letting him know he would keep watch of his boots while they ventured out. He looked back to Mista, and then down to the ground below him. This was another incredibly new sensation to him — the ground was… so soft. Softer than anything he had ever felt before. Mista noticed Giorno's fascination and came to a stop, watching him with a grin. This was fascinating, seeing someone experience this for the first time. Mista had grown up next to the sea, it was all just second nature to him. 

Giorno stared at the sand for a while, taking in the sensations flooding through his feet. The sand was hot — on the surface. But if he wiggled his toes slightly and got just beneath the top layer, it was much cooler, and harder. He lifted his head and met Mista’s gaze for a second, his eyes full of innocent awe and fascination with this new experience. This magical place had been so close to him for so long and he had never known? Once he was familiarised with the sand, his attention turned back to the lapping sound of the waves not far from where they were standing now. The sea breeze had given him a new lease of life, the boy felt as though he could run for miles right now… As if once more reading his mind, Mista began walking towards the sea, coaxing the teen along with an excited grin. Giorno followed eagerly behind him, a small smile forming on his face as he did so. This, without Giorno actually realising, had been the first time the boy had smiled in quite a long time. Not a small smile of gratitude or satisfaction, but joy. Giorno felt giddy and bubbly inside, something he couldn’t remember experiencing before. His smile persisted as he approached the water, taking into account how the sand got harder and wet as he approached the infinite body of water. Mista stuck close to him as a form of moral support, in case he suddenly decided he didn’t like the sea. That in fact would not be the case. 

They eventually reached the water’s edge, Giorno once more receiving an excited look from Mista. He walked on ahead and into the water, the waves lapping up around his ankles. He didn’t go far, wanting to be there for Giorno too. He grinned, waving his hands to Giorno who was a little hesitant at first. The blonde looked up at the sea, and then down to his feet. Let's go. 

He stepped forward, further and further until an incoming wave lapped over his feet for the first time. The boy let out a small yelp of surprise, the sensation taking him aback at first. That earned a hearty laugh from the other teen further in, who held his stomach as he chuckled and encouraged Giorno to come in further. It wasn't… cold but wasn’t as warm as his bath the previous night either. It was a nice middle ground… He wiggled his toes again as another wave lapped over his feet, taking a few tentative steps further into the sea. Abbacchio had come a little closer by now too, making sure things were all safe and Giorno was happy. Mista could be pretty intense at times… 

Well, Giorno was happy. Extremely happy at this moment. He stepped in a little further, following Mista’s lead and pulling his trouser pants up slightly to avoid them getting wet. The water lapped up around his shins, sending shivers up his spine. Mista called out his name, grabbing his attention. 

“Well?! Are you happy?!” He called out, a bright grin on the boy's face as he asked. 

Giorno took a moment to respond, but eventually nodded, that smile coming back again, wider than ever before. He met Mista’s eyes, his eyes sparkling with glee as he… laughed? Giorno wasn’t quite sure what kind of emotion he was experiencing right now, but he knew it was a good one. He just couldn't quite help himself, giggles just escaping his throat as he nodded. “Yes!” He responded to Mista, who seemed over the moon with his reaction. He punched the air and hopped about, soaking in his pants as he let go of them briefly. He called out to Abbacchio who stood by the shore, Bruno just appearing beside him. 

“HE LOVES IT! HE'S LAUGHING AND SMILING!”

He cried out with an excited laugh himself, looking back to Giorno again who was slowly wading through the water at his current depth, quietly giggling, that small smile never once leaving his face. This was so fun… Giorno was having fun. He waded around with Mista for a while, he felt as though he could stay here forever. He had to tell his father about this place when he got back — oh. There's that weird feeling again. That strange heavy feeling in his gut, a feeling that almost wiped the smile from his heat-flushed face if not for a familiar voice which began squealing from above the pier, down towards them. Both Giorno and Mista whipped their heads around to see a panting Narancia with a wide squinty smile on his face, waving down on them. Mista screamed back to him and Narancia came running, Mista darting off to meet him. He was… okay? Nobody seemed concerned so maybe this was normal. Giorno squinted over to see Mista and Narancia colliding at the base of the pier’s steps with excitement. They were talking quickly about something and then Narancia looked over to Giorno, surprised, who was still standing letting the waves wash over his bare feet. Giorno out of the corner of his eye could see Bruno talking to Abbacchio, privately. They were watching the two boys — more specifically Narancia — intently and Bruno had his eyes narrowed and would bite his bottom lip every time he finished speaking. That was a strange expression, Giorno thought. It didn’t look happy though, he knew that much. Concern maybe? Well, whatever it was, Giorno’s attention was drawn away from it when the two teenagers came barrelling back towards him, splashing him with kicks upon their arrival into the sea.

Narancia seemed perfectly fine? Giorno had always thought that when people were ill it normally took them a lot longer to recover. An hour or two didn’t really seem like enough time but then again, the outside world was full of new surprises. Perhaps he was overthinking again. Narancia’s carefree laughter seemed to prove that to him, there seemed to be nothing wrong with him now.

After their fair share of splashing and laughing, the boys were soaked through. They migrated to messing with sand while they let the sun dry them off. Giorno felt like he was floating, he had felt like this for a while now. His cheeks ached in the best way possible. He didn’t think he had ever smiled so much in his life.

Was this what it was like to have friends?

Surely not… Giorno was being too optimistic again. After all, these people saw him only as a responsibility. He understood that. He could accept that. The silver haired man even said it himself — that they were going to return him when all of this was over. 

Why did that… hurt?

Giorno was internally slapping himself because that's what he wanted, it had to be. He needed to stop enjoying himself so much with these people. It was going to be over soon. All good things come to an end — The night, his father’s hugs, this moment… They all end eventually.

When Narancia sat up suddenly from where the three of them had sprawled out on some rocks and declared he was hungry, Giorno was brought back from his thoughts and silently realised that so was he. His clothes were dry, albeit a lot wrinklier than before but still perfect to him. His cheeks were stinging with that hot feeling that was on his neck earlier. Mista pulled him up off the rocks and motioned for him to brush all the remaining sand off his back. The two older men must’ve noticed the boys call to action as they got up from the piers steps where they had been relaxing together and strolled along the sand to meet them halfway.

“Hungry? I’m assuming?” Bruno jested, It seemed everyone was squinting now with the midday sun directly above them.

“You bet!” Narancia retorted, holding his midsection, and groaning for emphasis.

“We better get going then.” Bruno said turning on his heel toward the steps, Abbacchio wordlessly following

“But we brought our own food with us?” Mista looked confused, but followed anyway

Bruno huffed and turned his head to the boy “You really think we wouldn’t treat our guest to the finest cuisine in Naples?” He winked and Mista just blinked back. A delayed beat later Mista smirked, catching onto what Bruno was suggesting. Giorno, none the wiser, hopped up the steps after them.

Once they reached the level ground, Bruno instinctually fell back in line with Giorno, the boy didn’t even take any note of it this time. The group lazily strolled towards a small brown shack along the buildings by the docks. Giorno couldn’t read the name on the sign, but it seemed like it was their destination. Once up close, Giorno could see that there were trays in a line of colourful… puddings? No, that seemed wrong. He really couldn’t have guessed what it was. Were they edible? Before long, Bruno was greeting the young man behind the counter like he was an old friend. Bruno seemed to be well liked by everyone in the city — Giorno could guess why. He looked around him as each of the other boys said something to the man, who nodded in response, like they gave him the right answer and then suddenly he was looking right at Giorno, expectantly.

What was he supposed to do? Did he ask him something? Was Giorno supposed to greet this man? Why was he looking at him like that, and was his patience wearing thin while Giorno stood there panicking under his gaze like a fool? Giorno looked down at his feet to avoid him and he could feel his chest pounding… he wanted someone to rescue him. After what felt like an eternity for the boy when realistically it was mere seconds, he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder. He whipped his head up to see it belonged to Abbacchio. The pressure grounded him, levelling the rising panic in his chest. Bruno said something to the shack man who merely laughed in response. What was funny? Was he laughing at him? He thought he was stupid, didn’t he… did Bruno think that too? The hand on his shoulder gave him a soft squeeze and he felt hair that wasn’t his own tickling the back of his neck. Abbacchio had bent over beside him to whisper in his ear.

“ … Do you like strawberry?”

Giorno stared back at him before nodding slowly, not wanting to cause further disturbances by saying no. He didn’t know. He’d never had strawberries before.

Abbacchio stood up straight and said something in Italian to the man again, presumably telling the man what Giorno just agreed to. Giorno still stood tense and Abbacchio bent over once more, whispering privately again, before releasing his shoulders with a final squeeze.

“It's just Gelato… Don’t worry. It won’t kill you”

Giorno’s shoulders felt colder already. Gelato? He wouldn’t be worrying if he knew what it was. Was that the colourful soft stuff? It must be if the man was now taking a spoon to it. Wow, he was really on a roll with the detective act. Suddenly the man was handing out weird pointy things with a ball of the pudding stuff on top. Was it really edible? It looked far too colourful to be consumed. Then again, a diet of bland soups and bread all your life would leave much to be desired. Bruno picked up the last pointy thing from the man and held it out to Giorno. He quickly looked around at the other boys to see how they were holding it and proceeded to mimic them.

Naranica was already halfway through his scoop when Giorno got his. He watched the boy and realised he was supposed to… lick it? Ok then. When his tongue touched the light pink scoop he flinched back for a moment — it was so cold. Wasn’t food supposed to be hot? Again, no one else seemed bothered by it so Giorno said nothing. Everyone was eating theirs and Giorno was quickly falling behind. He plucked up the courage and gave it one big lick. Woah. That was good. Really good, in fact.

So strawberries were sweet? Who would have imagined.  

Giorno was in heaven right now and he was quickly catching up to the others on their progress. The group started to migrate down the street slowly, still enjoying their gelato in the sun when Giorno suddenly felt an awfully sharp pain in his head. A small hiss fell from his lips as he brought his free hand to his temple. Was he okay? This didn’t feel good at all… was he dying!? Maybe he was deathly allergic to strawberry gelato and just never knew all these years… Could this be the end for him?

He stopped in his tracks as he held his head in his hand. The remaining gelato began to drip down his other arm, melting under the hot sun. Bruno noticed the boy stop and turned around, everyone else followed suit. Giorno looked up at him with wet eyes… How was he supposed to tell Bruno he was dying after all the effort the man went through for him? Wait… why were they all smiling at him? 

Why was Narancia suddenly hunched over laughing? What could possibly be funny about this — He was dying! 

“Giorno, do you have brain freeze?” Mista laughed, covering his mouth with his hand. Bruno was smiling fondly at him and even the corners of Abbacchio’s lips were upturned, but that was a lot coming from him. What was brain freeze, and what could possibly be so funny about his impending death!? Bruno stepped towards him, still smiling and said “You’re okay, It’s normal. You just ate it too fast.” Before pulling a handkerchief out of his back pocket and gently wiping the dripping gelato from his pale arm. Oh. That’s why everyone was laughing.

The tips of Giorno’s ears started to turn red out of embarrassment, averting his eyes down to his feet as he silently went back to licking his gelato, much slower this time. 

Bruno linked his arm around Giorno’s as they all continued on through the streets. Giorno noted that everyone else seemed to have eaten the pointy brown holder of the pudding ball so he guessed he should give it a go too. Crunchy, but nice. Once he had finished it all down to the very tip, he came to the conclusion that yes, he did in fact like strawberry gelato. Hopefully if he got to have it again sometime, it won’t involve his whole life flashing before his eyes.

They strolled for a long time. Giorno liked having his arm linked with Bruno’s. That way he knew where to put his arms and he felt safe. He kind of gathered at this stage that Bruno wasn’t keeping an eye on him in case he ran away or anything, but rather so nothing would happen to him, he liked that. It made him feel secure, but in a different way than the walls of the cathedral. Every now and then Mista or Narancia would point at something of note and tell Giorno about it, whether it was landmarks or funny anecdotes. The two spoke fast so a lot of the time Giorno just nodded along in failed understanding. The sun was high above them at this hour and Bruno mentioned something to the group about stopping by the fountain, so they all took a detour.

Giorno’s legs were getting quite tired at this stage, but he’d never complain about something menial like that. That or the way the burning on his neck and cheeks had gotten more intense over the time they spent walking. None of that was any of their faults so he should just keep it to himself. When they arrived at the fountain that was mentioned, Giorno realised this was the same place where he first met Bruno. What significance was this place to the man? Was it just a meeting spot? Maybe so since a voice called out to them from the other side of the fountain and Giorno looked up to see the other blonde boy from the night before, Fugo.

He jogged around to meet them with a small smile on his face. Giorno was subtly happy to see him again, even if he could be a bit scary sometimes. It was nice to have another person to talk directly to. After a brief catch-up, the six of them headed off again. Giorno was happy his legs got their momentary rest by the fountain, but they still ached now, his body was in no way used to this much physical activity. He didn’t want to drag them down though, so he kept the pace, as painful as it might have been for him.

He noticed they were back in that part of the city the boy’s brought him when they first met, the place with all of the wild kids and the dirty streets. Children ran amok and a lot of them would greet Bruno with a smile and a wave when they noticed him. He really was a loved figure throughout the entire city…

Giorno wondered where they were going at this point and if he was honest, he was starting to get hungry again. The gelato was nice, but not very filling. He was only hoping his tummy wouldn’t rumble though because he really didn’t want them thinking he was ungrateful for it, when he was. He had seen so much today and learned a lot about the city he lived in his whole life. It was a lot bigger than he had imagined, his sore legs would agree, and a lot more colourful in some places than in others. The citizens, well at least the ones that would greet Bruno, seemed nice. Giorno was too nervous to look any of them in the eye though, not that they even cared about his existence.

He learned on the walk that Fugo had been at school earlier that morning. He had wondered at some point in the day where he was but didn’t voice it. It made him embarrassed to try to speak Italian himself because he knew he didn’t sound like the others when he spoke it. Abbacchio was his only option that morning at communicating but even now that Giorno knew his gruffness held no true malice, he still didn’t want to disturb the man more than he already had. Now that Fugo was here, Giorno felt that if he did need to voice something, he could. Fugo seemed like the kind of person to hear you out. Sometimes. He did like to talk a lot himself though, maybe that's why he got along surprisingly well with Mista and Narancia. It was strange though, Giorno could kind of tell, through all of the time he has spent with them all that, yes, Fugo did love and was loved by the others; yet he could flip like a switch sometimes. It scared Giorno when he did because it vaguely reminded him of how his father was long ago, but Bruno had a very good handle on the boy. It was like magic, the way he could calm him.

Maybe Bruno had used that magic on Giorno the morning they met?

And boy did it work. He was with him now and he felt calmer (and safer) than ever. All five of them made him feel safe. Maybe they all had magic powers like Bruno? He felt so safe with them in fact that he didn’t even flinch when the gigantic hooved beast that he saw the morning he got lost reappeared. He knew now it wasn’t a threat — not when he was with them anyway. He saw it from across the street, strapped to some sort of cart and he shuffled closer to Fugo, he saw an opportunity. Fugo wasn’t really paying attention to him, but more so the path ahead of him, so Giorno reached forward and slightly tugged on the boy’s pristine shirt, almost afraid to touch the expensive fabric (he also made a mental note in that moment to thank Fugo for the clothes he was wearing, at a later time.). Fugo turned around and looked at Giorno, who just glanced back over to the horse. Fugo was obviously confused because Giorno gave him zero clues as to what his intentions were so Giorno, not wanting to let the others know he was asking this (he didn’t want to be thought of as stupid again), leaned forward and mumbled a quiet “what is that?” to the other blonde. Fugo followed the boy’s eyes across the street and his face hit realisation. 

“Oh that?” he pointed to the creature. “That’s a horse… is it your first time seeing one?” Fugo asked quietly. Giorno was grateful that the boy seemed to pick up on the clues that he didn’t want this conversation to be heard and he shook his head because technically no, it wasn’t his first time. Except this time, he has the mental capacity to think straight without dropping dead from panic. Fugo turned away from the boy and continued walking for a bit before turning back for a moment to clarify “They’re pretty much harmless, don't worry.” He continued on with the rest of the group. A lot of them have been telling him not to worry lately, did he look like he needed the reassurance? Well, he did… but was it that obvious?

After some more walking, the group finally arrived by a small building, groups of men and women sitting and standing outside, holding tankards full of beer and rum, others with chalices or goblets full of wine. Giorno looked up to a small sign hung above the door, he could read what it said quite clearly, unlike the gelato place earlier. In bold writing, the sign read ‘Passione’. 

Using his top-class detective skills once more, Giorno could gather that this place must be one of those taverns he’s read about, where people come together to enjoy drinks, sing and play music, and play games as well. It seemed like a lively place, full of chatting and laughter. Bruno was once again greeted by a group of smiling men and women, to whom he responded with nods and greetings to them all. Eventually the group headed inside, Bruno keeping Giorno close by him, arms linked once more. The interior was a lot more spacious than Giorno had originally suspected, though it was full to the brim with people. There was a small group of musicians playing in the corner, which Giorno was fascinated by. In spite of that, such a large group of people in such a small space was quickly becoming daunting for the boy. He had been out on the streets all day, but that was much more open and he had become capable of dealing with that now. Right now, he was anxious and unconsciously clinging to Bruno’s sleeve tighter than before. Bruno noticed this and moved his arm to wrap it around the boy, guiding him.

When they walked in, the gang headed straight towards the counter. Giorno heard lively greetings from Narancia and Mista who had gone on ahead, already chatting to whoever was behind the counter. A lively young voice called out to them, it was much higher pitched and chipper than any of the others.

“Mr. Bucciarati! Welcome back! Papa’s gone off today, so I'm here this evenin’. Oh — do we have a guest?” 

Bruno chuckled in response, nodding as he led Giorno towards the counter. “We do, this is Giorno. He’s uh —” He paused briefly, realising they needed a cover up for him, they couldn't go around spreading information about the boy, that would get them in a great deal of trouble. “ — He’s… Fugo’s cousin…  from England. He doesn't know much Italian so bear with us for now” He smiled, turning to Giorno. “Giorno, this is Trish. Trish, this is Giorno” He smiled, glancing at the young girl behind the counter. 

Giorno had been blindly staring at the girl behind the bar for a while now. She looked so… different. She was dressed in a flowy navy dress with a bodice and scarves fastened around her waist. She had bright green eyes that sparkled with charisma, and the brightest rosy hair Giorno had ever seen in his life, wrapped in a tattered silk bandana. As she beamed at him, dimples flashed on her cheeks. She was just so vibrant. The boy gave her an awkward wave, to which Trish laughed softly and waved back at him. The poor teen hadn't seen many girls in his life, they were a little intimidating to him. And this girl seemed bubbly and sure of herself, the already tired Giorno wasn't sure if he could ever meet her energy levels. The group chatted to her for a while in Italian, and then Giorno was led off to a table in the corner, where he was finally allowed to rest his achy limbs. The poor boy was exhausted, he felt as though he could already pass out. The three younger boys stayed up by the bar to chat with Trish, while Bucciarati and Abbacchio sat down with Giorno.

“That girl’s father owns this tavern, but he also sells a lot of his alcohol around the country so when he's not here she and her brother Doppio run the place. She's fifteen...same as you. She's been working here since she was thirteen, if I recall..”

Abbacchio explained for him, filling Giorno in on the girl who was now pouring drinks for the group while chatting away. That information took Giorno aback… She was the same age as him? He stared at her from across the tavern, his lower lip caught between his teeth. The same age… and she seemed so much better. She was confident, and bold. She didn’t seem like the type to be afraid of much. Yet here he was, the polar opposite and now he thought rather low of himself. Was he just pathetic then? She had lived such a different life to him, and it was painfully obvious.  Giorno wished he could live a life like that, one that led him to become so sure of who he was.

After about five minutes the other three arrived at the table, all carrying various drinks. Abbacchio took a goblet full of red liquid which Giorno gathered to be wine, Bruno and the others settled for some other drinks in various containers. A glass full of just water was placed in front of Giorno, the boy glancing up at the others as they sat around the table. Fugo glanced at Giorno while he observed everyone's drinks, speaking to him in English while another conversation took place in Italian between the others. 

“We didn’t know what you wanted so we just got you water, you're probably thirsty after such a long day anyhow. They have a chef who’s making us some food right now, it'll be ready in about twenty minutes” 

The youngest member of the group nodded in understanding, glancing up at Bruno when he realised the other was watching him. He gave the man a small, tired smile in response to his gaze, but Bruno then placed the back of his palm to Giorno's cheeks, which were still painful and red. 

“You're sunburnt.” Bruno commented, shaking his head with a frown. He quickly caught on to Giorno's fearful expression, putting on a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, it will be gone in a few days. It’s just because you are so… pale. It’s my fault, but we can put something on it later to help the pain.” He reassured the boy, which seemed to relax Giorno somewhat. He sat back, gently touching his cheeks and nodding a little in agreement with himself that they were in fact very hot. 

Giorno allowed conversations to take place over him, the whole group kind of gathered how exhausted he was and didn’t want to pressure him into speaking when he was too tired to do so. After twenty minutes like Fugo had said, the young girl from before appeared by their table, her arms lined with four trays of pizzas. How was she holding so much food with just two arms? Giorno was fascinated by the girl's skill. Mista jumped up to help her with them, to which she laughed and scolded him, telling him to sit back down. They seemed to have a great relationship, constantly messing with each other. Giorno gathered that this girl was an important figure in the group's life. He would love to get to know her too… if he could stay. Once the four pizzas were placed on the table, she grabbed a stool and sat down herself, staring at Giorno until the blonde realised it, and met her gaze. He pressed himself back a little against the chair, waiting for her to say something. When she opened her mouth, Giorno was pleasantly surprised when she spoke English to him. It was nowhere near as good as Fugo or Abbacchio, but he could understand her perfectly fine.

“It is very different in Italy, yes? England is more posh. I try to learn from the travellers… It is very fun to practice!” She vaguely explained, grinning at him. Giorno nodded shakily in response, trying to come up with a reply that made sense with the story they were going with. He hadn’t been briefed on the story Bruno had made up for him, so he just ran with it.

“Yes… very hot.” He responded quietly, his voice barely audible among the chatter and music playing in the building. The girl laughed a little awkwardly and nodded in response, about to respond before her name was called from the bar. Giorno's eyes wandered over, noticing another boy with the same pink hair who seemed a bit older waving to her, an annoyed expression on his face. Trish waved back at him and groaned, glancing back to the gang with a smile. 

“Yes, Italy is very hot! Ok I will go now, come back again!” She waved before leaving her stool, jogging back over to the bar to help with drink orders. Bruno smiled and watched the girl leave once more. She seemed so friendly, like she just got along with everybody. 

The pizza was delicious, and certainly filled Giorno up so much that he was fit to pass out after half a pizza to himself. He leaned back in his chair and lay his arms around his stomach, watching as Mista and Narancia disappeared off to dance by the musicians. Their tankards were empty by now, and both seemed much happier and giddier than usual. Fugo was much more relaxed than the others, he seemed to be worn out similar to Giorno, and it didn’t seem like him to get up and go dancing with the others. He was much more reserved. Bruno and Abbacchio were quietly chatting together too, the atmosphere was just… nice. Not as overwhelming as when Giorno first arrived, he had adjusted to the loud noisy drone by now. While sitting there quietly on his own, Giorno felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy. He was weary, completely exhausted after another long day of new experiences. In spite of how achy his body was, it had arguably been the most interesting day of his life. He had experienced the sea for the first time, he thought he was about to succumb to death by gelato, and he got to meet another new face that seemed to be just as fascinating as the others. He hoped days like this would never end. As he was thinking these things though the lively music and chatter began to mould together into one dull drone, his head lolling to the side and his eyelids drooping closed. Giorno's body officially called it a day because his mind didn’t want to, and he fell asleep in the busy tavern, belly full and his heart and mind content. 

The evening ended with Fugo disappearing back to his home, the other two boys away dancing their hearts out with other drunk men and women, laughing, and chatting with anyone and everyone. Bruno and Abbacchio decided to leave the two to themselves, knowing they could take care of themselves. He did take Narancia aside briefly to double check if the boy was alright, and he looked to have bounced back from his incident that morning. That seemed to satisfy the ravenette, and he then returned to Abbacchio who was just scooping Giorno up from his chair. The man got a bit of a fright when he picked Giorno up, lifting the boy like he was nothing more than a sack of grain. He probably weighed even less than that… He shot Bruno an incredibly concerned look, who nodded in understanding without words being said. “I know… I want him to eat well in the short time we have him and maybe... you could do something for him when he goes back…?” He suggested to the other, as they began to head out of the tavern with a sleeping Giorno, Abbacchio cradling his head against his chest to block his ears from the noise. He nodded to himself, sighing quietly. The more he learned about this boy the less he liked the idea of bringing him ‘home’. The pair walked the trek back to Bucciarati’s house, idly chatting to each other. Giorno slept the whole way home, and barely stirred as Abbacchio lay him down gently on the couch. He told Bucciarati he wasn’t to sacrifice anything else for the boy again and that he was doing enough as it is. He said that knowing though, that the ravenette would never really listen…

With the boy on the couch and his quarter’s unnecessarily far away, Leone decided he had no other choice but to stay the night in Bruno’s. As they got into bed together neither of them said a word. The air felt heavy under the mutual realisation that tomorrow was their final day with Giorno, neither of them really wanted to admit that fact out loud. Even though it had only been two days with the boy, it felt as though he was already a permanent member of their little gang. Even Trish seemed to take a fondness to him. That had to mean something...

A difficult decision must be made.

Chapter Text

And so, the decision was made. Or rather, reluctantly settled on. They were going to stick with their original plan to return the boy to the cathedral, despite how wrong it felt. All five of them could sense it — they weren’t stupid. But nobody wanted to be the one selfish enough to voice their desires.

The boy didn’t belong to them.

He already had his own family.

The morning flew by faster than any of them had wanted it to. Mista and Narancia arrived to be fed breakfast like stray dogs as per usual, Giorno didn’t say much — he never did, but it was sweet to see him smile at the boy’s antics. He knew where he was when he woke up. He was totally settled in this place now, much to Bruno’s gratitude. That made Bruno’s heart heavy in the strangest way — just as Giorno seemed to have gotten used to this new place, and was completely comfortable with their little gang, they were going to send him away. Just like that.

Bruno couldn’t allow himself to think like that though. He needed to remind himself that Giorno wasn’t theirs to keep. He hated thinking of the boy in that way, like he was some sort of abandoned kitten they found on the street. He was his own person, with thoughts and feelings. Even if the teen never did voice his opinions on the matter, Bruno was sure the boy wanted to go back to the cathedral, right? It was his home. His real home. Unfortunately.

Come noon, everyone was in the garden, spending their last few hours with Giorno. Mista and Narancia were on their hands and knees in the overgrowth, showing Giorno whatever random bugs and wildflowers they thought the boy would take interest in, which just so happened to be literally all of them. It was extremely endearing to watch, actually. The boy was utterly infatuated with every single living thing they showed him, especially the little ladybug that Narancia had slowly coaxed into his pale palm. Giorno held it with the utmost care and fragility as if a breeze would knock it out of existence. His eyes sparkled with childlike wonder when the tiny creature shook its little wings, taking flight from the palm of his hand. 

Bruno let out a small huff of fondness watching the display from the doorway. He had never seen the two teens get attached to a new guest so fast. He watched it all happen yesterday from afar. They would try and make Giorno smile in any way they could, showing him things in the city that they liked and telling him jokes he probably couldn’t understand but reacted to anyway. He knew they were trying to pack every experience he might like into their short time together, which was sweet of them, but bittersweet all the same.

The afternoon came and went, Bruno not wanting to interrupt the boys in the garden yet. They still had plenty of time together, they would begin preparations for returning Giorno home after sunset. None of them wanted to admit it yet, not a word had been spoken about the night ahead just yet. Nobody wanted to ruin the good mood that had been filling the house all day. Fugo had arrived at around 2pm and had quickly joined in with the others outside. He had heard them all chatting together around lunchtime, Fugo acting as the translator as he had been the last couple days. His presence always seemed to make Giorno chattier. The ravenette sighed quietly, heading over to the washing line in the garden to take in the dry clothes. In the laundry pile was Giorno's old clothes they had found him in. Through the restless night he had shared with Abbacchio, they had agreed that sending him back in Fugo’s expensive attire was not the best idea, so instead Bruno had washed his original outfit so he could change back into them.  When he had washed them though, he had been disgusted. With the amount of filth that came off them, he could be sure they had never been washed properly before then. 

While carrying the basket back inside, Bruno called over to Mista before going inside.

“I’m going to start preparing dinner soon, we’ll be having it early this evening”

He called, Mista nodding in response and giving him insincere smile. They knew why but didn't bother mentioning it. 

Giorno glanced at the two while they spoke to each other, smiling faintly at Bruno when they made eye contact briefly. The thought of tonight lay heavy on the boy, but he was pushing it to the back of his mind and ignoring it for now. He wanted to enjoy these last few hours; he didn’t know if he would ever see these people again. These people who had given him a new perspective, had shown him that the ‘outside world’ wasn’t that scary after all. That everything his father had taught him must have been a lie.

The day traipsed along, the sun creeping lower and lower in the sky. Abbacchio returned home from a long shift at the cathedral, having left early that morning before Giorno had awoken. All six of them sat together for dinner, the table full of chatter and laughter. Even Giorno let out a few genuine giggles and smiles as Narancia and Mista’s animated discussions at dinner, Bruno’s scolding of the two only added to his amusement. This night was amazing. Giorno was sure he would never forget these few days for the rest of his life. 

While the other four began to clear the table and clean up after dinner, Abbacchio took Giorno to the side and placed a hand on his shoulder. The sun was all but set now, and they had to start getting ready.

“Your old clothes are sitting in there on Bruno’s bed...you need to get changed back into them… and you’ll have to take your hair down too, I’m afraid.” He said with his usual deadpan face, but Giorno could notice a faint look of defeat in the man's eyes. He chose not to address it, and nodded before heading into the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him, and letting his gaze linger on the doorknob. 

Oh. This was it wasn’t it. It was really over. All coming to an underwhelming end. The boy stared at the clothes on the bed, feeling a lump form in his throat as he looked at them. Was he about to cry? The mere sight of that outfit filled him with so much sadness and… hurt. He didn’t want to leave — no… what on earth was he saying? There’s that stupid part of him saying that again. But… he was struggling more and more to deny that. Even just one more day… 

He took a deep breath and quickly slapped his cheeks with his hands, shaking himself out as he began to get changed. Once dressed back into the ill-fitting, old rags that he somehow called clothes, he walked over to the mirror and stood in front of it, fighting back his emotions as he reached up to his braid, and carefully began to undo the twists… His heart was breaking. 

Every time Abbacchio had noticed the hair coming loose or undone, he had tidied it up for him and made it look prim and proper. He had even taught Giorno how to do it himself briefly the last time. Once his hair was out of the plait, he removed each individual pin holding the three twists together on his forehead. With his lower lip caught between his teeth he shook his hair out, the golden curls hanging loosely around his shoulders and face once more. He was dressed the same as he was when they found him, but still felt like a completely different person to who he had been three days ago. In reality, he was. He had experienced more stimulation in the past 72 hours than he had in fifteen long years. He didn’t know if his brain was going to let himself be entertained with the same sights and sensations anymore. He craved more.

Once finished, Giorno simply went to sit on the bed. He didn’t want the others to see him like this, not after how he was dressed before. He had felt so… nice, dressed in Fugo’s old clothes. But now they were neatly folded on the end of the bed, and he’d likely never have the privilege of wearing something like that again. He frowned and looked away from them, down at his hands and quietly fiddled with his thumbs. He didn’t want to let his thoughts wander, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to save the reminiscing for when he was back, alone, with literally nothing else to occupy his mind. Against his will his brain started running over everything he had done since Mista and Narancia had found him. The fresh memories did bring a smile to his face, despite how conflicted he was currently feeling. He was pulled from his thoughts when there was a knock on the door, and with a quiet “Yes?” From Giorno, Abbacchio opened the door and stepped in. 

He looked over Giorno, nodding a little. “Good, you’re ready.” He muttered, walking over and sitting down on the bed beside the teen, giving him some space at the same time. He sighed and leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he rubbed his face. “You know... I work just below you almost every day, right? I never would have imagined I’d be doing this for the ‘attic boy’” He laughed hollowly “But, I'm going to start leaving you some extra food in the cathedral. Just beside the stairs where they keep the large candle. Ok? I'll keep it hidden so nobody else finds it — it's just for you. You need it. Ok?” 

He turned to look at Giorno, who looked right back at him. He was about to say something, but Abbacchio continued. “If you ever need anything else from me, leave a note in that same spot and I'll get it for you. I know you can't do much for yourself in there so i’ll help you — And don't you dare try to say no.” He gave the blonde a tiny, barely noticeable smile before standing up, Giorno silently accepted the act of kindness from Abbacchio. That man was so strange… He really was a big softie at heart.

“Are you ready to come out? You’ve been in here almost an hour already” Abbacchio asked, glancing back at Giorno. The boy nodded reluctantly, getting to his feet and silently following Abbacchio out of the room to see all of the others. Once back in the kitchen, there didn’t seem to be any difference in tone from the boys. The atmosphere was still upbeat, Narancia and Mista were still cracking jokes and Fugo was rolling his eyes as per. Nobody batted an eyelid at his change in appearance, maybe they just didn’t want to say anything in case it upset him. They were always so kind about stuff like that… Every single member of this group… Abbacchio, Narancia, Mista, Fugo, Bruno… They were just so kind and welcoming. He was seriously going to miss them.

Giorno noticed his boots placed neatly beside one of the mis-matched dining chairs, and quietly went over to sit down and lace them up. He frowned as his hair fell in his face when he bent over, tucking his locks behind his ear. That was going to be annoying, he had gotten used to it all being held back neatly. Maybe when he was home, he could try and replicate it? No doubt it would never be as good as Abbacchio’s. Once his boots were nice and secure on his feet, he looked up to see Mista and Narancia standing eagerly in front of him, Narancia clearly holding something in his hand. The blonde stared at them expectantly, his eyes panning down to Narancia’s hand as he opened it for him. Inside was a small shell — one he had seen at the beach and fallen in love with. The twisting patterns of its formation had fascinated Giorno, but he left it in the sand, thinking he wasn’t allowed to keep it… Narancia must have noticed his liking for it and kept it for him. He took his hand and placed the shell in it, grinning at Giorno. 

“Keep it — to remember us!” He said slowly and clearly, wanting Giorno to know exactly what he was saying. The boy stared at the shell for a moment — did they realise just how much this meant to the boy? — before smiling with a nod, leaning down to tuck the shell into his boot, out of sight. 

“Thank you. I… I won’t forget” he said in English, Fugo absent-mindedly translating for the group, the boy standing off from them a little bit while he watched. Giorno smiled to himself as he heard Fugo speaking, and then got up from the chair to quietly thank them all, starting with Fugo. He walked over to the other blonde, standing in front of him and giving the boy a smile. The sadness in Giorno's eyes was undeniable now, he couldn’t hide it anymore. This was goodbye.

“Thank you for helping me speak to everyone a-and for allowing me to wear your clothes. They were extremely lovely, so… Thank you.” He smiled at Fugo, who chuckled quietly and shrugged. 

“It's nothing, don’t thank me. It helps me get better at my English anyway. So…It was nice to meet you, Giorno.” 

Fugo smiled at him and put out his hand to shake. He wasn’t one for physical affection, Giorno had learned. The teen took Fugo’s hand and shook it, nodding before turning around to Narancia and Mista, who were already off goofing about in the corner. He approached them and caught their attention by tapping lightly on Mista’s shoulder. He waited for the pair to turn around before speaking, hands clasped in front of him. 

“Grazie, Mista, Narancia…” He smiled awkwardly at them, and the second he spoke Italian both of their eyes lit up, Narancia yelling out happily and throwing his arms around Giorno, Mista quickly joining in from behind, being the biggest of the three he wrapped his arms tightly around the both of them, squeezing the group together. Giorno laughed quietly, blinking hard to push away the tears threatening to fall. He couldn't cry in front of them… It wouldn’t be right. He didn't want to ruin this by becoming a sobbing mess, even though he could tell from the blubbering sniffles close to him that Mista had begun to cry.

Once released from the tight hug, he heard the door open, in walking Bucciarati and followed by Abbacchio, who had gone outside to speak with the ravenette while Giorno said his goodbyes to the others. In his arms, Bruno was carrying Giorno's cloak. He gave the teen a warm smile, Giorno ducking his head slightly as he allowed Bruno to place it over his shoulders and fasten it for him. The boy felt the weight of the fabric on his shoulders, opening his eyes to look down at it. He sighed, the aching in his chest only growing with each passing minute. 

Just as he thought Bruno was finished putting on his cloak for him, he noticed the man reach into his pocket, and pull something out from it. The ravenette smiled, everybody looking on in curiosity as to what the man had. 

“Just a little something I picked up for you yesterday while you were all in the water… I’m really glad you turned out to like ladybugs so much. And I hope you like this too...” He smiled, and took the very edge of  Giorno's cloak. In his hand, Bruno held a tiny golden ladybug brooch, which he carefully closed into the fabric in a more hidden area, where it wouldn't be easily noticeable. The blonde bit his lip, barely able to hold back any more emotion. He felt his eyes water, lifting the fabric up to inspect the small pin closer, running his thumb over the red enamel carefully. He smiled and quickly wiped his eyes, looking up at the man and without any hesitation or without even asking for permission, The young teen wrapped his arms around Bruno’s middle. He buried his face in Bruno’s chest, clinging to the man as if he would disappear if he let go. That's what it felt like right now, anyway.

Bruno chuckled softly, an aching feeling in his own chest as Giorno threw himself at him. He wrapped his arms around Giorno in response, one hand resting gently on the back of his head, the other securely around his back. He could tell that Giorno needed an embrace like this, and he was more than willing to supply it for him at this moment. 

“I’m glad you like it, Giorno.” He muttered quietly, rubbing Giorno's back and glancing over at Leone, who stood with his arms crossed, a fond smile on his face as he watched the ravenette. This was a common occurrence when Bruno said goodbye to the kids he had helped. But this one… this one wasn’t like any other. Eventually Giorno pulled himself back from the hug and quickly wiped his eyes, clearing his throat and looking down at his feet, suddenly embarrassed. He allowed Bruno to step over and grab his own cloak, looking back at everyone else and giving them a small, final smile. Abbacchio then approached him, planting a large hand on top of Giorno's golden locks.

“Be good, kid. Don't get yourself into trouble.” He ruffled Giorno's hair, the boy nodding in response. 

“Right. I think it's time to go, Giorno.”  

Bruno spoke with finality and resolve. So, this was it. With one final lingering gaze at everyone and one final wave, the two stepped out of the cottage together for what they both knew was the last time. The night air was chilly, it brought Giorno back to that night months ago — his first night outside. Only this time he had a warm hand on his shoulder that didn’t remove itself until they exited through the creaky steel gates.

Giorno didn’t know the way back to the cathedral on his own, obviously — if he did, he would have never met these people in the first place. But what he didn’t expect was just how short the journey was. Or maybe it wasn’t. Who could tell. It only really felt unimaginably short because Bruno was there beside him, while he looked up at the stars appearing in the night sky.

Giorno didn’t notice, because he had his head craned up towards the darkening clouds, but Bruno couldn’t stop himself from watching the boy as he stargazed and feeling himself, for the first time in a long, long while, get unnecessarily sentimental. There were no words spoken between the two the entire journey — neither of them wanted to disrupt the peaceful silence of the night. And for Bruno, he felt that speaking up would only bring about unneeded emotion, that would only end up hurting both of them. Giorno more so, he thought. He knew returning to the cathedral was already proving difficult for the boy, and he wouldn’t dream of making it any worse for him.

Bruno felt guilty. Incredibly so. He couldn’t shake the thought from his head that he was letting this boy down. He had the chance to change Giorno's life… But who was he to intercept in someone else's family politics? Giorno had a father, that much was clear. But so did Narancia…. He and Bruno both knew better than anyone, blood does not mean family.

Was he really doing the right thing?

It was too late for second guessing anyway; before long the bell towers of the cathedral were coming into view over the street houses, everything was coming to an end.

It was all so surreal for Giorno, walking back into the familiar cobblestone square. This square and its surrounding alleys were, just mere days ago, were all he knew of this world. Things were different now — everything felt different. He had seen the sea for god's sake, nothing got much bigger than that. He had met the kindest, and most interesting people he could ever have imagined. There was no doubt in his mind that he would be dreaming about them every time he closed his eyes for years to come.

He had to see them again though. He just had to. He didn’t know when, or how, but he needed to see them all again. Giorno told himself deep inside that he physically wasn’t going to allow that goodbye ceremony to be the end. His father would understand. That was if he ever got the courage to tell him. Maybe, maybe one day he could tell his father about the fascinating people he had met on his few days outside, and they could go and meet them together, Giorno could introduce them all to each other… He’d see them again one night. He’d make sure of it.

Their journey came to an end in the middle of the square. There wasn’t a soul left on the streets at this hour, no sounds could even be heard from Trish’s tavern, a few streets down. Giorno would never forget the lively music he had heard there, even if he was half asleep the entire time.

Bruno looked over his shoulder at Giorno once more. The boy seemed…  conflicted as he stared up at the massive structure before them. It was fascinating to watch his almost cherubic features twist in thought. Bruno would laugh if it were fitting of the moment, but it really wasn’t. How ironic that the baby raised beneath frescoes of such angelic beauty would grow to replicate it. The only thing proving the boy to be in fact human and not the offspring of an artist's keen eye was the blushed sunburn spread across his nose and cheekbones, and the faintest beginning of some freckles on the boy's upturned nose. It was a strange sensation for Bruno, as he stared at the boy he had only known for a number of days. In spite  the short time, he felt a bewildering sense of pride for this miracle golden boy. Despite the trials and tribulations of being trapped away in this attic for so long, he had still grown to be such a noble, brave young boy. Yes, he still had an endless list of things to learn about the world… But in spite of the challenges he had faced, he still stood tall and proud. A fond smile appeared on the older man's face as he observed Giorno, who looked back at him briefly to meet Bruno's eyes. That took the ravenette back and pulled him towards reality, and out his prideful gushing thoughts. 

Giorno's eyes, despite what Bruno had thought mere moments ago, were no longer full of that odd bravery, but instead perhaps… regret? The man stared at Giorno momentarily, unsure of what to do or say. Was Giorno seriously considering turning around and going back? It left Bruno with a choice that he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to make.

Bruno could take this all back right now. He could grab the boy and take him home, sprinting if he felt like it. Would Giorno want that though? He has to want to be reunited with his father, right? Unless…

No. Surely Bruno would be able to tell if that was the case. He always has, why should this boy be any different, it wasn’t like he was exactly skilled at hiding his true feelings on things. Every one of them had noticed that — this kid was like an open book written in bold font. So then why was everything about this unsettling Bruno? Giorno eventually looked away again, turning back to face the cathedral, Bruno could almost read his thoughts like they were floating around his head.

The ravenette, with his eyes still locked on Giorno’s features, was about to say it. Just an offer — the boy had every right to refuse. He just needed to know if this was truly what the teen wanted, or whether it was just because they had said so.

“Giorno…. We don’t have to do thi-...” He let his voice fade as he noticed the boy's expression change completely in the blink of an eye. Gone was his poorly hidden hesitation and now Bruno only saw, what he interpreted to be pure consternation at the sight before him. The man followed the boy’s eyes to the entrance of the cathedral, to the small side door, a heavy wooden entryway where he often met his Leone on much sunnier days. The door had opened, and what walked out of it wiped away whatever hollow offers of retreat Bruno could have supplied in that moment.

A man. A giant man, with eerily familiar tufts of golden hair falling out from beneath an equally familiar cloak hood. There was no doubt about it. This remarkable man before them was Giorno’s father. And strangely enough, he hadn’t even noticed their presence yet. 

He looked to be seething, eyes trained on the ground with his arched brows harshly furrowed and his face sporting a sickening grimace. It had Bruno shaken, at a loss — this man was absolutely nothing like what he could have imagined the frail, timid teen’s parent to be. There was nothing else Bruno could do in this situation, if he ran with the boy, the man would notice their presence and if he stood still, not breathing like he currently wasn’t, the man would eventually reach the end of the cathedral steps and see them anyways.

Why was he even panicking like this though? He had his story straight — He definitely had not just harbored this man's son for half a week, against the polizia’s knowledge, and he definitely just found him that night, by himself while he was… fishing, and brought him here immediately, with nothing but sincere intentions with the boy. That was believable, right? So then why in god’s name did his knees feel weak, and his chest extremely tight at the sight of this man, whose foreboding presence loomed over him like a thick fog. 

As Bruno stood there, hand twitching closer to Giorno’s, with the words he knew he had to say on the tip of his tongue, the boy beat him to it. But not in the way he had planned. The boy brought his hands up to the edge of his hood and pulled it back slowly, inching forward longingly as he did so — Bruno stood aback, had the boy lost all inhibitions?  — and when he finally spoke, the teen’s tiny voice crackled with what would have sounded like disuse but the ravenette could see was just sheer anxiety — Giorno's hands were trembling.

“...Father?”

The huge man who remained standing at the top of the steps, was instantly called to attention by Giorno's faint voice. His head snapped up and his eyes locked on the young boy, like a target. With a keen eye on the man's features, for a split-second Bruno noticed an expression on the father that he couldn’t quite place. It was a wild mixture of relief, happiness, ease, among other things. Even he could tell, having never met this man, that it seemed unusual for somebody with such a menacing aura to create such an expression. But just as quick as the man had noticed it, the face changed to one that didn’t seem genuine. Indifference. As the man paced down the steps, Bruno shifted his gaze to Giorno who stood, almost cemented in place as his father approached.

Having said that Giorno was so easy to read, this moment was no different. Though just like his father, the golden boy was showing such a wide range of emotions that it was difficult to pinpoint a single one. However, all that regret and inner-conflict he had expressed mere moments ago had completely disappeared. It was as if a switch had flicked in the boy's head. He suddenly had no more thoughts of abandoning his home, only returning to it. It pained Bruno slightly to see it, though he could tell that Giorno was happy to be home. He was with his father again, just like he had wanted to be. All of that overthinking had been in vain after all.

As soon as they had arrived in the cathedral square, Giorno's entire world had begun spinning. Was this really what he wanted? Was he ready to put a lid on the world he had just discovered for the confines of the cathedral once more…? But he would be with his father again — that's what he wanted. The man was probably worried sick about him, and he missed the man. He knew he did, deep down. Somewhere… 

Staring up at the cathedral walls was bringing a lot of emotions to the forefront for Giorno. He was beginning to remember the security of the cathedral, how comfortable he had been sitting in the nave on endless nights, reading books Pucci would bring him. The comforting scratches of his fathers quill in his book, the quiet conversations they would have together. But in contrast, the new, fresh memories of his days in the daylight shone brightly — the beach, god… He would never grow tired of the infinite blue he had seen that day. As he stood there, he remembered the sea shell hidden away in his boot, and briefly became aware of it. He also reached up to the secret brooch pinned to his cloak, running his thumb over it again. 

He felt a lump developing in his throat again, unsure of what to do anymore. Should he go back? Return to the new happiness he had found with these new people…? Through this inner turmoil Giorno turned back to look at Bruno, meeting the man's eyes. He needed guidance, he couldn’t make a decision on his own. 

Giorno stared at Bruno for a moment; and without words just asked for help. He was sure that in his eyes he was pleading for something, just for the man to say something and help him decide what was best for him. He didn’t know what to do anymore… 

Giorno then turned back to the cathedral, looking up to the high adorned towers that stretched toward the sky. He lived up there, in one of those little rooms. That was his home. He wondered if his father was up there right now, worrying. His question was answered immediately — as the side door of the cathedral creaked open. 

The faint noise alerted Giorno, the boy's eyes darting down to the opening. Bruno said something at that point, but it was all muffled now. Because right in front of Giorno, at the top of the steps, stood his father. Everything surrounding Giorno became a blur. Nothing existed outside his field of vision right now, it couldn’t. What… How — He was right there. Giorno took a tiny step forward, but his feet wouldn't allow him to move any further. He was stuck in place, and for a moment forgot to breathe. His chest felt tight, but so full. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it could be heard by the people around him. His hands had begun to tremble, as he lifted them up to grab the edges of his hood. If he took it down just this once, even though he very well remembered his father’s rules, he thought he would be ok with it. It would help his father to identify himself… He carefully removed his hood, his golden locks tumbling down around his face, still wavy from the braid they had been in earlier that day. He stared up at the giant man at the top of the steps, finally finding his voice after a number of failed attempts in the last few seconds.

“...Father?”

For the first time in days, the longest period of time he has ever been separated from him his entire life, Giorno's eyes met his fathers. Cat-like and piercing, just like always. Something new washed over him, some powerful emotion Giorno couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was soothing, yet also striked some kind of deathly fear into him. It unsettled him in the most familiar and comforting way— that feeling was home. Despite all of that, he felt his eyes sting and his vision blur as his father approached him. He was home, he was really home… 

He watched the man rush down the steps, and within seconds he was in massive arms, completely enveloped in a… an embrace. Oh… Oh how wonderful this felt. His father was hugging him again, after so long… after years. The embrace resulted in Giorno's legs giving way, he couldn’t help it. Everything was hitting him now and with the combination of guilt and regret that he could ever have considered betraying his father, the teen broke. He didn’t try to restrain choking sobs as the larger man supported him, sweeping the boy off of the ground and holding him, allowing Giorno's weary body to just give in and for him to weep. The boy clung to his father’s cloak, tears soaking the fabric as he cried for him. This warm embrace had done everything his father had probably intended it too… He felt so safe, so secure…Back in his father’s hold, once more.

Briefly after the initial reunion, Giorno heard the awkward clearing of a throat behind them. He twisted his head from where it was nuzzled in his father’s cloak, to see Bruno, now below him. His father’s great height held him level with Bruno, it was different to see the man from up here rather than his usual height. With his head still resting against the man's chest, vibrations were sent through his skull as a deep voice spoke to the shorter ravenette. 

“...And you are?” He asked, Giorno quietly listening as their conversation began. He could tell Bruno's body language had changed, he wasn’t standing as tall as he usually did. He kept his hood up, covering his face for the most part. 

“Ah- sir, my name is Paulo — I am a fisherman. I found this boy beside my boat earlier and wanted to help him. I gave him some food, and then he told me where he lives. I return him to you unharmed” 

He spoke differently to how Giorno knew, so fast the boy was unable to understand. Maybe part of his act to not get caught? Giorno wasn't really sure. Everything was kind of fuzzy now, and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton after crying like that. He was aching and emotionally exhausted and really, he just couldn’t tell what was going on. It seemed Giorno's father struggled to understand the man as well but could gather that he had ‘helped’ his son find his way home. He nodded dismissively towards Bruno, not even giving so much as a grunt in response. He looked down to Giorno, who returned his gaze with thoughtfully large, watery eyes. The man spoke to him, with the softest voice Giorno had ever heard him use. And… he smiled at him.

“Welcome home, Giorno” He placed a hand softly on the back of Giorno's head, easing it into his chest and lifting him up a little more to support him as he carried the boy. To be honest, the man could probably lift Giorno up with his pinkie finger with ease if he wanted to. But the excessive gentleness was soothing Giorno. He must be able to see the boy looked exhausted. And Giorno was. The teen sheepishly smiled back at him, shifting himself about a little so that he was comfortable. He pulled himself up so his head was now resting on his father’s great shoulder, one hand grasping onto the cloak clasp on the man’s chest. 

As the large man turned to head back towards the cathedral entrance, Giorno was turned to face the square. With blurring eyes, he peeked over the shoulder and saw… Bruno, standing still. He watched him reach his arms up and lower the hood from his head, revealing his kind face to the boy, one last time. Giorno lifted his head weakly and gave a watery smile to the lone ravenette before lifting his hand to wave limply at him. Maybe it was his fading vision or maybe it was the stars shining above, but the ravenette’s eyes looked shinier than they did before, sadder. He would never forget Bruno. Never.

And with that, the father and son disappeared into the shadows of the cathedral's interior, the door shutting behind them and sending a booming echo through the barren nave.

It was over. Giorno's outside adventures had come to an end. For now.

When the hollow echoes subsided, Giorno realised his father had not yet taken another step into the cathedral. Once the entrance was shut and they were enveloped in darkness, he stood still. The boy wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but the comforting pressure with which his father had held him was becoming too tight, suffocating him. No, it definitely wasn’t Giorno’s imagination — the man's hands trembled when he grasped the boy's hair, hard. Much, much too hard. This didn’t feel right. He was hurting him-

“F-fath—”

And with that, the man dropped his son to the ground, suddenly. The boy attempted to break his fall while slightly dazed, but ended up landing right on his tailbone with a cry of pain. Giorno couldn’t fully comprehend what was going on at that moment. It felt like his body wasn’t his own, like he wasn’t the one experiencing the shockwave of pain that shot up his spine, like the wrist that was grabbed and yanked upwards didn’t belong to him. His father pulled him to his feet, roughly, and Giorno struggled to find his footing before the man gripped the boy's thin upper arms with such a strength that he let out a loosely stifled cry from the sudden pressure, attempting to pull himself away.

His father was strong. Giorno knew that. Giorno marvelled at it. But never in all his life, would he have imagined that strength would be used against him.

So, when his fathers pointed black nails threatened to pierce the surface of the teen’s alabaster skin, Giorno was scared. Terrified. What was wrong with his father… No, What had Giorno done? The shining tear tracks on his cheeks had just begun to dry from earlier, but as he met his father’s eyes, which now shone a wicked scarlet, unshed tears collected on his lashes and threatened to fall but wouldn’t. Not yet. If he attempted to speak his voice would warble and all would spill over. So, he just looked. He looked at his father, at the man who raised him, his one and only protector, and trembled.

The man’s face was entirely too close to the boy’s now. Giorno couldn’t think through the static haze of his mind. His eyes quickly dropped from his father’s paralysing gaze to his mouth as his lips parted slowly, revealing canines that looked alarmingly sharper than Giorno ever remembered them to be. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, the giant man looming even further over the boy, tightening his grip beyond tolerable — he definitely punctured skin this time — and spoke with a tone that Giorno had never heard from him before.

“Tell me where you’ve been…  Now.”

Chapter Text

“Giorno.”

Dios voice was sharp, and commanding in Giorno's ears. A sharp tug on the boy's arm brought him back to reality — He had completely zoned out of the situation, even though his father had been speaking directly to him. The teen lifted his head to meet his father’s piercing, cat-like eyes, feeling as if the breath was taken out of him as he did so. He muttered a quiet “Sorry '' despite not knowing what he was apologising for. He was overwhelmed and disorientated, and nothing his father was doing was making any sense.

“Where in God's name have you been these past days, Giorno. Tell me.” 

The man almost snarled out the words, His already agonising grip on his son's arms only becoming tighter. Giorno could feel the circulation cutting off. 

At that moment, looking into his father’s eyes, Giorno was really about to tell the man everything, the truth of the last few days. The initial terror of the morning, which was followed by the bliss of the sea, Bruno Bucciarati’s hugs everything that came with that group. He was seconds away from opening his mouth and spitting it all out like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. But before he made a sound, there was that nagging voice inside his head again, contradicting his prevailing thoughts. The voice he’d been hearing a lot recently. Whatever the opposite of better judgement was, that voice was definitely it. It spoke of the pull of his heart, not the rationalisation of his head. No, it told him, he shouldn’t tell his father about the people who showed him the wonders of the world, the people who made him feel safe in a place he had only ever believed he was unwelcome. The people who showed him that everything he had been raised to believe was all a lie.

Giorno's mouth was open as if he was about to speak, but he closed it again. His eyes lowered to the floor again, whimpering in pain as he felt his father’s claw-like nails piercing his skin. He was sure he felt a faint drip of warmth down his arm too, his own blood probably. He attempted to flinch away from the discomfort, though he could sense frustration only growing within his father. After another moment of painful silence, the man seemed to lose his patience. He finally released Giorno's forearms, he felt a momentary relief from the crippling pressure, only to then grab his wrist and yank him forward with that same force, beginning towards the nave, and to the door leading to the attic. Giorno looked back towards the door they had just entered through, wondering if Bruno had left now and headed home. 

He hoped they would all live happy lives. Every single one of the people in that group deserved it. Amidst his thoughts Giorno lost his footing, he was already jogging along to keep up with his father’s great strides, and had tripped up over himself when he wasn't paying attention. He heard what sounded like a low growl come from his father, who yanked Giorno upwards so the boy would be upright again. He didn’t stop for the boy to right himself, Giorno had to do that mid-step. He managed to eventually, and continued to jog along beside his father, who strode up to the door. He swung it open, and without slowing his pace, headed up the stairs. The stairs to the attic, to Giorno's… home?

The act of getting up the stairs while being dragged along by someone who was going about four steps at a time when you could just about manage two, was extremely difficult for the young teen. Giorno stumbled up almost every step, hitting his shins and tripping, only being yanked up by his father whenever he did so. By the time they reached the top he was out of breath, panting and desperately trying to catch his breath. He received a disdained glare from his father, who opened up the attic door and jerked him inside. 

“Remove your boots and cloak and get into bed. Immediately.”

The harsh tone never failed to strike fear into Giorno's heart, and he immediately did as he was told. Giorno wasn’t sure what he had done to receive this treatment, five minutes ago his father was holding and embracing him, happy to see him, and now he had blood trickling down his arm and his entire body ached from wear. He didn’t understand… But he gathered that talking to his father about it right now would only prove to be a dangerous and futile task. 

Doing as he was told, Giorno silently took off his boots, finding great difficulty in the way his fingers shook and failed to coordinate. He felt the seashell against his foot but chose to leave it in the shoe for now. He knew it would be safe there and didn’t want to risk losing such a precious item. He knew it was there, and he wouldn’t forget that. He then hung up his cloak, peeking down to the tiny brooch before leaving it there too. It was unlikely that his father would go and check his clothing, so he felt they'd be safe and secure if left there, for now. Once ready he turned and for the first time in four days, looked back into the attic. His bed was pretty much the exact same as he had left it, as was everything else. After receiving an impending look from his father Giorno ducked his head and limped to his bed. He carefully crawled onto the tattered mattress, frowning a little as the bed creaked. It was so uncomfortable, he had forgotten. Even Bruno's couch had been nicer than this. 

The teen lay down on the lumpy mattress, pulling the duvet over himself, tucking it right up under his chin. He kept his back turned from his father, staring blankly at the boarded-up cracks. He noticed the chipped away piece he had broken off months ago, maybe he would be able to work on making it bigger, if he was this high up maybe he would be able to spot Bruno's house from here. He sighed quietly, hearing some furniture squeak along the old floorboards as his father sat down by the table. Giorno expected to hear the familiar scribbles of his father’s writing shortly, but the sound never came. Instead, a deafening silence persisted. There was no writing. But Giorno knew his father was there. He could feel his eyes burning holes into his back. It terrified the boy. His father was waiting for the teen to fall asleep, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. That meant the lid would be placed on this day forever, his last day with Bruno, Mista, Narancia, Fugo, and Abbacchio would come to an end. That saddened him.

Despite Giorno's eyelids inevitably growing heavy and his body just shutting off, he fought the exhaustion for hours. He felt his father’s eyes on him the entire time, piercing through him like a dagger. Eventually though, sleep got the better of him and Giorno was out for the count. He only slept for about two hours though, eventually waking up to pitch black, an unfortunate reminder that he was home. No birds chirping on the olive tree outside the shutters, no morning light seeping through and illuminating the white walls. Just black. He could no longer sense the gaze of his father anymore, so it deemed it safe enough to turn around in his bed and observed the black room. His eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light, and he sat himself up. Through the darkness he managed to locate the candle and lit it up to give himself some light.  Even though this has been common practise for him for his whole life, now… everything just seemed so wrong to him. 

His father was nowhere to be seen — he must have left while Giorno was sleeping. He had been originally heading out to do something in the city before he and Giorno reunited, anyway. As he stood there idly placing the candle back down, he noticed that the table was different. The scratches and dents that he had known like the back of his hand were no longer on the wooden surface and upon closer inspection, he noticed that the entire table was in fact different. What happened to their old one? There were a few different chairs, too… Giorno sat down at one of them, just looking around the attic in silence for a while. He wondered if the door was open, and if he could go downstairs. That might anger his father if he did that, though. It was probably best to remain up here for tonight and if he behaved, he would be allowed in the cathedral the following night. Staying inside for a few days wouldn’t hurt anyone, and he didn’t want to hurt his father by asking to go outside after just returning home from being missing. He would leave it for a few days, at least- 

So, all that was left to do at that moment was to sit and think. In all his fifteen years of life, he seems to have exhausted every other form of entertainment possible in that attic and now that the outside world was no longer available to him right now, nothing else seemed quite as appealing as his own imagination. He couldn’t tell what time it was as his sleep schedule was a mess but judging from the fact that his father was not back, it was likely still nighttime. That meant that he couldn’t really fantasize about what Bruno and the others were doing because they were most likely just sleeping. Boring, but he still couldn’t help but wish he was with them, sleeping soundly on Bruno’s couch. 

In that same moment, the familiar burning sensation in his chest came back to haunt him. Sometimes it’s better to occupy yourself with real life matters rather than just losing yourself to your thoughts. Thinking often means feeling — and Giorno wasn’t a fan of how much he had been doing that lately. He shuffled back over to his sad excuse of a bed, the old wooden frame creaking horribly as he collapsed onto it. Maybe he really should just go down to the nave, then hopefully he wouldn’t be left to think about them right now. 

The back of his throat burned with an unreleased scream — he couldn’t tell if he was just frustrated or absolutely exhausted. It was probably both. But realising the immediate citizens of Naples wouldn’t appreciate a gut-wrenching scream of anguish coming from the cathedral’s towers in the dead of the night, he held back and felt that pent up burning move to behind his eyes. They stung viciously as they grew wet, and though he had cried an embarrassing amount in the previous days, this time the pull was the most agonising.

As much as Giorno tried to stop his tears from falling, his efforts were fruitless and before long the boy was hidden beneath his sheets, his entire body trembling with every gut-wrenching sob. He tried his living best to be quiet, fearful of his father somehow hearing from wherever he was deep within the city. The man had always detested when Giorno cried, saying it was ‘useless’ or made him ‘weak. But when he cried in Bruno’s it was accepted, welcomed. He wished Bruno was here so that he could cry into his comforting arms. But instead, he was alone, alone in a dark room and on an uncomfy bed. 

The poor teen couldn’t quite pinpoint one main reason as to why he was crying. It seemed that now for the first time in days, he was by himself, with no interruptions and nobody around to hear his sobs, and every possible emotion was spilling out of him in a flood of tears. Sadness, Fear, Shock, Betrayal, Joy, Relief, Happiness… they were all there, and all contradicting each other at the same time. 

He couldn’t tell how long it really had been. But Giorno felt like he had been crying for hours. By the end he was absolutely exhausted, both mentally and physically. His throat and eyes stung, his whole face puffy from the ordeal. Once his cries had subsided, he just lay there, now emotionless and dull. He heard the door open and shuffling in the corner — His father must be home. Though awake he didn’t bother greeting him, just curled up tighter and tried to go back to sleep. It didn’t take long for exhaustion to take him for the second time that night, and after that the boy slept well into the next day.

He woke up around evening time, Giorno couldn’t grasp a sure-fire time considering there was no clock in their little attic. As he opened his eyes and adjusted to the dull light in the room, he took into account how well rested he felt. It was common after crying yourself to sleep, of course. His eyes still felt a bit puffy, and his throat still stung a little, but that would pass in time. Turning his head, he met eyes with Dio, who was already sitting in his chair, staring at his son. Giorno immediately felt threatened by the presence, averting his eyes back to the bed sheets.. He really didn’t want to upset his father after last night… Without even looking at his arm he could tell that there were dark bruises all around his upper arms, they ached with even the slightest knock to them. He sat up and stretched a little, yawning before sitting on the edge of the bed. His first full day back home. It didn’t feel safe and secure like before, though. Not anymore. 

“Good evening, Father.”

He greeted the man quietly, though received no response. He spoke loud enough; he was sure his father had heard him. After a moment Giorno got to his feet, wiggling his toes as he touched the cold wooden floorboards. Bruno's house had been warm, the floors were covered with rugs too. Everything here was cold… 

Little to no words were spoken between the two that evening. Giorno received a dull meal of soup and bread from Pucci, which he ate silently at their table. The archbishop also dropped up a new book for Giorno to read, which managed to keep him somewhat occupied for the most part. He was grateful to Pucci, but never got to see the man, as he deposited the goods outside the door and left.

After some time, he grew bored of the dull writing and seemingly endless pages and put it to the side. As the sun began to set and candles began to be lit to illuminate the attic, Giorno looked over to his father who was reading some massive book in his chair. The boy quietly cleared his throat, grabbing the man's attention. With an unnerving side eye from his father that beckoned Giorno to speak, he sat up straight from where he was on his bed and spoke clearly, and politely. 

“Father, Would… Uh — May I have permission to go down into the cathedral tonight?” 

His voice was shaky and unsure, he was awkwardly playing with his hands as he spoke. But he kept eye contact — he knew his father appreciated eye contact when being spoken to. It was the first time he had spoken to him all day since he woke up, and he really didn’t want to have to ask. But the boy couldn’t cope with being confined to such a tiny room anymore — one night alone to his thoughts was more than enough. He just needed that extension to the Nave, where he could explore once more. Perhaps he could strike up a conversation with the lifeless stonework like he used to, to keep himself occupied. He was sure they would be happy to listen to his stories of the outside world, He knew they could always keep a secret.

After a nerve-wracking couple of seconds of waiting, Giorno let out a quiet breath of relief when his father nodded, giving him the go-ahead for an adventure down into the nave that night. The young teen smiled a little and bowed his head slightly. “Thank you, father, I promise I-”

“Guards will remain posted outside all exits of the cathedral tonight. You go near any of the doors, and you won't be permitted to leave this room for a month.”

The boy paused as the commanding voice took over, Giorno nodding eagerly. He could live with that; he was capable of avoiding the doors for tonight. He wanted to be on his best behaviour for his father. Then, he might be allowed to go outside again soon. He understood that the threat of being locked up here was very, very real. His father was a man of his word, and Giorno wasn’t about to go and negotiate with that authority.

So that night, Giorno was more than eager for his ventures within the cathedral. As he headed down the stairs, he couldn’t help remembering how he was dragged up this staircase the previous night. The memory made his gut twist — he still had no idea what he had done wrong back then that provoked his father to act the way he did. His arms were certainly bruised and would be for some time. He tread quickly behind his father, watching as the man crouched to exit the stairwell out of the wooden door, entering into the ambulatory of the large cathedral. Giorno followed behind, craning his neck up to stare at the compositions of cherubs and saints on the ceiling, dimly lit by the candles around the building. He wished he could see them in the daylight, in this dull glow nothing was easily recognisable, and the colours were not as bright as he knew they were supposed to be. Giorno heard his name called and looked to his father, who stood at the beginning of the aisle. He had his hood up, ready to head towards the door and leave for the night.

“Stay down here for the night, I will bring you back upstairs myself once I return. Again, do not dare approach the doors. I will be back before dawn.”

Giorno gave a slight nod and watched as his father strode through the pews, and before long the door shut, leaving an echo reverberating through the nave. The boy looked around, letting out a quiet breath as he headed over to some of the old statues, he used to spend hours talking to as a child. He stared up at them, planting himself in one of the nearby pews and quietly thinking to himself. He wondered what the people carved into these stones used to be like when they were walking this earth. Were they kind? Surely, if they were now worshipped and prayed to by hundreds of people year-round. After a moment Giorno stood again and walked through the cathedral, reminiscing on the times he spent here before, so content with his limited knowledge of the world. Now though, his mind only wandered to the outside, to what lay beyond the doors. His eyes wandered over to the grand entrance of the cathedral, though he knew better than to even attempt that right now. 

As he strolled past one of the statues which was a particular favourite of his — a woman shroud in cloth that is so effortlessly sculpted that Giorno could almost feel the flow of silk, a waft of something familiar passed by him, grabbing his attention. He knew that scent from somewhere, but not from within the cathedral. This place smelled of candle smoke and dust. This smell… It was homely, warm, and welcoming. He couldn’t quite place it, so he decided to put his detective skills to work again and try and locate the source. Sniffing around like a ridiculous looking bloodhound Giorno walked around in circles only to find himself back at the very saintly statue where he initially found the scent. Figures, he should have started there in the first place. 

Peering his head awkwardly around the back of the sculpture to look at the space between its base and the pillars, he saw a strange box wrapped in… a handkerchief? Even the cloth was beginning to look familiar now. Curiosity getting the better of him, Giorno crouched down and picked up the weird box, whipping his head around to make sure it wasn’t some trap. The cathedral was empty. What was he even expecting? 

Despite being completely alone in the cathedral, Giorno chose to remain hidden behind this pillar with the box, in case someone just so happened to walk by and spot him dealing with something that possibly wasn’t his. He sat down on the marble floor and began to untie the handkerchief. Upon doing so the aroma got stronger, it was so… pleasant. He was just about to lift the lid off the box when he noticed a folded note underneath the box in the handkerchief. Giorno unfolded it with the utmost care and upon reading the first word all of the warmth of a summer sun he had yet to even experience filled his beating heart… it was addressed to none other but him.

Giorno,

Bucciarati made you something he said you liked. Please finish it all, if you can, it will be good for you.

You can leave the box back where you found them, I’ll retrieve them in the morning.

Ps: The boys won’t shut up about missing you.

 - A

Abbacchio. Of course, it was from Abbacchio. How could Giorno have even forgotten the promise the guard had made to him when he last saw him. Giorno wasn’t alone, he would never be alone anymore. Even if he could no longer see them, those people will always be thinking of him.

For the first time as Giorno sat on the floor of the barren cathedral, alone, he was not lonely.

Giorno lifted the lid carefully and it finally hit him why the scent was so familiar — this was the same pasta dish that Bruno had made for him the first day they met. Inside the box there was a wrapped set of cutlery, to keep them clean for him and upon looking closer at the box… was that steam? It was. It was still hot. Giorno absolutely revelled in the fact that that meant it couldn’t have been long since it was left there… meaning he can’t be that far… right? Perhaps he was one of the guards stationed right outside the entrance. So close he could touch him. If only he could go outside…

Needless to say, Bruno’s delicious pasta had the same effect on the boy as the very first time he ate it, only this time Giorno had the slightest bit of dignity to hold in his tears, and not get them all over his food. They just knew how to make him feel special. The way they treated him made him feel so… human. Who knew tomato and garlic could make one so emotional?

Giorno finished his meal, fully satiated at last — a feeling he never quite reached on the meals he received from Pucci. He wrapped up the empty box in the same handkerchief as before. He pondered for a moment whether he should keep the note, he wanted to, but it was much too risky for the others. Granted, Abbacchio never actually wrote his name down, which was probably a conscious choice of caution, but just how many Bucciarati’s were out there; Giorno couldn’t risk it. He tucked the note under the knot and carefully placed it back behind the sculpture again, trying not to get his torso wedged in the gap. He wondered in amusement if Abbacchio had to face the same struggle, after all that man was much bigger than him.

That meal had made Giorno's entire day. The thought of Abbacchio being there and carefully placing that meal for him, brought a lot of emotions up within the boy. He wasn’t lonely anymore. He had friends outside that were still thinking of him and taking care of him even though he would likely never see them again. It warmed his heart, and left a smile on his face. After the hearty meal Giorno sat himself down in one of the nearby pews, staring up at the altar. He just allowed himself to sit with his thoughts for the rest of the night, Until his father returned and he had to return to the attic as dawn came. The boy had taken note of how his throat had been hurting ever since waking up, though he had expected it to subside… It had just been from his crying the previous night, after all. 

However, Giorno's sore throat did not disappear. It only got worse, and soon it was paired by a blocked sensation in the back of his nose. He began to feel drowsy and as if his head was stuffed with cotton, but he tried his best to ignore it for now. For two more nights he ventured down into the Nave while his father disappeared into the city. He found the fresh, hot meals in the same location each night, each time they were accompanied by a note written by Abbacchio, who usually just gave him a brief update on everybody and signed with his usual ‘A’. Giorno devoured every meal given to him, he was so grateful for them. They filled his stomach like the measly portions of bread and soup never could and longed for them every night. 

After his third night of meals and his fourth night of being home, Giorno went to bed feeling incredibly achy and faint but when he woke up the following evening, the boy felt as though he had been trampled on by one of those horses he had seen by the docks. His head felt heavy, and his nose was running — similar to how it did when he cried. But…  Giorno hadn’t cried at all the last few days. He sat up and glanced over to where his father was in his chair, eyes closed. He knew the man wasn’t sleeping, probably just resting his eyes. As soon as Giorno sat up though he just felt terrible… His head spun and every inch of his body ached as he moved, and he had no idea why. He hadn’t been doing any extensive movement recently, he had no reason to be hurting… He lay back down after a moment, curling up again in bed. He was cold, too. This didn’t feel right… 

As the evening turned to night, Giorno only felt worse. He resorted to breathing through his mouth no matter how scratchy it made his throat feel, his nose was just too blocked to take a sufficient breath. He was always cold, but then suddenly too hot, constantly switching in and out of the overshirt he had. He felt so uncomfortable and drowsy, but he knew that there would be a hot meal down in the cathedral for him — he had to go down and get it. Giorno’s days consisted of looking forward to those meals, and the little notes that came with them. They were his only connection to the group now, he treasured them like precious gems. Despite how horrible he felt, the boy still went down that evening with his father. Once the man left the nave, Giorno headed straight to the statue, retrieving the box with a tired smile on his face. He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, sitting crossed-legged on the floor as he opened another box of steaming food. He read the small note again, Abbacchio this time leaving him a funny mention of some of Narancia and Mista’s antics. He missed them so much… Giorno tucked into his meal eagerly. It was a new dish, not one the boy had tasted before. He was excited to experience the new flavours, he liked when Bruno cooked new things for him to try. Though as he ate it, it didn’t taste like anything at all … He couldn't taste any of the bright flavours, but he knew Bruno's food always tasted amazing, and he knew some of the ingredients that he could see and definitely knew the taste of. But why couldn't he find the flavour as he ate then? Was his tongue broken or something? Come to think of it, he hadn’t even caught the usual mouth-watering scents he usually did as he opened the box. What was going on with him? Was it because he felt all stuffy and weird?

Eating this meal was certainly a struggle for Giorno, considering he could barely even breathe at this point. His sluggish and groggy state right now didn't help either, he just wanted to go back to bed. He knew though that he was now not allowed to return to the attic himself and had to wait for his father to return. So while he did the boy lay himself down on a wooden pew after he hid the box again, and curled up tightly. He was shivering now, teeth chattering in the cold cathedral. Eventually the man returned home, and he and Giorno headed back upstairs. That was the last time Giorno would be down in the nave for quite some time, though of course, he couldn’t have known that then. 

He went to sleep that night, and when he woke up, nothing really felt right. He woke up in a pool of his own sweat, but he was freezing cold. He was sniffling and struggling to breathe, and his mouth was drier than it had ever been before. He could barely get himself out of bed, everything felt too fuzzy and when he tried to stand, the room started to spin, and it wouldn’t be long before he was laying down again. His father didn’t seem to take note of his son's rapid shift in well-being, and if he did, he certainly didn’t say anything about it. He seemed to still be upholding this silent treatment that Giorno was still confused about. 

Considering his current state, Giorno chose not to venture into the main body of the cathedral that night. He felt far too ill — though he was eaten up by the guilt he felt knowing that Bruno had gone out of his way to prepare something for him, and Abbacchio put in the effort to hide it like always, but there it would remain for the night, untouched. Giorno spent that night tossing and turning in a restless, uncomfortable state, and he was now extremely worried about himself. This wasn’t normal… What was wrong with him..? 

The nights came and went, and Giorno still couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. His condition only grew worse, and worse, and worse. For the first few days even though he didn’t go downstairs, he still retrieved the meals Pucci left for him, managing the trip of a few metres from his bed to the door, and then to sit down at the table where he ate in a stuffy silence. But those days passed, and Giorno grew worse. He couldn’t get himself out of bed anymore, and therefore was no longer eating. He grew weaker and weaker, and most days he even failed to fully gain consciousness if not for a few moments at a time; but even those were hazy and incomprehensible. The boy was scared… he was sure he was going to die.

It came to the attention of the archbishop before his own father, that Giorno was in fact gravely ill. Having been outside those few days, he had been exposed to particles that his body had never known. Because of that exposure he had come down with a violent fever and was now severely ill. Pucci only discovered this when he noticed his meals for Giorno were being left outside of the attic door, untouched for about a week. When he entered the room one night to investigate, he found Giorno, alone, clinging to consciousness in his bed. He was soaked through with a cold sweat, panting, mumbling unintelligible things amidst his feverish dreams. Pucci knew that if he did not feed this boy, he wouldn’t make it to the end of the week. With Dio nowhere to be seen on that night, the man took it upon himself to feed Giorno. He propped his head up slightly and spoon fed him the soup, managing to get the boy somewhat conscious enough to eat. His already frail body was trying to fight off such an aggressive sickness and had not eaten in far too long. He was already losing more weight than he could afford to… 

When Dio returned that night, the clergyman expressed to him just how ill his son was, and that he needed close monitoring for the next few days. Pucci had laid a rosary over the boy's chest, hoping to bring him some guidance and help through the illness. He left that night, telling himself he would return to feed the boy twice a day. It was the least he could do — he believed the rest was up to the Lord to decide the boy's fate. 

 All days blended together, the boy drifting in and out of restless sleep constantly, dreaming of days gone by — the beach, the docks, gelato… He was sure that he remembered someone came to feed him a few times, though he couldn’t remember very well. Was it Bruno? Would Bruno come to see him in the attic? Was it Abbacchio? Maybe he was back in that lovely little cottage, with the wooden shutters. Narancia and Mista could be in the kitchen, was there something being cooked for him right now? He would love some of that pasta… it always tasted so delicious. 

An unknown amount of time passed for Giorno, but he was just awake enough to sense somebody sat beside him, it could have been two people. His eyes remained closed — it was too difficult to open them right now. The boy felt a hand behind his head to lift him up slightly, and then something metal pressing against his lips. Between breathless pants the boy parted his lips, allowing the spoon in. He swallowed whatever was now in his mouth, everything was tasteless and he couldn't tell what it was. He coughed a little as he swallowed and the hands gently holding his head lifted him up more, as to not choke, presumably. He didn’t want to eat, he was tired and wanted to rest… But he was gently shaken back, and fed some more food… These hands… Bruno must really want him to eat right now… He obliged in his clouded mind, allowing himself to finish the meal. Once finished the hand behind his head left, and he could hear quiet shuffling and a door being opened. No… was Bruno leaving? He whimpered quietly, tossing and turning his head as he tried to figure out what was going on. He wanted him to come back, for the kind man to place his hand against his sweaty forehead and tell him that he was going to be ok. 

“nnngh..B-….Bruno…” He mumbled, his bony hands gripping the filthy bedsheets he lay in. He needed someone to comfort him, to tell him he was ok. He was scared… He couldn’t tell what was going on and was afraid he was going to die because of it. He wanted to see everyone again…

Giorno didn’t hear the door close, so maybe Bruno hadn’t left. He needed to see him again… he had to. The boy jerkily threw the sheets off himself and attempted to rise, his elbows shook violently under his own fleeting weight. Once finally semi-upright, his eyelids still much too pained to open, he needed the figure to stay. He tried to call for them only for it to come out as a choked rasp and send him into a coughing fit which sapped any energy he had left to stay upright. His elbows buckled underneath him and he collapsed back onto the mattress with an agonised grunt. Among the ringing in his ears and the stinging of teary eyes, he heard the door harshly clatter shut. They left him there. Alone.

Giorno didn’t know how long he remained in the same position he fell into, practically face down into his pillow, but when he somewhat regained consciousness, he was still there as he had been left, alone. It took all the strength he could muster to finally crack open his eyelids. Even the single candle lighting the room with a faint yellow glow proved too bright for Giorno’s strained eyes, and even in the dull light everything was blurred as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. He tried to blink away the fuzziness, but it seemed like it was there to stay for now. Attempting to steady his breathing against the harsh wheezing that had torn his throat dry for the past few days was more of a chore than he expected, but he got there eventually, even if his nose was still stuffed beyond belief. And after all of that the boy drew his gaunt arms into himself and with one final shaky inhale, pushed his torso up from the mattress he had been ready to die on.

After battling his own weak body to sit up, Giorno managed to lean his back against the wiry headboard. He leaned his head back, though had to focus on not allowing it to loll to the side — if it did he feared his entire body would just go with it, and he would be immobile on the bed once more. While sitting there, the sickly teen came to the realisation that this was the first time he had sat up in god knows how long. It was also the most conscious he had been in a long time, and even still he was struggling to focus on one solid thing, and everything was still spinning. He panted quietly and used the collar of his shirt to wipe some sweat from his brow, even though it was already fairly damp from his pathetic condition. 

After taking a moment to gather himself, Giorno looked around the room, squinting a little in the hopes it would eliminate some of the haze that was inhibiting him from fully making sense of the room. It didn’t really help, but he managed to figure out that he was once again, alone. His father was nowhere to be seen. While trying to focus on the door of the attic the teens eyes wandered to the corner, where his cloak hung. His father’s was missing, which confirmed to him that the man was probably out in the city. What time was it - what day? The teen had no clue how long it had been since he was capable of this much coherent thought, but even still it was proving quite exhausting even sitting up like this.

He was about to lay back down and return to his sorry state, when his eyes moved back to the cloak. Bruno — the brooch. The little ladybug brooch that he had pinned to him when they said their goodbyes… He wanted it. Giorno looked down to the floor, sniffling a little and using the collar of his shirt to wipe his nose. He could do it. He felt more alive than he had last time he was this awake, he was sure he could make the short trip. So, he decided to give it a go. 

The frail boy used all of the strength inside of him to inch himself to the edge of the bed. He carefully swung his legs over the edge, suddenly taking notice of how… bony his legs seemed. There wasn't much meat on them to begin with, but even now he could tell he was much thinner than last time he saw himself. Just how long has he been incapacitated anyway? He coughed a little and took a moment to take a breath, but it was a struggle to even try and fill up his lungs. Breathing hurt, if he was honest. It was laboured and shallow, though he astutely decided this was better than not breathing at all. He placed his bare feet flat on the cold floor and went to push himself to standing.

He stood upright for a fleeting moment, but then his legs crumpled beneath him, and the puny boy collapsed onto the ground. Giorno was so weak he could no longer support his own body weight.

Now on the floor, Giorno lay there, panting and now in throbbing pain from his fall. He knew he had no hope of pulling himself back onto the bed, not right now… But he needed that brooch. He felt that if he didn’t have it with him and show it attention, it would disappear from his cloak, and he would never see it again. The boy bit hard on his dry, chapped lips, and rolled himself onto his stomach. He began to crawl — dragging his feeble body across the cold, dusty wooden floor of their attic. Despite the trip only being a couple metres, Giorno had to take multiple breaks for coughing fits, and after those coughing fits he would need minutes of shallow breaths to regain some oxygen so that he didn't end up choking to death. The trek across the floor took him almost ten minutes, but he eventually arrived beneath his cloak. He pushed himself up to lean in a slumped manner against the wall, reaching up to the corner of the cloak, where he knew the tiny red brooch was located. He let out an exhausted chuckle when he found it, reaching up and carefully removing it from the fabric. He held the jewellery in the palm of his hand, gently running his index finger on the other hand over the small ladybug. 

His eyes stung as he stared down at it, reminiscing about everything once again. He had no idea how long he had been away from them now. It could have been just days, but something told him it had been weeks since he returned home. Everything had been a blur throughout his illness, he had absolutely no way of comprehending how much time had passed.

Giorno had used up every ounce of energy he had to get over to the corner of the attic, and he could feel himself losing consciousness as he lay slumped against the wall. As much as he didn’t want to, he reached up and carefully fastened the brooch back to the cloak, where it would be safe. He was afraid that if he kept it with him somebody would see it and take it away from him, but it would be safe on the underside of his cloak, where it would remain out of sight. After it had been fastened and secured, the teen looked back to his bed across the room. He could feel his body shutting down now, he knew he didn’t have the energy to make it back across the room. He tried all the same, but ended up collapsed and unconscious beside the table, and was still there, feverish and unresponsive when his father returned from his journey through the night. 

More time passed, and Giorno gradually began to recover from his malaise. The recovery was slow and would likely take longer than the illness did to run its course. The first step was the ceasing of his fever dreams, and he was able to stay fully conscious for at least a couple hours at a time. Then, he was able to feed himself again, Pucci delivering the trays to him in bed so he didn’t have to exert himself by moving to the table. Once the boy was now more alert, he really took notice of how dangerously underweight he became. He knew he had been small to begin with, Bruno and Abbacchio had said it to him when he met them. But now… he could have been half his original size — he didn't even know that was possible. Any muscle strength he may have had before has vanished and due to all of this and his low weight, he had been receiving more meals from Pucci to gain back some of that strength. He was still not exactly on speaking terms with his father, but they were certainly exchanging more words than previously. From their brief conversations Giorno had gathered that he had been ill for three weeks, including the first few days he was home. It certainly hadn’t felt that long — he barely remembered anything about the time either now that he was out of it. His father had gone back to writing like he used to, things were slowly going back to normal for them. It had been about four days now since he had begun his ‘recovery’, and his nose had finally begun to clear up. Because of this though, it was running an awful lot, and he was sniffling almost every couple of seconds to prevent a flow of gross mucus from his nose. The boy was currently curled up in bed, quietly reading a book. He had a handkerchief by his side, to help him clear his nose. He sniffled, glancing over to his father who was silently writing at the table. 

His father hadn’t spoken to him yet today and Giorno was hoping that it wasn’t because of his humour and more so because there was just nothing to say — though it did seem like the man was over-punishing his son with the silent treatment. Whenever he did speak to him it was curt and short lived, almost as if he had better things to be doing than conversing with his child. Giorno didn’t want to provoke him though, so he just wouldn’t speak. He wondered if his father had also been taking care of him when he was sick, but he couldn’t remember a single coherent thing about those three weeks that were now a blurry mess in his mind. He couldn’t tell if some of the memories he had were just dreams or if they had actually happened while he was rolling in and out of consciousness. He made the decision to simply disregard anything he wasn’t sure about. If any of it was important surely his father would have told him by now… 

So, there the two of them sat, in relatively comfortable silence. A strange sense of guilt had been pooling in Giorno’s chest the past few days and though he didn’t know the cause for this guilt, he felt the need to apologise. For what? He didn’t really know. Perhaps just everything, he had caused nothing but trouble and had been an exceptional nuisance to his father when he was already mad at him to begin with. Perhaps being with Bruno and the others had made him forget himself, they never made him feel like a burden or an inconvenience, but Giorno had to remember that was just them. He was home now, he needed to remember that. So, as he sat there and turned the page of his book, not even paying attention to what he was reading, an apology was building on his tongue. He could do it. He could break the silence.

He could start a conversation about this. About everything. They could finally talk… he just had to bite the bullet and speak up.

Maybe he should start with a ‘Thank you’ instead? There wasn’t much you can do with an apology. Yes — He’ll thank him. He should thank his father. If Giorno’s gut feeling was correct, he really did owe him his gratitude for taking care of him, as well as the archbishop. He would thank him too. He just needed to suck it up and start the conversation. They need to talk, to communicate, finally.

Just say it. He just needed to open his stupid mouth and say it.

So, when he heard the crisp flick of his father turning a page, he took that as now or never. With one last big sniffle, he inhaled and-

“Would you just be quiet?”

Oh. Okay.

Chapter Text

For nowhere near the first time in his life, Giorno was completely at a loss. It had been an entire week since his pathetically foiled attempt at a conversation with his father, and he hadn’t had the courage to try again since. He was entirely stumped and had no idea how to approach the topic again, but he knew for a fact that if he didn’t soon, it was just going to continue to fester and seep into their relationship, more so than it already had — rotting it away and churning it to dust, possibly beyond repair. That was the worst-case scenario, in Giorno’s eyes, having the bond with the one figure that had always remained a constant in his life torn beyond ruin, but that was also exactly where things were heading. If he wasn’t so unbelievably spineless, things wouldn’t have gotten this bad in the first place.

Giorno respected his father, that was plain as day. But he also feared the man more than he himself even understood. The display on the night of his return only cemented that fact even further in the teen’s soul. Every time Giorno sensed an opportunity to speak up and attempt to rekindle his relationship with his father, a deep, heavy feeling within his chest kept him quiet. It was the nagging of his own flourishing self-hatred and the deep, deep pitted fear of what would possibly occur if he happened to say the wrong thing. Giorno thought his father would never go as far as intentionally hurting him, but after the bruises he received upon his return home, he wasn’t so sure anymore. What he did know was that his father was strong and huge and scary, looming over basically every other human the teen had come in contact with. Even the archbishop — Giorno recalled witnessing sprinklings of interactions between the two over the years, and it had become evident to him that his father had some kind of strange, otherworldly power over Pucci. And the clergyman always seemed somewhat on edge whenever the pair interacted. He thought it a little strange though, wasn’t the archbishop letting them live here out of the goodness of his heart? He had always just chalked it up as another one of those adult things that he didn’t understand — he’d be flippantly dismissed if he asked for an explanation anyways.

What had upset the boy most in the past month was that his father had always loved him, Giorno knew that without a doubt. There was no way it couldn’t be true — the man had said it a forgotten number of years ago, that he did, and if Giorno recalls correctly he even said ‘no matter what’… the boy read many a time about a love, a familial love, which was said to be unconditional. A love without limitations or laws that was hard to find and even harder to lose. So, then how, on God’s green earth, did Giorno manage to find a way to ruin it.

How could he still love him? Giorno broke his trust, left him alone, even had cruel thoughts about not returning and upon eventually returning to him, he lied directly to his father’s face. And his father knew. They both did.

Giorno was a horrible son, but he was also a tired son.

And so, so lonely.    

It had been over three weeks since Giorno had even left the attic or roamed the body of the cathedral, though it didn’t feel like that long considering he wasn’t exactly conscious for most of that time. He felt quite up to it now, though. He still felt faint if he stood up too fast, but his legs no longer trembled, and that was a good start in his opinion. He still sometimes would burst into chesty coughs if his breathing changed too suddenly, but they were getting less intense, and he could recover from them a whole lot faster than before. As far as his runny nose was going, it remained more or less the same, but ever since it was brought to his attention the boy became very self-conscious of his sniffles, so he would make the effort to not do it as much when in the presence of his father — he’d opt for wiping any consequences of this choice on this shirt sleeve or a handkerchief when his father wasn’t looking.

The boy had just woken up from a relatively pleasant sleep, he assumed it was around evening time as he could still see specks of light through the cracks of the boarded-up windows — the sun hadn’t set just yet. Giorno had been sleeping well these past few days — with his feeble body doing everything in its power to help him recover from his illness he tired very easily now, and often ended up falling asleep again even before his father returned, giving his body as much rest as it needed in order to regain more strength. He rolled over in bed to observe the rest of the room. He took note of his father sitting in his chair, back turned to Giorno as he read a book. Giorno buried his face under the sheets and allowed himself a quiet sniffle, trying his best to keep it quiet so as to not disturb his father. Once finished he unveiled his head once more, watching the man for a while. He had decided that today, he was going to muster up whatever sliver of courage he had and speak to his father. More specifically, ask him if he could return to the nave, and explore the cathedral once more. It had been so long since he was down there, and he wanted to stretch his legs more again. He knew it would wear him out, but he needed to regain strength in his legs after barely using them for weeks on end. And for some reason, the teen felt the need to gain permission to do so.

From the second Giorno had reminded himself of his plan for the day, his chest felt tight, and anxiety filled him up inside. It had been several days since his original attempt to speak to his father, and a strange tension had built up between the two that felt impenetrable. He sat up after a moment, stretching his arms towards the ceiling and silently yawning. The man was reading right now, Giorno couldn’t possibly interrupt him. It would just make it even more difficult if he instantly ticked him off, he was less likely to engage in a civil conversation. 

Giorno let the time tick by, every time he looked for an opportunity to speak, he found some reason as to why he shouldn't, and how it would irritate his father. It was getting dark now though, and he knew he didn't have much time left to ask. He was beginning to worry, he didn’t want to spend yet another solitary night with his thoughts in this lonely, lonely attic. As Giorno was finishing up another unpleasant meal of room-temperature soup and stale bread, he noticed his father standing up from his own chair. Now — he had to ask now or else it would be too late. As the man stood, so did the boy, lifting his hand to tug at the great man's shirt, though before he could he retracted his hand quickly, his father thankfully not noticing his attempt. What was he doing? He wasn’t six anymore, he couldn't just do that and not expect to be reprimanded. Instead, just as his father turned, the boy used all of his inner strength to speak up, finally breaking this infinite silence that had existed between the two. 

“F-father, I- … ”

Giorno paused for a moment, eyes widening a little. The sound that just came out of his mouth was nothing short of laughable. It only then came to his attention that he hadn’t used his voice in almost a week, he hadn't said a single word since his father asked him to be quiet. So, what he just spouted was more of a shaky croak. However, it had grabbed his father’s attention all the same. Giorno peered up to the giant man who towered over him, almost casting a shadow over his small frame even with the minimal light in the room. Giorno felt his throat close up for a second — he felt unable to form a single thought with his father looking at him like that.

“Spit it out, I was just about to leave.” 

There was that now unfamiliar, commanding voice. It pierced right through Giorno, causing the boy to stumble over his words once he actually managed to form words on his tongue again. Of course, he had annoyed his father. It seemed every single thing he did now just irritated him, and he didn’t know how to fix that. Panic was rising within him, but he managed to clear his throat, gathering himself slightly to speak. He looked up at his father, taking a deep breath. 

Finally he found the words he needed, meeting his father’s domineering gaze. 

“Father, can I — Tonight… May I please go down to the nave again? I believe I'm strong enough now. I won't venture any further, like we agreed… previously.” 

His words hung in the air for a moment like a thick fog, he could see his father mulling over the request in his mind for a brief moment before answering. He looked back down to Giorno who waited in anticipation, his hands clasped tightly together in front of himself. He let out a hidden sigh of relief when the man nodded, humming lowly in response before turning to grab his cloak. 

“Only the nave, as before. You go near those doors and you know what the punishment will be.”

He threatened, and with that, he left. He didn’t wait for Giorno to follow him, simply descending the stairs himself at a tremendous speed, his great strides covering the steps in moments. Giorno was left alone in the attic, but this time the door remained open for him. He felt a weight lift off of his shoulders, he had finally broken that barrier — they had had their first ‘conversation’ in over a month. Sure, it had not been perfect. But it had satisfied Giorno, and he felt that now, speaking to his father wouldn’t be as daunting. He was proud of himself.

Giorno, for the first time in a month, finally set foot outside the door of the attic and headed down the winding stairwell that led to the nave. He was so excited to finally be going downstairs, which had once more become the limits of his world. He took his time wandering down, already out of breath and coughing as he neared the bottom. He really was so weak now, but his lack of physical exercise had led him into a false sense that he was actually fine and recovered. 

Upon reaching the final step he paused, taking a moment to breathe before stepping towards the door, which had been left ajar for him to exit through. He eagerly approached it, using all his strength to push the heavy wooden door open just enough so that he could squeeze through. He carefully stepped out into the Ambulatory, looking up to the never-ending ceiling once more. Unlike weeks ago, when he first came down here again after returning home, everything seemed bright and magnificent. He had been cooped up for so long, that it was like he was viewing the cathedral through a fresh pair of eyes once more. He looked around and walked down in front of the altar, turning to face it and admire the enormous sculpture that stood behind it, depicting saints and angels from the heavens. The teen tucked some of his tangled hair behind his ear, allowing himself to enjoy this false sense of ‘freedom’ once again. When he first came home, Giorno had been keeping his hair neatly combed through (with his fingers) and relatively clean. But once he became ill and incapacitated, he was unable to do that anymore and from all the tossing and turning, along with the sweat that poured out of him during those feverish weeks, his hair had once more become a gross, dirty and matted mess. He couldn't even braid it again if he tried. 

The boy aimlessly wandered through the nave like he used to, visiting all of the statues he once held endless one-sided conversations with. He passed by one specific statue, and instantly froze. How had he forgotten again? Giorno's eyes wandered across to the opposite side of the nave, over to a pillar where a particular statue was carved. Of course… Abbacchio’s boxes. But he hadn’t been collecting them for weeks, surely they weren’t still being left for him… right? He decided that he may as well check, but he didn't expect much. The teen ventures across to the pillar, sniffing the air for any sign that there was food waiting for him. His sense of smell had just about returned, he even got a little excited when he was able to pick up the scent of some tomato soup the day before. 

Giorno walked closer and closer, and still couldn’t pick up on a scent. That was until he was about a metre from the statue, and he caught a whiff of something he couldn't quite place. But there was something there, Even after so long. The last few steps turned into a short jog to the sculpture and when he peeked behind it, his eyes sparkled with glee when he saw the familiar handkerchief-wrapped box waiting for him. He reached in and pulled it out, sitting himself down where he usually did, placing the box in his lap as he began to unwrap it — it was still warm, the heat emanating from the box warming his legs. He smiled to himself, his heart swelling as he unwrapped it, and noticed a little slip of paper fall out. He was still writing notes, too… Giorno hadn’t been down in so long, and they were still leaving food for him.  He thought they would forget about him after so long… He never thought somebody would ever care for him that much. 

Giorno picked up the slip of paper, reading over the elegant handwriting of Abbacchio. 

‘I don’t know if you’ll be reading this, since there’s been no sign of you for some time.

We really hope you’re ok kid, Bruno’s worried sick that you're not eating these meals. They're not going to waste though, don’t worry, I’ll have them for lunch the next day. He insists on making them still, just in case you come back for them someday.

The boys miss you, Narancia has collected plenty of shells he plans to show you if he sees you again. Mista keeps on befriending stray dogs too, he’s named them all something stupid, nothing surprising there. Fugo is doing well in school, not much new from him. They all still talk about you.

I was promoted to Capitano, too. So, I'm in charge of a lot more things now which is a pain in the ass. But the money's good so I can't complain. 

We all miss you. Please be okay, kid. 

Hope we can see you again someday. 

Enjoy the food.

A.’

Giorno read the note with tears blurring his eyes, though he quickly wiped them away as he didnt want to ruin the paper by getting his stupid tears all over it. They had all been thinking of him, still… He couldn't help but chuckle a little at the bit about Narancia — he couldn’t wait to see the seashells. He still had the one he had gifted him tucked away in his boot. He had never seen a dog in person before either… 

He smiled to himself and carefully placed the note aside, ogling at the meal before him. He was starving — that soup from earlier had not filled him in the slightest. He unwrapped the cutlery and tucked in, taking his time and savouring every single bite. The taste of Bruno's cooking instantly transported him back to that little cottage kitchen, sitting at the round table with those mis-matched chairs, surrounded by conversation and laughter, Abbacchio and Bruno sipping on some wine while the others chatted about everything and anything. It all felt so long ago now… He hadn’t had the energy to think about them all for so long either… He only now realised how much he really missed them again, quietly eating this meal on the cold cathedral floor. 

He wanted to see them again… But did he even deserve to?

Giorno, in all his life had never done anything of worth — so what could he have possibly done to deserve having such generous and loving beings enter his life. They were akin to the sun, and Giorno had known all of his pathetic existence, that he was only meant for night.

Was he so selfish to long for their presence again? He couldn’t help it — he was only human. So, as he sat there alone with not a sound but his own staggered breathing, cradling a now empty box and its fleeting warmth, Giorno felt like the luckiest person in the entire world. No matter what happened, they would remember him. It felt nice to feel important — the boy never had that before.

When Giorno thought of them, which he hadn’t in a while, a dichotomy formed in his mind between the way they made him feel, and who he truly was. Here in the cathedral, where he had grown up, he felt safe, but he also felt like absolutely nothing. There were no consequences to his actions and no legacy nor lasting effects he could possibly have on anything or anyone. He was merely his father’s son, existing just to exist again tomorrow. Out there, they cared. They turned to him to ask what he thought about things, they would check to see how he was feeling — they made him exist for more than just himself. With them, his words and actions had importance; out there he was part of something far greater than whatever would become of his existence within these cathedral walls. 

His father hadn’t always been cold. Years ago, the man used to read to him and tuck him in — the boy even recalls a memory of his father’s laugh, so he must have been capable of it once. The time he spent with his son slowly dwindled throughout the recent years. Giorno knew the man always left the cathedral in the early hours of darkness and returned often before the boy went to sleep at sunrise again. Giorno never once felt the compulsion to ask his father what his matters were outside, the boy had been taught since he could understand speech that if there was something that was truly his business to know, his father would have told him.

But now, Giorno knew of the world — or well at least, he had the most basic of understandings — and he felt that it just wasn’t fair. He had always been warned of these ‘dangers’ of the outside world, and he had been given so many rules to follow — God forbid he ask what for. Why not? He wasn’t a child anymore. In these fleeting moments of self-assurance Giorno liked to forget himself. He liked to pretend he was actually capable of disobeying his father, to imagine one day he could look his father dead in the eye and say what he thinks about things and just how he’s feeling and make his father somehow care about it, without his spine crumbling and his voice dying out in his throat before he ever got that chance to inhale.

He was just so remarkably pathetic.

After long bouts of contemplation and doodling shapes in dust on pillar bases with his finger, the night was almost through and Giorno now knew exactly what he wanted. Even though his father was not back yet, he made his way up to the attic on his own. He figured it best to not start this by waiting for his father and then tagging along behind him submissively to their home. He was independent — he could do this.

When he made it up the stairs, panting slightly from his neglect of exertion, he felt it most fitting to sit at the table in unassuming wait. When his father arrived home, he would pretend to be reading, thinking or really just preoccupying himself in any way that wasn’t looking stupid and panicking erratically. He had no reason to fear, he tried to tell himself that anyways, as he unconsciously began to wring his hands together, his palms became sweaty. It had been over an entire month since the fresh night air reached his lungs — surely that was ample time for reflection? If that was even what it could be called. It was more like the universe punishing him for thinking he really could just have one thing he wanted. First, the sudden change in his father’s attitude the second he returned home. Then, that deathly illness that he was still trying to recover from and would be for some time. And still, the endless silent treatment he had been receiving from his father. Giorno had had plenty of time to think about life in the past two months. In spite of all this he felt better every day and he managed to say real life words to his father earlier in the night so perhaps things were really looking up for him. Speaking of his father, the stairs to the attic began to creak.

When the door opened, Giorno’s head whipped up towards it, but then he immediately remembered he was attempting to act ‘nonchalant’ and lowered his gaze to his lap again. His father, ignoring him, didn’t even notice and just proceeded to lift his cloak from his shoulders and hang it above the teens, on the old rusty hook.

“Father?”

The man stopped.

Wait. Was that Giorno’s own voice!? Why did he say that? He wasn’t ready yet… Why did his lips seem to move much faster than his brain could keep up with? The second the teen realised that he had in fact just grabbed his father’s attention rather bluntly, he instantly felt that sickeningly familiar pull to just shrink in upon himself. He had zero plans for his next move — God, he was such a fool.

“Giorno.” 

Right. Just spit it out you useless idiot.

“I-..Can-” Just breathe. You can do this. “...C-Can I talk to you about something?”

Well, there goes his plan for appearing steadfast and mature. He wasn’t sure if he was visibly shaking or if it was just in his head. He guessed it was all happening now — The boy thought he might have given himself a little bit more time to prepare mentally… who was he kidding. He’d had an entire month. Maybe it was a good thing he spoke without inhibitions… He just would prefer if his voice wouldn’t tremble like it did when doing so.

“What is it.”

His father turned to face him from across the room; not so much asking, demanding. Giorno was glad he was already seated because he had a feeling that if he was standing his knees would have buckled slightly from a flinch. Stop being a coward — it's just your father. You’re okay. The boy inhaled slowly, this was it.

“ …Well, I was… I just wanted to talk to you about… G- …Going outsi-”

“No.”

Don’t panic.

“I- Well no- I just wa-”

“Giorno, Drop it.”

He couldn’t just drop it…  This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair at all. Giorno kept on repeating that to himself in his head — it was almost strong enough to overpower the crippling clutch that fear had on all of his senses at that moment. Why should he? Why should he have to just drop it now? Had his father literally any idea just how much it all was eating away at the boy? The moment was there — he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let it slip away.

“ …Why?”

That slight utterance from Giorno was enough to make his father’s gaze return to him, oppressively so. He had turned away from the teen when he dismissed him, expecting it to all be over just because he said so — Giorno was really pushing his luck and he knew it. The man’s indecipherable eyes had always been the heaviest weight the teen ever had the displeasure of knowing.

“...Why what.”

Danger. Stop. Just go back. Don’t go any further — You’re only making this worse. Stop speaking, just SHUT UP- for the love of God-

But, then again… Giorno knew he had never been able to do anything right.

“Why won’t you just speak to me?”

He was not crying. He was not trembling. He was just...pleading. The man’s brow twitched, indiscernibly — what did that mean again? The last bit of logic and reason in Giorno’s mind was wracking all of his memories to try and read the man like he used to do so easily, but he was coming up empty. What felt like every emotion the teen had ever experienced was coming back to haunt him at that very moment, creeping up and flooding any empty space his mind had left. He had really gone and done it this time, hadn’t he? 

His father remained silent. The silence hurt, So Giorno ended it.

“Y-You never want to talk to me, anymore… It feels so… I don’t know- I-I just..” Giorno stood up from the chair and crept around the table while he spoke — he could feel tears burning his eyes and his voice cracking. but he knew he shouldn’t cry. He was not a child anymore and he needed to so desperately prove it. He swallowed down hard on the ball in his throat. His father was still silent as he stood there, watching him, not saying a single word.

Maybe he was finally listening to his son. Maybe.

“Father, I-” The boy took this opportunity to continue, though his voice was beginning to waver under his father’s menacing stare.  “I just- I want to know if I can go… outside agai-”

“No, Giorno.” The man interrupted just as boldly and aggravatingly flippant as before, and then tore his gaze away, turning from him.

So now he speaks? Why is he only responding to his very own son when it is to shut him down and silence him — Giorno was hurting, badly, but he couldn’t let it show. His father wouldn’t really listen to him if he got emotional, he might assume it’s just some sort of overgrown tantrum when it’s so, so much more than that. He had to continue. He had to do this. The teen had no idea where he was pulling all of this bravery from, perhaps it had been inside him all along and he had finally managed to take hold of it.

“ — But Father, If it’s because of my health… I promise, I-I feel fine now! I-” His voice was becoming shaky, but he did his best to choke it down “A-And I’m sure I’ll feel even better if I-”

“Giorno.” His father’s deep voice snapped and the boy froze once more, mouth hanging ajar as he was stopped mid-sentence.. “I said drop. It.”

“But I-” He was desperate now, reaching towards his father's back with shaking hands, before the large man suddenly whipped around instantly, without warning. Oh God — he was furious now. Giorno retracted immediately with fright; anything he might have been about to say died in his throat before it reached his lips.

“Giorno. Do not make me say it again.” The boy was beginning to visibly lose the battle to his tremors as his father commanded silence from him — Giorno could do nothing but obey. “You do not listen, boy. You never seem to understand.” His father continued, making Giorno feel smaller and smaller by the second. 

“I warned you, did I not? I gave you rules to follow for your own safety, and still, you couldn’t do that?”

The man left out a harsh huff laced with exasperation and stepped towards his son, who in response flinched away. His father only leaned closer because of this — taking advantage of his threatening aura and instilling even more fear into his son. 

Giorno couldn’t think, let alone speak. How was he to tell his father that getting lost was an accident in the first place? Would he even listen or care? All this time he thought that Giorno had deliberately forsaken his father’s laws just to spite him? If he could even speak up right now, would he be able to form the words to say so?

“And furthermore — Do you even know why you fell so ill, boy? Your weak body couldn’t handle the city’s air, did you know? …  And now, you want to go back out there again. To return to me on death's door once more… Is that what you want?” The man leaned away from his son and he finally felt like he could breathe a bit clearer. This time, Giorno was the one with nothing to say.

He had no idea that was even possible. Why did no one warn him of that? He felt like such an idiot but before he fell too deep into his thoughts again he heard his father’s voice once more only this time it was quieter and definite as he turned his large frame away from him and started for the direction of the door.

“...And you lied to me.”

Giorno was yanked straight from his thoughts at that — what did he mean? he couldn't let him leave just yet. He wasn’t finished…  Giorno was beginning to panic, and fast. What could he possibly know? He didn’t know about the others, did he? There was no way. But then again, Giorno hadn’t told him anything about what he did while he was outside for those few days — so maybe he was just referring to that? The boy’s thoughts were racing faster and faster as he tried to rationalise the man's cryptic comment. And he couldn’t let this conversation end… he didn't even know where his father could be going at this hour, the sun was almost up, and he never left this late. Did he just not want to be in his own son’s presence that bad? God, Giorno needed to say something, fast. His father’s hand was reaching for the knob.

“ … I- I’m sorry!” The boy spurted, instantly regretful and unsure of what to say next. But at least his father stopped his exit. The man’s hand was clenched into a fist now hovering close to his side and he remained turned away from his son, who began his attempt to rectify the situation, rather terribly.

“I- I’m sorry, father..” He began to cautiously approach him, holding his breath as he did so. Maybe he could coax him to stay. He couldn’t let it end like this “I’m sorry… for not being honest w-with you.” Think, think, think…  “I- I… should have come home sooner… I’m so sorry.” Partially true. “But I- … I panicked! I panicked because I thought you would be angry with me for going past the lamppost… ” He crept even closer, closing the distance between them more now. He didn’t know where he was now getting this mild confidence from, since earlier it had been wiped from him by his fathers glare —  but he figured it was probably just a last stitch bout of adrenaline. He continued, hastily.

“But father, t-that was the only rule I broke… I promise. I didn’t mean to stay out past sunrise… It was a complete accident — I just panicked, and I never spoke to anyone — no strangers, I know the rules...! Please, father…. Please forgive me.” This part was spoken completely from Giorno’s heart “And please, please don’t make me stay insi-”

“Who’s Bruno?”

Oh.

Oh no.

With that one question, what felt like the entire world fell from beneath the boy's feet and in an instant, he could hear his own blood rushing in his ears. He knew? How did he know!? Giorno’s heart dropped in such a way that caused physical agony. Just how much could he possibly know...? The boy’s breathing started to speed up as his mind raced once more and he realised he hadn’t responded to his father.

“..Wh-...I...Ho-.....What?”

The boy couldn’t care how much he stuttered or wheezed — he had descended into complete panic. His legs trembled as he stood and the distance between him and his father suddenly seemed like too little. He could still see his father’s fists clenched near the doorknob as he didn’t even turn to face his son.

“This is over, now. You will stay here.” His voice was low and incredibly controlled, so much so that if Giorno wasn’t so on edge, he would have missed the way the man's fist shook as he reached for the door finally.

The boy couldn’t take this. He cried at last.

“No — Father Please! I can’t stay up here any longer!” He cried, there was no point hiding anything from the man anymore…. He always knew. “P-Please, father! I’m so alon-”

“Giorno…” The low voice growled but the boy wasn’t listening; he was in absolute desperation. He took shaky steps towards the man as he cried, shudders running throughout his whole body. Giorno thought he had prepared for the worst-case scenario of his decision to talk tonight, but he had gravely underestimated his misfortune. “I’m begging you, please! I-I can’t-”

The low voice growled once more, the man stood with his expression hidden, as his trembling fist remained clutched, agonisingly tight around the knob. 

With one last wail from the son, a wail of pure anguish, he stepped closer, reaching out to his father for something… anything at all.

“PLEASE! FATHE-”

“JUST SHUT UP!”

After that, everything began to move in slow motion.

The fist unravelled from the knob. The arm swung back. The entire force of his great body, all thrown with it at once. 

And there was Giorno. Close. Too close.

He was standing right behind his father, begging for him to listen.

With the bellowing roar that shocked the air out of his lungs the boy looked up to see the hand that used to hold him, barrelling towards his face.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t shield. There was no time.

A supernatural strength, two centuries in the making, made unyielding contact with the boy’s small face.

And then, everything inside of him was pushed away leaving nothing but pure, unmitigated pain.

Giorno, as a young boy, loved his father’s great strength; he’d giggle as he was picked up with one hand, cheering his father on when he lifted extremely heavy objects with ease. But now, as he was flung the entire way across the room — the pathetic expanse of his home — and as his shoulder blades and skull made the first impact against the parallel wall, the only thought in his throbbing head was:

He is going to kill me.

After the initial impact, and after every bit of wind had been knocked from his lungs, his entire body slumped to the ground. He couldn’t open his eyes; the room was spinning much too fast. Every single inch of his puny body throbbed with sheer agony and a warm liquid which gushed from both his nostrils, seeping into his mouth. It tasted like metal, and he wanted to throw up right then and there.

His ears rang.

His head burned ferociously. 

Help. He needed help. Everything hurt. He wanted it to stop. 

He needed his father. No. He…

The ringing quietened just in time for him to hear a creak.

Help.

And then a door closing.

He’d call for help, if his throat would open.

But Giorno had a feeling that as lay on those floorboards, bleeding, he was now in that attic, completely alone.

He could never find comfort in this place, ever again. 

He was no longer home.

Chapter Text

Claps of thunder rumbled through the night sky, rain pelting down onto the small cottage roof as a ferocious wind rattled the shutters. It was June, and a typical Mediterranean storm was battering the kingdom of Naples. Abbacchio lay dead still in bed, staring at the dark ceiling which was momentarily illuminated with purple flashes every few seconds. He turned his head where he lay to observe Bruno, who was somehow sprawled out, sleeping soundly beside him, blissfully unaware of the raging storm outside. He listened to the other man's quiet snores between intervals of thunder, letting out a heavy groan and rubbing his face. The now captain suffered from insomnia on good days as it was, and a storm on a night where he thought he would get a good night's sleep was really ruining his mood. 

Leone rolled onto his side in a hopeless attempt to get more comfortable, as if it would help him get to sleep at all. He tried shutting his eyes and sandwiching his head between his pillow, but to no avail. How on earth could that ravenette sleep through such a loud storm? He was envious of the man, it must be something to do with his fishing background, he thought to himself. After another rumbling drone of thunder through the sky, Abbacchio clamped his eyes shut harder in frustration, but then thought that for a second he heard something through the rumbles. He opened one eye, checking for any follow up noises. He gave up after a moment, but just as he shut his eyes again, he heard it once more. It sounded like heavy banging? It could easily be something hitting a window, or a tree branch against the roof. He groaned and cursed under his breath, wishing he would just be able to sleep.

When he heard the banging for a third time, the man decided he may as well just get up and see for himself what all the noise was. The man stood, yawning and rubbing his face to try and wake himself up slightly as he trudged towards the front door. If anything, it could just be one of Mista’s filthy new dogs.

Pushing some hair out of his face, Abbacchio twisted the door knob and pulled open the door, shielding his face slightly as he looked around, being blasted with wind and rain. From what he could make out, there was nobody outside. It was almost impossible to see anything through the storm, his face being hit with wind and rain even though he hadn’t even stepped fully outside. This storm was horrible… even he, a 6-foot-2 man would probably get swept away if he wasn't careful. Probably just a branch blowing by that was now gone. He groaned, just giving up and moving to shut the door. There was nothing worth looking for out there, so he was better off just restlessly laying in bed than continuing to get wet. The man stepped back slightly to close the door, but suddenly stopped, slowly lowering his head to the ground when he felt something grab his bare ankle. Something cold, and bony. Leones eyes fell upon a pale hand, connected to a thin wrist, which led up towards an equally thin body. What the….? No… 

“Bruno!?”

 Abbacchio called to the other male still in the bedroom, glancing over his shoulder momentarily towards the hallway door. He brought his attention back to the body on the doorstep though, it’s weak grip still holding onto his ankle for dear life. Abbacchio squinted his eyes, unable to fully make out what exactly this was in the pitch black. However, as if on cue, a long flash of lightning illuminated the sky, and the man instantly noticed the knotty soaked, golden hair belonging to this body. No, not this body…  No… This boy. Giorno. Abbacchio’s eyes widened when he suddenly realised just what was before him and all signs of exhaustion left his body as his heart dropped in his chest — this was an emergency.

“BRUNO!?”

Immediately after Abbacchio roared down the house to alert the ravenette, the man crouched down and tried as carefully as he could, to scoop the scrawny teen up into his arms. He thought he had a gauge on the size and weight of the boy — he remembered how it felt to carry him before — but oh how wrong his predictions were. Lifting him up quicker than he meant to, an incoherent pained whimper escaped Giorno's mouth, shock washing over Abbacchio’s face as he, himself, winced at the noise. 

“What the fuck…” He whispered, regrettably peeling the boy back from where his trembling hands had begun to clutch to the man's shirt; he needed to get a look at the boy's battered face. Giorno’s eyes didn’t meet his, but they weren’t shut, just completely glazed over… This was bad.

He kicked the door shut behind him, rushing, as much as he could without jostling the soaked boy, towards the bedroom. Before he reached it Bruno came barrelling out of the room, rushing to see what the man’s bellow had been about. The two exchanged a brief stare before Bruno's eyes fell down to the load in Abbacchio’s arms, his jaw falling in a way that would almost have been comical if not for the severity of the situation. He quickly brought a hand up to cover it.

“Oh my god…” the ravenette whispered, apprehensive and watery.

There wasn’t another word needed between the pair, while never having faced a situation this surreal, they knew what they had to do. They had to act… fast.

Bruno moved aside as Abbacchio rushed into the bedroom and carefully laid Giorno on the bed. He cradled the boy's head as he leaned over the mattress, gently lowering him down. Soon an oil lamp was lit up to illuminate the room, and they were finally able to see the full extent of what they were dealing with. Giorno — soaked through to the bone, blood smeared across his face and staining a lot of his shirt. The main source seemed to be his nose, but his lip was also split slightly, and the unsightly discoloration of forming bruises littered the entire left half of his slack face. His eyes were hardly open, and one wouldn't be able to tell he was conscious besides the occasionally jerky lull of his head, and the quiet groans coming from his lips. Abbacchio was completely stunned where he stood, he really didn’t know where to begin. Giorno looked like utter shit, and was barely more than skin and bone — The man thought it impossible that the teen could waste away any more than the last time they had seen him… just what had he been through these last few weeks? They needed answers fast, but the poor kid was in absolutely no state to answer them now. 

Abbacchio turned his head to Bruno expectantly as he had been strangely silent, and noticed the man pinning his hair back, and then he knew that in the next few seconds he would be receiving orders. How did that man always know just what to do…

“I need some warm water and a cloth, now” Bruno commanded and Abbacchio, no questions asked, zipped out of the room to go and fulfil his commands. 

Bruno carefully sat down on the bed next to Giorno, a distressed crease in his brow as he examined the boy and gently rang a finger over the teen’s cheek, pushing the damp hair out of his beaten face. In that moment he just looked so, so weak and absolutely spent…Bruno knew he could never go back in time and fix whatever had happened as much as that killed him inside to admit, but he did know one thing for certain — he was here with him, right then and there, and he would rather be damned than let anything happened to that boy ever again. Not on his watch. He had already failed him once… and it was never going to happen again. They had Giorno again… although not under the circumstances either of them could ever have imagined, but they had to be there for him. He came to them. He needed them.

Bruno gently cupped his face, “Giorno? Giorno can you hear me? It’s me, it’s Bruno. You’re safe now, you’re ok… Giorno?” He called to the boy, gently patting his cheek on the side of his face that wasn't turning black and blue. In return he only received a weak groan, the boy's blonde lashes painfully fluttered and his eyes cracked open, glassy and dull. Bruno's heart broke at the sight before him.

He had let this happen. 

Moments later Abbacchio returned with a warm basin of water, along with the softest cloth the man could find in the house. They tried to manoeuvre Giorno to sit up against the headboard, but quickly discovered the boy in his state, was simply unable to support the weight of his own head. It kept lolling to the side, and his entire body would slump along with it. They resorted to Leone kneeling by the bed, holding the teen’s head to the side while Bruno delicately wiped dried blood from his face. The two exchanged little words throughout the treatment, until Abbacchio tentatively began gently feeling around the back of the boy's head, feeling his way through the matted lumps of hair for what was the source of the faint crimson hue at the base of his head. When he ran his hand over a specific spot the boy seemed to react, a louder whimper escaped his lips, and he seemed to try and unconsciously jerk his head away from the touch. Leone looked up to the ravenette, frowning deeply. 

“Bruno, feel this…” He beckoned, the man lowering the cloth to feel around the back of Giorno's head. After Abbacchio guided the man's hand to the exact spot, Bruno ran his fingers over an alarming hard bump on the back of the teens head and he couldn’t help but wince. The pair exchanged a wordless look, before Abbacchio returned his gaze to Giorno, cradling his head in his hands and trying to avoid looking at the way his bruised features would scrunch and then fall slack like it seemed even in his lack of consciousness, the boy couldn’t escape the agony that was plaguing his puny frame. The poor boy was in such a state and neither knew exactly what to do to aid him, other than their usual ‘clean him up and get him into some warm clothes’. The two of them were being so careful with him — Giorno looked so frightfully fragile right now in a way they couldn’t describe. And they knew he was pale before, but his colour now resembled that of a corpse — a sickly pallor that spelled no good.

“Just what happened to you…?”

 The ravenette whispered quietly, finally placing down the cloth, the boy looking somewhat better now that the blood was cleaned from his face. ‘Better’, for lack of a more suitable word, that was. No matter what they did right now, Giorno looked terrible, there were no two ways about it. 

Now their attention turned to his body, which was currently clad in soaked rags that even though they had just been pelted with rain for God knows how long, looked absolutely filthy. 

“We need to get these off of him.” Bruno declared, and immediately both he and Abbacchio began an attempt to lift Giorno's arms up to remove his bloody shirt, but with another pained groan from the boy they halted. The duo came to a mutual realisation that it was really not the best idea to move him too much right now. They couldn’t possibly know the full extent to the teens injuries yet so they chose to play it safe for now. 

Abbacchio rushed to the kitchen, and seconds later they were carefully cutting the clothes from the boy — it was quicker and caused him little to no pain. The garb had already left wet stains on the duvet, so they tried to be as quick as possible in removing them. He probably wasn’t going to miss these filthy rags anyways… They hoped. 

Upon stripping them away, they finally got a look at Giorno's torso.... The two had to take a moment once his shirt was off, completely taken aback by how unbelievably emaciated he was. His ribs protruded as he breathed, his chest rising and falling in a laboured fashion that made the pair sick to their stomachs. Bruno quietly cleared his throat, not even wishing to make a comment on it right now. It was obvious simply from the atmosphere of the room, nothing needed to be said that couldn’t already be seen before them. That boy was in more pain than he could ever have imagined. No one should ever experience this. Especially innocent young teenagers who Bruno knows for a fact doesn’t even have the means to hurt a buzzing fly.

“ … Turn him on his side, We need to take off his pants… He’s shivering.”  

Bruno ordered the other, who diligently rolled the trembling boy onto his side, allowing for faster removal of his bottoms. They could easily ring both items of clothing out to form a small puddle on the ground. God knows how long he had been out in the storm for, evidently too long — how did he even get out there? Once on his side, Bruno noticed the red speckling of forming bruises and some shallow grazing on the teens protruding vertebrae and shoulder blades — what could have possibly caused all of this..? There was no point in even trying to ask him right now though, the blonde was barely capable of even forming a sentence. 

Once they had Giorno out of the dripping wet clothes, they laid him down on his back, and carefully covered his lower half with the sheets, for decency. Bruno carefully climbed off of the bed and headed to his closet, beginning to rummage through the drawers for something they could give him to wear for now. It was probably best to not move him too much now, but he knew better than to leave the poor boy bare under those sheets. He wanted Giorno to feel safe, warm and comfortable when he came to, if that was even possible for him now — not vulnerable and frightened. 

While Bruno was searching for an item of clothing, Abbacchio just sat there staring at Giorno. His alarming condition explained the weeks of unopened meals and unread letters, the guard felt at the time that he should have been doing more to ensure the boy ate those meals — but in hindsight, what could he realistically have done? It wasn’t like he could just storm up to the hidden attic and spoon feed the boy. If he liked his position and stability, which was debatable, he knew he had to lay low. But was it all worth it if it meant seeing a kid like this? Christ. Just what has happened to him these past few weeks?

He frowned deeply as he reached for Giorno, gently trying to untangle some of the knots in the boy's hair with his fingers, near the ends. It was almost worse than when he had first found him; this would take a while to fix. He seemed to be more comfortable now though, less delirious, and more like he was just a boy quietly sleeping. The shivering was disappearing, and he wasn't as restless as before. The laboured rise and fall of his pale chest made it clear he was still breathing though, which brought him some odd sense of comfort. 

Shortly after, the ravenette returned with a large overshirt, which with the help of Leone, they delicately pulled over Giorno's head, and inched it down until it covered his body. The shirt was a comfortable fit on Bruno, but acted almost as a gown for the gaunt teen, swallowing him whole. Bruno sat for a moment before thinking of what to do next, and then sat close to Giorno, lightly tapping his cheek. Of course, he wanted the teen to rest but he also really needed to try and get the boy to respond to something, anything. If he was at least responsive to touch or a voice, Bruno felt as though he would be able to relax somewhat. He tapped Giorno's face again, a little harder than last time. He went to speak, but then looked at Abbacchio instead. He suddenly realised that right now, it would be best for the boy to only be hearing his own language, rather than using any extra brain power to listen to Italian. The man understood, clearing his throat a little to speak to Giorno. 

“Uh,... G…Giorno? It's Abbacchio, I… Can you understand me? If you can please..uhm… Do something.” He spoke slowly and clearly, waiting for any sign of responsiveness from the boy. 

“n...nngghgmmm….”

It took a moment, but eventually an incoherent mumble came from the boy's mouth, though it was impossible to make out what he had said, resonating as more of a groan. All the same, it was a response. And both men let out an audible sigh of relief at the sign of lucidity. Abbacchio nodded, giving Giorno a gentle, encouraging nudge on his arm. . “Good, good, that's perfect. Can you move anything for us? Lift your arm?” He asked, just wanting to see if Giorno was really able to understand them or only groaning at the sound of voices. He didn't want to exert the boy, but they needed to know how much he could move. Another awkward mumble left the boy's mouth, and he shakily lifted his hand to the closest to the two, weakly taking hold of the corner of Bruno's shirt, which hung open. The ravenette softened at the touch, glancing at Leone who gave a small smile in return. He was glad this kid was… ok. He just wanted to know what the fuck had happened to him, and what… or who had caused it… 

“That's ok, Giorno… Thank you. You can rest now, kid.”

For now, though, they felt as though they had covered all of the basic steps in immediate care. Giorno was dry, comfortable, somewhat responsive and it seemed as though the bleeding from his nose had ceased. There wasn't much more they could do for now, only sit and watch him throughout the night for any further problems. Bruno was especially concerned about the trauma to the boy’s head — he knew it best to monitor someone with a head injury while sleeping and while he was definitely going to do that it still didn’t help with his worry. Giorno had no way of telling them just how much pain he was in and where it was yet and the two of them couldn’t do anything about it… except wait. 

Waiting could be a dangerous game though, with someone in the state they had found Giorno in. It wasn’t like they could get a doctor, though. With the combination of the early morning hours, the raging storm and the fact that they both mutually felt it fit to not trust anyone else with the boy, they were on their own. Bruno had his fair share of nursing injured and sick street kids, but he could safely say he had never once had the displeasure of witnessing a case as extreme as the one he had just laid his eyes upon. Head injuries were a delicate subject with the man too… He was no stranger to the severe consequences trauma to the brain could have on one's life so he was not about to throw caution to the wind. He was going to guard the boy with his life for tonight no matter how fiercely exhaustion crept through his bones.

He worried about Leone, though. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that the guard rarely got more hours of sleep than you could count on one hand — he hid it well though, feigning slumber in the morning time just so Bruno could ‘wake’ him gently with a raspy morning greeting. If one wasn’t as observant as the ravenette, he would get away with it effortlessly, but Bruno knew the rhythm with which Leone’s chest would rise and fall with authentic sleep — he adored it.

And with the storm still raging outside, neither of them would be getting much sleep any time soon, so better to just cut their losses now and begin the day early and sleepless. While the pair sat closely monitoring Giorno and his occasional twitches, Leone realised by looking over at the bloodshot eyes of the ravenette, both of them were in desperate need of some coffee if they were going to stay functioning. He got up and trudged to the kitchen, yawning as he set everything up to boil some water, and brew them some liquid sleep. 

Giorno never failed to fill Bruno with fascination and awe at his blind perseverance. How, in this… horrendous state, had he managed to find his way from the cathedral right to his front door? They had only made the journey once, on the night he returned the boy to his father. Yet he somehow remembered the way, from nearly two months ago, while this disorientated and in a merciless storm? This… golden boy, he showed an instinctual resilience and courage like Bruno had never seen before. He was downright inspirational and the ravenette marvelled at it. 

He sighed and pushed the boys still drying hair from his face, observing the developing bruises once more. He already had pretty intense swelling around his eye, God… Giorno must be in so much pain, yet he wasn’t even there enough to properly express it. How this boy made it to his doorstep without losing consciousness along the way baffled him — it must have been sheer adrenaline and desperation… and trust.

 It warmed Bruno's heart and broke it all at once. He was going to do everything in his power to return this kid to the one he watched giggling on the beach with sun kissed cheeks so many weeks ago. He would never let another soul hurt him like that… he would make sure of it. That was one of the millions of things he silently sweared to the hurting boy before him.

The second Giorno's body had allowed him to move after the initial blow, he was bolting. He may as well have fallen down the spiral stone staircase descending from the attic, every inch of  his body screaming in pain and the world lurching around him violently. He could feel in his current state — let alone the fact he had just been launched against a wall — his legs shouldn't have been capable of running the way he was. Despite that, a voice deep within him told him he had to leave, now, and his life depended on it. He was not safe in that cathedral, and a raw, primitive instinct told him he had to run. 

Fuelled by pure concentrated adrenaline alone, Giorno ran through the nave of that cathedral, staggering and tripping as his bare feet slapped against the marble tiles. He was probably dripping blood along behind him but he was not about to stop and check. He used all of his might to shove open the heavy door, falling to his knees as it swung open, revealing him to the relentless storm outside. As the wind hit his face the wetness of blood and tears turned cold. He hadn’t even considered the promise of guards standing post right outside, but he immediately realised there was in fact no one there to stop him. If he had time for thinking he’d reckon it was because of the storm but the boy had no other thoughts on his mind — only sanctuary. He was up again within seconds, stumbling down the steps with throbbing knees. Giorno made no attempt to turn and look at the cathedral he just left behind, the boy had no intention of ever returning there… ever again.

He was barefoot and clad in just his thin shirt and trousers, the cloak still hung within the attic, his boots neatly placed beneath. His lungs begged for him to stop, he was wheezing and gasping frantically as the cold air made his throat want to close. Every street he staggered down looked alike and too different at the same time, he knew where he was going but didn’t — he would have called it muscle memory except for the irony of the fact he could hardly feel his muscles moving anymore, but nothing would allow his legs to come to a halt. He couldn’t even feel them throb anymore, but they continued to move as if spurred on by a power much higher than his own. The stiffness and aches from his previous illness weren’t there anymore, only adrenaline coursing through every vessel in his feeble body. Giorno slipped and fell numerous times, grazing his knees and palms along the cobblestone roads, gravel cut into his fingers and shins but that couldn't stop him. Nothing stopped him. 

As thunder and lightning crashed at a deafening volume above his head and the rainwater seeped through his skin and down to his bones, Giorno ran. Where to, that was yet to be discovered. It was only as the now delirious boy passed the overflowing fountain, that he realised where he was headed. Bruno’s. Bruno Bucciarati’s home. His body almost forced him to pause for a moment, the wear of the last thirty minutes of sprinting and agony catching up to him all at once. He was about to fall to the ground, but in his stumble Giorno’s spasming muscles picked up his pace once more, forcing himself to complete the final push before allowing himself to collapse. He had to make it.

By the time he reached the iron gate, he was no longer running, in fact, the boy was barely upright. Instead, Giorno was stumbling from side to side, vision spotty and fading. His legs trembled which spread to full body shudders after every laborious step he trudged. He leaned against the gate with buckling elbows, looking ahead towards the front door. He choked coughing, gasping and failing to fully inhale a recovery, the chambers in his lungs had enough and began seizing with the freezing, wet air. His vision was really failing him now. With one final, agonising push, he staggered down the short path to the door. The boy collapsed onto the front step, allowing gravel to pierce further into his dripping knees — he lifted his lifeless arms to desperately beat his numb fist against the door. Amidst the booming thunder, he prayed to God above that somebody… anybody could hear him. As his hammering weakened and Giorno's body finally began to shut down, the thirty minutes of mindless endurance caught up to his emaciated and beaten form in mere seconds. He slid down the door, falling to the ground in a drenched, wheezing heap. In his last moments of coherent consciousness, he saw a set of legs appear in front of him. Help. Desperately, he inched his wrist forward, wrapping his cadaverous fingers around the pale ankle. All he could do now was trust. 

The hours ticked by painfully slowly, Bruno and Leone downed two mugs of coffee respectfully, keeping them energised just enough to stay awake until dawn broke. They regrettably had to try and wake Giorno from his rest every few hours, knowing they needed to make sure his responsiveness hadn’t deteriorated over the span of time — head trauma was a delicate battle to fight. Thankfully though, all seemed to be well and they didn’t come across any difficulties with him. They did however, have the misfortune of slowly watching a series of agonising bruises only darken further across the span of his body, one could only imagine how much they stung to the touch. So, both made every effort to avoid any unnecessary contact or pressure in the worse areas, keeping him as comfortable as they thought possible under the sheets. 

The weather eventually subsided, the rumbling thunder disappearing into the horizon as it was replaced by the subtle song of the morning birds. Bruno and Abbacchio were now slumped against each other, the guard's head resting on the ravenette’s shoulder as he snoozed. Bruno was surprised he had succeeded in beating the other in the ‘staying awake’ contest, it seemed even with two mugs of coffee, the other couldn't escape the grips of exhaustion. He glanced down at the man as he slept, a fond smile crept up on his face. He loved how peaceful the older looked as he rested, no furrowed brow or unamused grimace — it was a rare sight, but a treasured one. 

His eyes then wandered to the sleeping boy to his left, who remained still in his slumber. They had checked his condition not too long ago, so Bruno allowed him to sleep a little longer. It was still early hours, if he had to guess, around five or six o’clock in the morning. The sun was beginning to creep over the cityscape, its golden rays landing against the shutters. 

Through slight and careful manoeuvres, Bruno managed to lay his sleeping partner down on the bed beside Giorno, rubbing his dry, pained eyes the man began to tidy up around the room, collecting everything and carrying them into the kitchen. He quickly discarded the cut up rags and emptied the crimson-clouded water down the drain. He wasn’t really sure what else he could do for now, wanting to busy himself for a time. Bruno never liked to be idle, it was a fatal character flaw of his. Always doing something, never allowing himself time to sit down and breathe. He’d rather be doing than thinking — thinking only led to worry and worry wasn’t good for the soul. The man resorted to silently tidying the cottage, picking up any books, clutter, dirt or anything he could find that wasn’t in its rightful place, he dutifully returned it. 

Some time later, the man went around and opened the shutters finally, morning light flooding into all rooms of the house with that guilt-ridden post storm glow that left the air feeling crisp. 

He left the bedroom until last — he wanted to allow the sleepers as much rest as possible. Though it was really coming time again to wake the boy again. So, Bruno creeped in tentatively and over to the side of the bed, kneeling down beside Giorno. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, rubbing careful circles on his shoulder to rouse him awake. He was trying to be oh so gentle, but the slightest of movements seemed to cause the boy discomfort so he refrained from shaking or tapping. When he saw the blonde's brow twitch and a soft groan came from him, Bruno eased his grip. He had noticed throughout the night that Giorno was becoming quicker at responding to stimuli, which was promising. 

“Good morning, Giorno…?” He tried his best. He had been learning the basics of the foreign language from Abbacchio ever since meeting Giorno, in case they met once more. He had never really expected it, but he was delighted he finally had the opportunity to put it to use now although he had imagined it would be under more pleasant circumstances. 

“It is… Sunny, ..and no rain. Good… yes?” He spoke, hoping the boy would be able to understand through his heavy accent. To his surprise, another soft noise came from Giorno’s throat, the boy's hand twitching from where he lay. And then, he slowly cracked open his eyes. Well, one of them… The left side of his face had begun to swell near his eye, so it proved difficult for him to open it fully. He slowly turned his head to look at the source of the voice, the slight movement didn’t seem to hurt him and if it did, he didn’t let it show. Bruno’s eyes lit up as he watched. Thank god… progress. 

The second the boy’s eyes met his, recognition swept over his slack expression but also a twist to his brow that spelled nothing but confusion, he tried to sit up with a jolt., but the older immediately reached forward to make sure he remained laying down. He eased the boy back onto the mattress with soft mutters and pacifying shushes and quickly pulled the pillow closer so he could prop up his head slightly. The minor commotion woke Abbacchio with a startle, but he quickly plastered on his controlled expression again, this time adorned with more subtle dark circles than before.

Bruno looked up from where he held the boy in place to Abbacchio as he took in his surroundings again. He looked sleepily disorientated at first but when his gaze landed on the now-conscious boy laying beside him, the ravenette saw purpose fill the guards eyes again. Giorno groaned beneath Bruno’s hands and the man pulled them away quickly for fear that he may have been putting pressure where he shouldn’t have and only causing further, unnecessary discomfort. 

“S-sorry…!” He awkwardly apologised, instantly feeling guilty for possibly hurting him. 

Giorno looked so incredibly miserable  — not fully alert but too awake to forget the pain he was in. They needed to find out just what had happened to him and where it all hurt but they didn’t want to push him. 

Abbacchio pushed himself off the bed and circled around to where Bruno was kneeling too. He walked right into the dazed boy’s line of sight and crouched alongside the ravenette. Both of them caught it — the way Giorno’s bruised and weary eyes filled with something akin to relief at the picture of the two men before him.

“Giorno… you’re safe now… with us.” Abbacchio spoke for the both of them and Bruno nodded softly to emphasise, reaching up and taking hold of one of Giorno's hands, gently running his thumb over the protruding knuckles with a comforting smile He wanted to do everything in his power to make the boy feel safe, and comfortable right now. He looked to Abbacchio as the man continued, though the sensation of Giorno's hand relaxing into his own didn't pass him by. 

“We know you probably really want rest right now but… you… you really need to eat something… please?” The man punctuated his request with an exasperated sigh — not at Giorno, not at anyone in particular, just at life.

Bruno nodded with purpose at the man's suggestion and got up from where he knelt, letting his hand linger slightly where it dipped the mattress. Giorno whimpered so heartbreakingly at the presence he felt moving away from him, his eyes watering before Bruno turned around to face him again — the man felt like he had just kicked an injured puppy or something with the way his leaving hurt the teen. He couldn’t return to his side quick enough it seemed, falling to his knees by the bedside again and reaching into the covers to take hold of the teen’s clenched little fist once more. 

“Oh no, it’s okay… p..please, don’t cry,” he pacified, “I won’t go, I promise”  He cleared his throat succinctly at Leone and the taller man stood and exited to the kitchen as he was wordlessly commanded to do. Bruno wasn’t about to let it show but his heart swelled at the way the boy needed him. Giorno’s glassy eyes blinked away stale tears as he looked back up at the man, unfocused. His dry lips parted, and he looked like he wanted to rise from where he lay but decided not to.

“nngh….Bruno?” He groaned through roughly clenched teeth. His voice was raw and scratched as if he had been screaming…

“Yes?” he perked up at the first coherent word the boy had spoken this whole time, which just so happened to be his name. “You… You feel bad?”

The boy’s eyes fell away from his and closed slowly… as if he was thinking hard about something. Then, he inhaled with a wince that didn’t go unnoticed by the ravenette, though he didn't react. He was sure Giorno was fully aware of his own pain, and Bruno didn’t want to go about making it even more obvious for him.

“I..It...hurts” the voice was so small and warbled, and broke in a way that made Bucciarati want to take the teen there and then and cradle him back to sleep. His eyes were still closed but from the way he finally spoke, the man could tell there was fret building within his crushed soul.

“... I know… Giorno, can… Uh.. where… ? I...We want to help you...” Those English lessons were really getting a run for their money as Bruno struggled to communicate in the way he so desperately needed to. The boy opened his eyes and squinted at the man; his brow permanently furrowed in subtle discomfort since he first awoke. Bruno really hoped Giorno could understand his amateurish accent… he didn’t want to have to rely on Leone for things like this, especially if he wasn’t going to be here all the time.

“I… nngh” He winced again and a sharp twinge pierced through Bruno's heart. The boy was trying so hard to communicate, but it was obvious he was in complete and utter agony. “M-...my head… It’s so-.. and just...everything..”

The forming bruises and shallow cuts on his back that they had first seen in the dim lamplight flashed into the ravenette’s mind. They must be even worse now, right? Should he check on them again? But he didn’t want to jostle Giorno any more than he needed to…

“Giorno?”

The blonde gingerly hummed, almost inaudible.

“ … Can… You move?” He asked, his voice as soft and genuine as it could be.

“...I think so.”

The boy didn’t question why but with the help of Bruno’s careful hand, he moved further up the bed so he could lean upright — the ravenette tried to power through every time the boy grunted and groaned as he was hoisted up, he hated to think he was making the pain worse, but he had to keep telling himself it was for Giorno’s own good. 

Once in a somewhat upright position, Bruno carefully removed his arms from the boy's back and waist where he had been supporting Giorno, leaving the boy to sit on his own. He had noticed the way Giorno's fingers clutched the ravenette’s shirt as he was moved, Bruno could tell all of the boy's minimal strength had gone into that hold. He watched as Giorno's arms dropped down to his sides as Bruno inched back ensuring the boy was comfortable enough before returning to his original kneeling position.

Bruno could see the boy trying with all his might not to slump forward when left on his own. He planted his bony hands onto the mattress beside him and locked his elbows in place, not-so-subtly holding his own weight up. The ravenette stepped back to give him a bit of space before he asked tentatively in a very broken fashion, “I need - uh…  Check the… your...uh.. injuries? Please…” and he stepped forward, reaching towards the boy's shirt when before his eyes, Giorno flinched away from his touch. Violently.

“N-NO- … I-… please…  don’t — I.” Giorno desperately avoided eye contact with the man who had instantly rescinded his reaching arm at the reaction. His eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at what he suspected would be Bruno’s disappointed face.

Bruno left his arms in plain view so Giorno could see he wouldn’t approach if he didn’t want him to. The man’s heart shattered but he kept his expression controlled and calm… if only Giorno would look at it.

“Giorno… I’m sorry I-… I did not mean to scare… ” 

He still wouldn’t look at his face, Giorno shutting his own eyes harshly as his head drooped low, but still supported. Surely how hard he was scrunching his eyes closed had to hurt? Especially with all those bruises…

“… N-no… I’m sorry.. I-, please just don’t look… a-at my...body” 

His voice tapered to no more than a raspy whisper for the end of that and he hunched in on himself… seems like he still hadn’t gotten over that habit of trying to shrink small enough as if to disappear. Bruno’s chest ached, looking at the broken teen before him. Though he knew he couldn’t be hurting more than the boy on his bed.

“Giorno.” He cautiously took a step forward while the boy wasn’t looking “ …We… know.”

The boy’s head shot up — which caused him to whimper at his own doing, an unimaginable amount of pain suddenly visible on his face. He winced and brought a hand up to his temple to hold while finally looking Bruno in the eye, returning the contact with a face of sheer grief. Watery warbled eyes looked up at him, yearning to say something, but… suddenly and so heart wrenchingly reigning themselves in. The man had never seen a child look so utterly defeated by his circumstances as Giorno did right now.

Giorno surrendered all of a sudden, his shoulders drooping as he exhaled, and Bruno took that as his invitation to bridge the gap. Bruno didn’t like lying… but being vague wasn’t exactly that. Yes, they knew. In the sense that they had already seen the poor kids' battered torso the night before, but what aspect of it that Giorno had been so quick to guard and then so easily give up… Bruno did not know. He could suspect it was the extent of his injuries but why would he want to guard that? Surely the boy before him came to them as a sheer display of trust and allowance so he should know they would never hold anything against the boy… so what was he shielding?

Bruno hesitated before speaking again, his voice nothing but a whisper, just for Giorno to hear — as if there was anybody about to listen. He crouched down beside him, resting his hands on the bedside, in clear view for the boy. 

“What… What's wrong?” He asked softly, a deep concern in his eyes. He could tell Giorno's slight frame was filled with upset once more, and his eyes were growing watery. Bruno couldn’t bear to see the boy cry, but he knew it might be best to allow the boy's pent up emotions to finally escape from his tormented soul. He watched the young teen while he remained silent, he was once more avoiding Bruno's gaze. But the ravenette needed to get to the bottom of this… They needed answers.

“Giorno, please…”

The boy turned his head then, finally meeting the man's gaze once more. Bruno watched as his bottom lip quivered, and he hesitantly reached to take his hand. Thankfully Giorno obliged, allowing the man to hold his cold, pale hands. Giorno's delicate fingers closed around the side of Bruno's hand, and a tiny, heart-wrenching sob escaped the teen. Finally, he began to speak once more.

“Y..your food… I-i didn't eat it for a long time, I was-...I- I'm so so-sorry…” He choked out, biting hard on his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle his crying. Seeing him in this state ached Bruno's already shattering heart. Not only was Giorno in physical pain, but he was experiencing an unimaginable amount of emotional torment in his soul too. Could this kid not just catch a break?

A pained, yet gentle, reassuring smile made its way onto Bucciarati’s face. He gave Giorno's small cold hand a gentle squeeze in his larger, warmer one, which made the blonde look him in the eyes once more. The ravenette nodded, a dejected sigh coming from his lips. He nodded in understanding — so that's why Giorno was so defensive about them seeing him — his figure. He didn’t want them to know he hadn’t been eating the food they left for him… The man kept a gentle, yet firm hold of Giorno's hand, before reaching up and carefully wiping the boys now falling tears, making every effort to be as careful as possible. After a moment he took his hand back, giving Giorno time to calm before he responded. 

“It is ok… We know that too… Do not worry, I’m not mad.” Bruno reassured the boy, trying to hide his own discontent at the situation. He didn't want to concern Giorno with how he felt. The boy had enough on his plate already… 

“Have… You seen?” 

Giorno asked tentatively, his eyes falling away to the sheets once more, as if embarrassed of this situation. Bruno knew he had nothing to be embarrassed about, though… None of this was Giorno's fault, and he knew that right down to his core. He nodded in response to the question, which caused the boy to cave in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. Bruno just allowed it — he knew it was a form of comfort for him. 

“Last night, we… cut clothes, to see injuries and clothes were..too wet… Then we saw.” He explained to the best of his ability, feeling utterly helpless to Giorno right now. What more could he do? It was clear he didn’t want to be touched too much right now, and the man wouldn’t dare overstep his boundaries when he was already in such a vulnerable state. There was a prolonged silence between the two, neither knowing what to say to resolve the awkward air that had developed. Then as if on cue, the door opened once more and in walked Leone, a tray in his hands. On said tray was a bowl of some light, easy breakfast, just a collection of fruits in a bowl and to the side, a fried egg and some bread. He set it down on the bedside table, Watching the two. He was quick to pick up on the strange atmosphere and was quick to try and dissolve it.

Speaking in much more coherent English than his counterpart, Abbacchio crouched beside Bruno and looked at the teen. 

“Do you think you’re up for eating right now? We need to get your strength up, but I know you probably don't have much of an appetite…” He hummed to himself, noticing how hesitant Giorno was. But he could also notice how the boy's mouth was reluctantly watering at the mere smell of the fresh food. 

“Here-” Leone maneuvered himself, and carefully placed the tray over Giorno’s leg, watching as the boy picked up the knife and fork. 

“Don’t force yourself, kid. Just take it slow.” He muttered, stepping back to give him some space. Bruno stayed close by, but he too sat back slightly as Giorno awkwardly pushed the fork into a slice of honeydew, bringing it to his mouth. The duo tried not to stare but failed as their nerves got the better of them… they watched as he swallowed with minimal difficulty and the tension dissipated. Neither knew what exactly they had been nervous for… perhaps the possibility of him just choking and dropping dead being the worst-case scenario, but isn’t that technically a possibility for everyone, all the time. Nothing to fret.

They tore their gaze away from the boy so he could eat in peace and joined him in sitting on the bed, at the other end. They had a lot they wanted to say to each other but with Giorno there in earshot and their unwillingness to leave him unattended… they thought it best to leave their discussion for later in the day. After a few minutes, the boy had made a good dint in the meal… it was evident he had been starving, however, his body was still not used to big portions, so he gently placed his fork down on the dish after eating about half of it. Though Giorno didn’t lift his hand from the plate after doing so, both Bucciarati and Abbacchio looked over their shoulder to see with more than their peripheral vision what the boy was doing. He sat still… looking at the duvet with an empty stare and a slack expression. His hand around the fork was clenching harder and harder but when the two of them both simultaneously hauled their gaze from his tightened fist up to his face, they only then realised that he was paling, fast. The colour drained from his blank face at a rapid speed and only further emphasised the purples and blues of the contusions that blotched it. It only took less than a second for the realisation to drop on seemingly all three of them.

Giorno was about to be sick.

Leone lurched forward in time just as the boy’s eyes widened at the recognition of the sensation, the man grabbing the plate from his legs as Giorno jerked forward and threw himself onto the floor. Bruno bolted around to the side of the bed but didn’t make it before the boy’s already battered limbs met the floorboards with a dull thud. He did however make it to his side just in time for the distressed teen to begin retching and emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Bruno could do nothing but hold his hair out of his face and shush comforting words and lulls, he couldn’t exactly rub the poor boy’s back for fear he'd hurt him even more with the condition it’s in. 

Between retches and heaves, Giorno sobbed — presumably from the full body pain and shock, but still, it was a truly pathetic and distressing sight to behold. How could Bruno have been so colossally careless to not take this precaution? The boy had head trauma, for God’s sake, of course it was a possibility he would be nauseous. The ravenette felt like he was doing nothing but failing the boy when he needed him now more than ever. 

As the poor boy’s heaves subsided and Abbacchio had already gone and grabbed supplies to clean, Giorno basically collapsed sideways, right into the ravenette’s awaiting arms. He sniffed, sobbed and coughed until he could no more, and Bruno took the edge of his sleeve to gently wipe the teen’s face.

Peace. Just give the kid some goddamn peace.

They needed context for their own peace of mind too, they had to find out what exactly had happened to Giorno. Not just so they could comfort him to the fullest extent and help him somehow recover, if they even had the means… but to also ensure that they, within their limited power, would never let this happen to him ever again. They were never going to let him fall back into a situation that could backfire or cause him more harm. This kid had known nothing but disappointment and boundaries his entire life. He deserved liberation from strife and hurting. They, as the only people he had decided to give his entire trust to, owed him that, at the very least. 

With utmost care, Bruno pulled Giorno into his arms and moved him away from the unpleasant puddle of his own vomit, holding his head against his chest in an effort to bring him some comfort. He tried to shush the boy's sobs, but he knew that he was in so much pain right now that any attempt to stop him would only be futile. So, while Abbacchio returned and silently cleared up the mess, Bruno leaned back against the bed, closing his eyes and mumbling quiet things in Italian, carefully cradling the boy in his arms. He had no idea what else he could do, he had never been at a loss like this before. They were full of questions, yet they had no answers. And it felt wrong almost, to ask now. He wished only for everlasting peace for Giorno, that one day, this poor, poor teenager would be able to move past this horrendous night and forget it had ever happened to him. He glanced over to Abbacchio from where he sat, finally allowing his own eyes to water. With Giorno distracted by his own tears and his face hidden in the man's white shirt, a single tear ran down Bruno's cheek. He was a man of many emotions, as stoic as he may seem at times. But ever the empath, he broke for the boy that morning. Riddled with guilt over decisions he made and didn’t even second guess at the time, regret over things he could have, and should have done differently, Bruno cried.

A moment of pure untouchable silence fell over the room where the three sat slumped on the floor of the small bedroom, all battling the war of their own minds, none of them making a sound. They existed there, in the presence of one another, but not in active company. Giorno’s head roused from where he had dampened the ravenette’s chest and turned slowly and mouse-like to look up at the man from his embrace, eyes red raw and bruises searing. The teen parted his lips to speak at last and the ravenette looked down at his damp little face paying rapt attention, the world didn’t move in that moment except… until it did.

In the form of a thunderous, formidable pounding against the cottage's front door.

Chapter Text

Giorno stiffened to stone, his hand clutching a fistful of Bruno’s tear-soaked night shirt as if it were his last remaining lifeline, holding on desperation — as if he was about to be yanked from the man's arms, and taken away once more. He was terrified, and the only thing that made it worse was the fact that the other two men seemed just as alarmed… that spelled no hope. Bruno and Abbacchio had frozen the second they heard the pounding — both heads whipping to face the open sliver of the bedroom door. Bruno could feel beneath his hands that the boy in his grasp was holding his breath.

“That could be the Royal Guard… they might be searching.. already.”

Leone spoke stiltedly and with schooled expression, but there was no way he was fooling Bruno — the guard was nervous… very nervous. If they happened to find him here, with the infamous boy, well… he had a whole lot to lose.

“I’ll answer it.” Bruno declared, feigning conviction. The man softly patted Giorno's shoulder to grab his guarded attention. Once the boy opened his watery eyes to meet his, Bruno gave him that reassuring smile that somehow managed to transcend language. Don’t fret — I’ve got you. But he didn’t. How could he promise that again? Without all the certainty of the world in that moment the ravenette could have very well been betraying his trust once more. But maybe this would once again be the last time they saw Giorno, and Bruno couldn’t stand to make the poor teen fret and more when he didn’t deserve a fucking second of it. Once the blonde's fearful expression half-heartedly relaxed at his, he spoke to him.

“Giorno, I’ll give you to Leone now….I get.. the door” He tried to explain to the younger, and then went to gently peel the boy off himself but was met with sudden resistance when Giorno seemed reluctant as if he’d be left on his own? The wobble of his lower lip spelled it out to the man, so he silently beckoned Abbacchio over to pass the boy off to, that way he’d feel secure. It would crush even the most heartless of men to see a boy in a state as vulnerable as Giorno was right now. Leone brushed his hand gently on the teen’s damp back to let him know he was there and Giorno quickly curled into him...He was in no way fit to stand on his own right now, so Leone picked him up so carefully as if he were made of glass — he   might as well have been — and he stood up, cradling him with zero exertion; he was as light as a feather. As Bruno left the room, he lowered Giorno back into bed, allowing him to prop himself up how he wished. Giorno was slightly more capable now, though neither of them wanted him to use too much energy for anything, really. The risk just wasn’t worth it.

Bruno glanced back to them briefly before shutting the bedroom door, leaving the two in there. The pounding still continued at the front door, though in intervals now. It was almost more threatening that way… 

Leone sat next to Giorno on the bed, glancing over to the boy who stared off into nothingness where he sat rigid. He sighed, dropping his gaze down to his own hands. He wasn’t that great at comforting people; he had never had that aura that Bruno was dripping with. 

The ravenette made his way towards the door, trying to make sure his heart rate did not speed up because everything was just fine. He took a deep breath — there’s nothing to worry about, just lead them away — reaching his hand out to take hold of the doorknob. As if in slow motion he twisted it, slowly pulling it towards himself.

Before Bruno could even fully open the door it was shoved back into his face, causing the man to stumble backwards into his own kitchen..

“-- I SWEAR THAT DOESN'T COUNT - BRUNO! Ugh!? Tell Mista that taking off your shoe and throwing it past the finish line does not mean you win!? I WON, STOP BEING A SORE LOSER-”

No fucking way… 

Barging through the door and now dumping their bags of morning errands on the kitchen table, were Mista and Narancia. Bruno slumped back against the cabinet and just stared at the two, in complete and utter disbelief. All pent-up anxiety, that he didn’t even know he had been holding, left his body and was slowly replaced with irritation as he stood there, the two teenagers who just stopped their high pitched bickering, staring at him and waiting for a response, only to get a vacant, deadpan stare in response. Mista frowned and tilted his head, waving his hand in front of the man's face. 

“Uh… Hello? Earth to Bruno?” He frowned, and eventually saw Bruno shake his head and dismiss Mista’s hand.

The eldest of the three rubbed his face, letting out an exasperated sigh before finally speaking to the two. “God boys, did you have to knock so loud…? I had no idea who was out there…” He mumbled, walking over to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair, slumping himself down into it before groaning and rubbing a stiff hand over his face “..You don’t even have to knock anyways..”

Narancia frowned at this strange behaviour from Bruno — the man seemed so on edge; he hadn’t seen him like this in a long, long time. 

“What's wrong, Bucciarati? We thought you might still be in bed… cause’ the storm, so..uh.. Mista said to knock super loud… A- why are you in your pyjamas?” 

He asked, scratching his cheek in confusion. 

Narancia was confused, rightly so. He stood once more and looked down at his attire, frowning. Oh. he was in fact still in his nightwear — very out of character for the ravenette at this hour. The man was always precisely primed and presentable before anybody arrived at the house, he never usually liked anybody, aside from Abbacchio of course, seeing him so unkempt. He sighed heavily and rubbed his face, shaking his head. 

“It's just… Uh… A lot happened last night.” He mumbled, which instantly made the two boys even more worried. Bruno never acted like this…  

Narancia frowned at this display, sudden concern filling his voice. 

“Well - is everything ok? Nobody’s hurt, are they? Is Abbacchio alright?” He questioned, stepping forward towards Bruno and worrying at his bottom lip. The man nodded, finally looking somewhat composed as he straightened up and looked at the two. 

“It’s- No, Yeah, Leone is fine… It's, well…” The man paused, Mista and Narancia staring at the man expectantly.

“Giorno showed up last night-”

The second the words left Bruno's mouth, Narancia’s big eyes widened up and sheer joy filled his face. 

“WHAT?! Seriously?! Where is he?!” Mista grinned, straightening up, while Narancia celebrated too, hopping on the balls of his feet and punching the air as if he had just found a million lira. 

“He’s in the bedroom with Abbacchio, he-”

Before Bruno could finish his sentence Narancia had shoved past him, making a B-line towards the bedroom door, desperate to see the boy again. But before he could make it any further, he was tugged back, sharply. Turning his head, he found Bruno with a tight hold on his upper arm, and a solemn look on his face.

“You… can’t go in. I need to explain something first.” He spoke, the air of the two boys instantly shifting to one of sheer excitement to confusion.

“I need you both to sit down, please.”

The pair obediently calmed and walked over to the round table to sit down, exchanging a concerned look between themselves while Bruno pulled out a chair and sat opposite them. Giorno was home… But they just weren’t allowed to see him? What was that supposed to mean… 

They both watched as Bruno rubbed his face, as if mentally preparing himself for the story he was about to tell — which was exactly what he was doing. It had been an extremely difficult night and the exhaustion was definitely catching up on him, no doubt Abbacchio felt the same. He took a deep breath, finally raising his head and then, telling all. In as much detail as he could spare, he explained the entire situation. How they had found Giorno at the front door in the height of the storm, the state he had been in…though he told of that rather vaguely as he didn’t want to frighten the boys more so than they already were. He recounted everything right up until they sat where they were. Bruno could tell that what he was saying was proving greatly upsetting to the two, Narancia most of all. He leaned forward on the edge of his seat. 

“W… What about now? Is he gonna be okay?” He asked, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Bruno deliberately had spared the vivid details of Giorno’s earlier condition specifically so Narancia wouldn’t panic over the elephant in the room, but Narancia was smarter than most often gave him credit for and unfortunately he knew all too well what a possible brain injury could do to a person — he wouldn’t dream of poor Giorno ever having to experience any of it. 

“He is… ok. He’s responsive and answering to us, but he’s still… not well and he’s just extremely upset-” 

“Can we see him? Maybe if he sees us… w-we can cheer him up! I can go get my new seashells? A..And we could tell him about the dogs…!” Narancia pleaded, a disheartened watery smile on his face. Mista just sat there, silently, picking at the seam of his trousers. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to see Giorno in that state… Just hearing about it was upsetting enough for him. Maybe Narancia was right, though. They could probably help Giorno feel better. If not physically, then they could do everything in their power to lift his spirits, even try to make him laugh.

Bruno paused in thought briefly, considering if he should even allow the two to see Giorno. Maybe the boy would be grateful for them, he had always enjoyed being around them before and he didn’t seem to mind trusted company... Eventually he nodded and watched as Narancia’s smile grew sincere. 

“I’ll let you in to see him. But… just — when I say it's not good, I mean it's not good… ok? Just please try not to make it obvious to him, I think he’s already self-conscious enough as it is right now. I’d rather it wasn’t made any worse. Just act like everything is totally normal right now, please.” Bucciarati asked them, desperation in his tone. Following a wave of his hand the pair jumped to their feet, silently following behind the ravenette towards the bedroom. 

He gently knocked on the door before pushing it open, stepping inside, Mista and Narancia only a pace behind him in the doorway. They awkwardly peered over his shoulder, and in a heartbeat, at the sight even Bruno wasn’t expecting before them, the two boy’s smiles faded in a flash. Narancia covered his mouth with his hand, and it felt as though his heart was being prodded by a million tiny needles. Mista was no different, a look of shock and horror on his face. Bruno was not exaggerating at all, in fact, he may have even been underexaggerating the situation...

Upon hearing the door open and a series of small gasps, Abbacchio turned to see who was at the door. He lay his eyes upon the three, eyes widening slightly when he realised what was about to happen. He had been sifting through Bruno's wardrobe again, trying to find something fresh for Giorno to wear since his previous shirt was damp and soiled with sick… And now Giorno was sitting on the edge of the bed, with only the sheets covering his waist, the dirty shirt bundled up in his hands, having just removed it with Abbacchio’s help. His bare back was facing the door, and he had not realised they just got company. Though as he saw Leone turn, he followed suit and carefully turned his head, looking back to see what was there. Instantly, the boy locked eyes with Narancia, who looked… scared? Of him?. Then his eyes darted to Mista, who looked just as hurt and upset... Finally, to Bruno. The man looked upset as well, and… guilty, mouth flattened into a tense line. With the blonde boy’s blackened eyes locked on theirs and no words being spoken the man turned, shoved the two teenagers out of the room, and shut the door rapidly. 

It took a moment for Giorno to fully realise what had just happened. Once it dawned on him, the boy's shoulders just sank and he closed in on himself, despite how much it hurt now he was sitting up with no support. They saw him… Mista and Narancia… his bare… Giorno wanted to cry but was too exhausted to even shed a tear. His first time seeing his friends in such a long time and that was how they had to see him. God, everything was all messed up now, wasn’t it…  He was tired. He was in pain. He felt nauseous and frankly, wanted to stop existing for just a while — long enough to where he, and everyone else had recovered, moved on, forgiven, and forgotten. Why did everything that had to do with him get ruined?

The boy hadn’t seen the span of his back and shoulders with his own eyes yet but it was extremely tender and achy and really hurt to lie on. Abbacchio could see it all too well… though he wished he couldn’t, if he was being honest. The red speckling of forming bruises from earlier in the night had… matured, to say. Along each protruding vertebrae and rib the blotching was blacker, more aggressive and there was the occasional patch of broken skin with shallow grazing, his entire upper black was discoloured and raw as if the kid had been launched at something with extreme force… The man is really surprised that he didn’t appear to have any broken bones. Just terrible, terrible bruising. That fact that his entire complexion was so naturally pale really made the whole display look even worse, if that was actually possible… 

As Giorno sunk in on himself, entirely defeated but voiceless, Leone watched him with a frown. “Kid… I- They didn’t mean… Please don't let that get to you. They were just shocked — they won't mind. Here -” Abbacchio rushed over with a new shirt, crouching in front of him. “Let's get this on-” He ushered, helping Giorno as he pulled the fabric over his head. It draped over his body like the previous shirt, entirely too big for his slight frame. He was somewhat grateful to have something covering his stupid body once more though, but that gut-wrenching dread of knowing those two had seen him like that persisted. He felt like he could throw up again, if he even had anything left in his stomach…  

Beyond the door, Mista paced back and forth while Narancia froze. Right now, Bucciarati just wished he had the gift of fucking clairvoyance.

“I- …woah-..I just-”

“Mista. Please, just… calm down.” Bruno sighed and he raised his hand to his temple. “He might hear you.”

“Sorry Bucciarati… I just-” He stopped his circling stride with a huff, “I didn’t think it was gonna be that bad, yano? God…” He reached up and scratched nervously at the hair beneath his bandana. ``-and I-It’s not that I thought you were lyin’ or anything, Bucciarati, but…  Jesus.``

Bruno watched the young man working things out for himself and didn't see it fit to interrupt until an impossibly small voice came from beside him — Narancia, staring vacantly at the ground with tears glossing his eyes practically whispered:

“ … Did someone do that to him?”

He looked so… conflicted, like he didn’t know whether to cry, be angry or just shut off completely. Bruno knew that the three boys, even Fugo, had gotten pretty attached to Giorno those few weeks ago, though he had no idea they were going to be this worked up about what they had just seen. He thought they’d be concerned, yeah. He knew they had good hearts in them — but right now, the two of them looked prepared to fight God for the kid, if entirely necessary.

The ravenette should not feel this proud. Those two shouldn’t have to even feel like this and they wouldn't, if Bruno hadn’t let this happen to Giorno in the goddamn first place. In the grand scheme of things, there was nothing the man could’ve done that would have helped the boy. Back then, when he had returned him home, he believed in his heart that he was doing the right thing. But now, after these past few hours, he blamed this poor boy's fate entirely on himself. This was his fault. He had failed Giorno. He looked over to Narancia, a deep frown plastered onto his face, his brow creased in thought.

“I don’t know, Narancia. None of us do… He hasn’t told us yet and we haven't even had a chance to ask… ”

That was the next biggest hurdle — Context. Both Bruno and Leone had silently agreed to simply not bring it up with Giorno yet. They never even had the opportunity for a grand ‘Oh how I’ve missed you’, never mind asking the poor kid to describe in detail what was most definitely a great trauma to him. The ravenette thought he was good at this kind of thing, yet that golden boy continued to prove him wrong.

The morning hours passed by faster than expected, considering the circumstances. Bruno and Abbacchio kept the boys' interactions limited and when Giorno did first see the other two after their brief interaction earlier that morning he seemed stilted and highly uncomfortable… The other two boys felt guilty and awkward but tried to be as understanding as they possibly could. Giorno stayed in bed drifting in and out of sleep most of the morning with Bucciarati and Abbacchio popping in and out at regular intervals to check on him. He was much more alert by midday and actually asked the ravenette if he could see Mista and Narancia, he was more than happy to oblige. They helped Giorno to the couches in the sitting room so they could all sit together, while Bruno and Leone remained in the kitchen.

Narancia and Mista were doing a mediocre job of ‘acting normal’, though Giorno didn’t mind their efforts at all, and in fact he appreciated them somewhat. He was quiet and politely listening to whatever tales they gently told him. He was incredibly detached for the majority of it, but still so, so grateful for the company. He still didn’t talk about what had happened, though. Bruno had hoped that maybe the boys would’ve been able to coax it out of him easier than he, but the boy still wasn’t saying a thing and both Mista and Narancia were far too caught up in their anecdotes to segue to the topic without it being glaringly obvious.

It would inevitably boil down to Bruno and Abbacchio having to ask him themselves, however difficult that may be for all parties involved.

By dinner time, everyone had decided it would be cruel to haul Giorno all the way out to the kitchen table when he had made himself a little cocoon of comfort on the main sofa, so Abbacchio dragged a short table to the centre of the sitting room so everyone could eat in there with him. Mista then helped Bruno carry in their plates, Narancia grabbing drinks for everyone. Giorno had insisted that they all enjoy dinner at the table like normal, but of course the four of them had refused as they transported the dining room into the living room for Giorno, so he could enjoy his first meal back with them.

Bruno had made a conscious effort to give Giorno a smaller portion — he was worried that the boy may have another incident after eating like that morning. Though he seemed to have come around much more and was completely self-aware again, so they hoped he would be able to stomach some actual food. He needed it, that went unsaid. By the time everyone was seated on the couches and floor and Bruno had somehow hoisted Giorno upright so he could comfortably eat, he was in a better state than any of them had seen him yet. However, Bruno wasn't entirely comfortable with leaving him on his own just yet, He knew the side effects of the head injury could still be prevalent and he wanted to make sure it had completely passed before they began to leave Giorno unattended. 

While the group were quietly chatting amongst themselves, unbeknownst to them a new arrival had just come in the front door, confused and followed the chatter through the kitchen. Giorno, who was currently not involved in a conversation and was quietly pushing food around his plate as he figured out which part of this delicious meal to eat first, noticed the new figure standing in the living room doorway before anybody else. He looked up, and for the first time in a long time, the tiniest of polite smiles graced his bruised face.

“Fugo…” He whispered, staring up at the new arrival, completing the little family at last. 

The entire group instinctively picked up on Giorno's quiet voice, all four of them had subconsciously kept their ears open for him in case he needed any help at all. Upon hearing the boy call Fugo’s name, they all turned and then noticed Fugo stood there, staring right back at Giorno with a dumbfounded look on his face. The satchel he had been carrying under his arm fell to the floor as he tried to process what was in front of him.

“Giorno…?!” Fugo stammered, shaking his head for a moment. What the fuck was going on? The boy's confused gaze shifted to Bruno, a million questions on the tip of his tongue. Instead, the ravenette waved his hand in current dismissal, pushing his plate to the side and standing up. “ … It’s a long story. Here, let me get you some food too. How was school?...” He ushered the teen from the room, and out into the kitchen to get him his dinner. 

Once out into the other room, Bruno sighed and drooped his shoulders from tension and Fugo immediately spoke in a harsh whisper, just completely baffled by the entire situation. “Bruno — what the fuck…?! When did he get here — and why does he look like he's been hit by a horse and cart?” He asked, standing next to the man as he dished up Fugo’s food. Bucciarati shook his head, sighing once more. He didn’t have the energy to retell everything a second time… 

“He showed up at the front door last night. I… It’ll take far too long to explain everything again, I'll let Nar and Mista explain it to you later, if that's ok. Just know he's sensitive right now and to just act like you normally would.” The man explained to which Fugo reluctantly agreed. Of course he wanted all of the information there and then, but the teen understood that it wasn’t the best time since they were all about to enjoy a meal together with Giorno for the first time in months. Explanations could wait. He nodded with a slight frown and took his bowl, heading back into the room with everybody. He sat down on the floor next to Narancia, glancing up to Giorno who seemed pleased with his arrival. Fugo was glad to see Giorno again but looking at him like this just filled him with… rage. What on earth had happened to him? He looked absolutely miserable… 

Endless unanswered questions aside, the group enjoyed a delicious meal together. Giorno felt pleasantly happy in himself, despite how detached from the entire situation he still felt. He’d feel himself zoning out far too often and for too long and he couldn’t control it. It was scary how these spans of time just got lost to him while he drifted. He wasn’t even thinking about anything in particular he was just very far away. He rarely engaged in conversations throughout the meal, but when he could, he listened in to the others' animated interactions, just quietly enjoying the atmosphere of the room. Giorno didn’t feel alone anymore, he was together — with this family… his family? Could he even consider these people family? Was he allowed to? That he wasn’t too sure of. But these people treated him with unconditional kindness and compassion, he couldn't even recall the last time he had experienced such affection in that god forsaken attic. Right now, these people were more family than… that man.

The evening flew by — as time did when you were in good company. Once the meal had been cleaned away everybody nestled down for some more conversation and banter, Giorno curling up once more in the corner of the couch, in whatever position he deemed comfortable enough and didn’t cause him sharp pain. Once he was at ease, Giorno ended up drifting in and out of sleep for about two hours while the others chatted away. Tuning out the hard-to-follow words and closing his eyes, his tummy felt all floaty and bubbly and he was just so calm, he felt like he was finally… home.

In the middle of one of those random naps, Abbacchio gently nudged Bruno and nodded towards the sleeping teen. They needed to ask him questions tonight, but not with these three around. The ravenette nodded in agreement to their wordless exchange, Bruno getting to his feet. The man standing up grabbed Narancia’s attention, the boy looking up as he approached the three, who were sitting in a small circle while Fugo told them about something he had learned in history that day. 

Bruno cleared his throat and sighed, whispering. “Sorry, but I need you three to head home soon. We’re going to try to talk to Giorno about… everything. But we don't want him to feel under any pressure with you three around, if that’s ok…”

 He rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. He hated doing this, he usually let them stay as long as they wished but he needed them out now, so that Giorno wouldn't be completely exhausted when they asked questions. The three, without even arguing about it, got to their feet, all entirely understanding the situation. None of them would dream of adding any unnecessary stress if they could help it, so they agreed to leave without any questions asked. As they were gathering their things Bruno looked at them all, yawning.

 “Oh Mista, could you and Nar uh… explain everything to Fugo? I didn’t have time for it earlier” He asked to which Mista nodded. 

“Oh, yah sure thing — Hey Fugo, want to come back to my place? You could stay the night with Nar since it's Friday right?” He smiled, to which Fugo instantly agreed as he slung his satchel over his shoulder. 

Narancia stared at the two with a grin, excited they would all be able to have a sleepover together, Fugo rarely did these kinds of things. Though he thought about it and then turned to Fugo, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t you need to, like... go home and ask your parents first or something?” He asked, thinking the teen’s parents were probably strict about curfews or the likes — they seemed stuck up like that.

But Fugo just shrugged, stretching his arms towards the ceiling and groaning. “Fuck them.” He replied bluntly, which caused Mista to laugh and ruffle the younger teens hair, earning him a punch to the gut.

Before the three left they all said a short goodbye to the sleepy Giorno, promising their return in the morning for breakfast. Then, it was once more the three of them again, sitting together in the sitting room. It was a little awkward and silent at first, but Abbacchio quickly nudged the ravenette, spurring him on to finally start the conversation.

Giorno sat slumped, with a thick duvet pulled over his shoulders and falling in his lap. Despite it being early June and temperatures were high late into the night, Giorno was freezing cold. He would appear to be the height of comfort if it were not for the unsightly purple blotches littering his alabaster skin, and the unsettlingly vacant stare he had, with his eyes locked, unfocused, on the floorboards in front of him. Bruno got up from the armchair he was stationed in to bridge the gap, carefully sitting himself down beside Giorno on the big couch. The boy jostled a little as the cushions sank beside him but didn’t wince at the movement. He just looked up to meet the man's gaze, his eyes regaining some focus as he stared at the ravenette.

Abbacchio leaned forward in his own chair, considering, before Bruno opened his mouth. Was the ravenette going to go straight in and ask? What was the strategy here? He tried to catch the man’s eyes subtly so he could communicate this question to him silently, but the ravenette wouldn't look at him — No, he refused to look away from Giorno.

“So, Giorno, … How are you feeling now?”

Ah, gradually it is.

Leone huffed in slight amusement at Bruno’s extended efforts to still speak the boy's language for him. What an incredibly Bruno thing to do.

“ …I’m fi- …I’m feeling better.” 

Abbacchio finally caught Bucciarati’s eye as Giorno corrected himself. It was good to know the kid was being honest about his condition — There was no point in lying and telling them he was all fine now, when they all knew that would be the biggest lie of the century.

“Can you tell us what hurts the most right now?” Leone finally spoke up himself, knowing this level of conversation would be challenging for Bruno and he figured a language barrier would only add further difficulty to asking these kinds of questions.

The teen looked over at him, pondering for a moment, as if he had to ask himself that question too — or if he was weighing out the discomfort wracking him right now. 

“Um….My head, I think… It’s still pounding.” Bruno frowned at that, no need to ask why. “ … My… face… it hurts too.”

Was that a window of opportunity?

“Kid… about that, We-” Bruno shook his head at the man out of the view of the teen and Leone stopped. Not quite yet, Got it.

Bruno spoke up and Giorno turned back to him. “-Your stomach… You feel sick now?” 

Giorno shook his head gently, much to the men’s relief. 

“Did you enjoy dinner then? The boys didn’t bother you, did they?” Leone asked to which Giorno shook his head again except this time too fast, causing the boy to grimace as a sharp pain shot through his skull. Abbacchio felt guilty for some reason. 

Bruno, sitting right beside Giorno, reached a hand up to brush back the tangled curls from his face. However Giorno failed to notice the hand coming from his peripheral and as he suddenly flinched back in fright, Bruno looked over to the guard and knew at that moment they needed to get to the bottom of this as fast as possible..

Abbacchio presumed the little nod the ravenette just gave him with a frown implied that he should do most of the talking. This whole English hurdle was really getting in the way in moments like this… for God’s sake why did the kid even speak English!? He’s been living in that attic here since birth… right? Bruno would be able to word this way better if only the kid could fully understand him…

Leone took a deep breath, sitting forward and keeping his presence as neutral and unthreatening as possible.

“Giorno.” The teen lifted his gaze from his lap — he looked rather… ashamed? All because he flinched away from Bruno. “We just need to know… how did you get here last night?”

“... I ran…?” Well, they already knew that… Leone shook his head, deciding it would be better if he rephrased his question.

“That’s not what I mean, kid — I should’ve asked... Why? Why did you come here?”

Giorno looked away, falling silent. Leone frowned at himself, shaking his head. Too sudden…  He’s gonna shut down again. The guard quickly realised his mistake and cleared his throat, grabbing Giorno's attention again before they lost him completely. Bruno sat there apprehensively, not fully understanding the conversation but picking up on the odd word that helped him follow along to some extent.

“Sorry, it’s ok if you don’t want to answer that. But… Can I uh… The bruises — on your back… How… How did you get them, Giorno…?” He asked, trying to go for a different approach, his tone even softer than before, which was definitely something new to the guard. They needed to get to the root of the problem but had to do it in a way in which Giorno was comfortable with answering their questions.

Giorno sat silent for a few moments longer, hands holding tightly onto the large sheets covering his entire body. He seemed to be in thought, figuring out the safest way to answer this question. In reality, Giorno was trying his best to not completely shut down. He wanted to tell these two the truth, he really did. It was just… so difficult, like there was some kind of mental barrier preventing him from saying it all. Every time he tried his chest would tighten and his throat would close up. Almost like something inside of him wouldn't let him speak it… because that would make it true. 

Eventually the boy opened his mouth, finally answering. “I… Hit a wall.” He muttered, avoiding eye contact with the two. It just made it all the more difficult when he was looking at them.

Abbacchio nodded, relieved that they were finally getting some solid answers from him. He needed to take this slow, and he had to think carefully about how he would word each sentence. The atmosphere in the room was strained, none of them were exactly enjoying this… 

“Ok, and… How did you hit the wall? Were you thrown…?” Leone asked, he knew full well this was incredibly taxing on poor Giorno's already exhausted mind. But they needed these questions answered.

Giorno visibly tensed up and gently shook his head, though somehow found the courage within himself to speak. “No… I… I was.. hit….hard.” He choked up as he finished the sentence, closing in on himself. Both men exchanged a look — they knew they didn’t have much time left before Giorno completely shut off from them. Leone made one last attempt at a question; they knew it would likely be the last one. They had to make it count. 

“Who… Who hit you…?”

The boy's eyes widened slightly as the question registered in his mind, his heart started beating faster. He could feel it in his chest. This was it. He had to say it… the boy felt the room close in around him, everything within him was screaming, begging to close off and stay silent, to not answer truthfully. But there was one, tiny part of Giorno that knew he had to be honest. He physically couldn’t lie to Bucciarati, or Abbacchio. He swallowed a thick lump in his throat, his lower lip trembled as he spoke in nothing more than a shaky whisper, both men having to lean in to hear his timid voice, warbled with the imminent threat of tears.

“ … My Father.”

Chapter Text

Hey everyone, we’re still alive.
a few things to address so we’ll make a list cuz lists are nice

1) this fic is NOT abandoned do not fret

2) the reason we vanished from existence for a while was because college kicked our asses this semester and we thought we could get around to writing a chapter or two over christmas break but for mysterious reasons, we physically could not

3) The aforementioned mysterious reasons are definitely not a crippling genshin impact addiction.

4) This fic has a definite ending planned. We had the entire plot conceived before we began writing it so now it’s just down to actually writing it.

5) our degrees are stupid and hard and suck ass.

6) creative motivation be hard to come by these days yano.

7) we love y’all.

8) and finally this update will be deleted when the next chapter is posted but we felt like letting ye know we’re still kicking on this godforsaken earth.

- From Rebsie & N00t with luv <3