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Mista’s knuckles were turning white. Giorno found it rather annoying; Mista didn’t act this way on roller coasters, and the incline and speed at which those went downhill were much greater. On those, Mista would throw his arms in the air with abandon, whooping as they approached the first loop at breakneck speed.
“Why don’t you change the station?” Giorno suggested. “I’m willing to ignore Fugo’s ‘driver picks the music’ rule if you’re going to act like that.”
Mista’s clenched fists pressed against the dashboard even harder. “Why don’t you slow down? There’s a stop sign at the intersection.”
“I have plenty of time to slow down,” Giorno shot back. “And to be honest, your lack of faith in me is rather distracting. Change the station.” It was clearly not a suggestion this time.
“Don’t bitch at me if you don’t like what I pick,” Mista said, slowly uncurling the fingers of one hand to press the scan button on the radio until he found the easy listening station. “And keep your eyes on the fucking road!”
It was the first time Mista had yelled at him during today’s driving lesson. Giorno glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Twelve minutes – a new record.
Giorno did have enough time to apply the brakes before they reached the intersection, but not without Mista’s head hitting the visor. It was his own fault for leaning forward.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Giorno told him.
“You realize the front of the car is in the crosswalk, right?”
“No one’s crossing right now, though.”
“It’ll count against you on your road test,” Mista pointed out.
Giorno lifted one hand from the steering wheel and patted Mista’s left hand, which was practically embedded in the dashboard by now. “You worry too much.”
“I worry about the whiplash you just gave me,” Mista grumbled. “You’re lucky I don’t sue.”
Giorno’s hand returned to the two o’clock position on the steering wheel. “Are you forgetting my father’s a lawyer? You wouldn’t collect a cent.”
“I thought you said you wanted to get your driver’s license. You’re not gonna pass with an attitude like that.”
“No, what I said was I wanted to learn to drive. You obviously weren’t paying attention.”
“And that pisses you off, I get it. You forget, I know you, Gio. I know you said you wanted to learn to drive, but you also want your license. I can read between the lines, you know.”
There was a loud honking behind them, and Giorno took his foot off the brake. As he was doing so, the car beeped at him again, and Giorno’s brows drew together.
“I heard them the first time.”
“Don’t worry about that asshole. Just drive.”
Giorno’s foot was on the gas, but barely. He crossed the intersection at a snail’s pace, causing the driver behind them to lay on the horn like it was their job.
“I totally get the passive aggressive ‘oh, are you in a hurry, so sorry’ thing you got going on here, but that’s not going to fly on the road test, either.”
“You’re the one who taught me this,” Giorno reminded him.
“Just because you’ve seen me, a fully licensed driver with after-dark driving privileges, pull that shit doesn’t mean you should.”
“In other words, I can do this sort of thing once I have my driver’s license.”
“Pretty much, yeah,” Mista said with a grin. “But first you’ve got to get that license, and you’re doing a shit job prepping for it so far.”
They got through the intersection, and the car behind them roared past, with a loud learn to drive! shouted in passing, along with an extended middle finger.
“That’s what I’m doing,” Giorno said seriously, as if he were having a civil conversation with the now long-gone driver.
“You definitely take after your father,” Mista said with shake of his head.
Giorno accelerated until he was driving the speed limit, and then he looked over at Mista. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Eyes on the road, Gio,” Mista said, pointing ahead of them. “I just mean you have this way of talking around things.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?”
Giorno gave him a look of immense disappointment.
“Eyes on the road!” Mista shouted. “Fucking hell, Giorno.”
“No one was in front of us. There were no children playing on the side of the road. No animals were harmed in the making of this driving lesson.”
“And Abbacchio doesn’t think you’re funny.” Mista shook his head again.
“You think I’m funny?”
“You’re fucking hilarious, Giorno, when you choose to be.”
“You laugh when I’m not trying to be funny.”
“I take it back, then. You’re fucking hilarious when you’re not even trying.”
“I feel like I’ve just been insulted.”
“Your driving is shit, Giorno.”
“I’m driving the speed limit, and I’m in my lane.”
“Did I insult you?”
“Yes!”
“See the difference?”
“I asked you for driving lessons, Guido, not life lessons.”
“Guido, huh?” Mista mused. “Well, too fucking bad, if you didn’t want both, you could’ve asked Fugo to teach you.”
Giorno worried at his lip a little, then confessed, “I did ask. He refused.”
“I figured he would,” Mista replied with one of his wide, toothy grins.
“Then why did you just suggest that I ask him?”
“Just making a point.”
“It’s not funny. First, he didn’t just refuse, he said there was, and I quote, ‘no way in fucking hell.’ Second, Narancia was there when I asked. I didn’t realize that until he started laughing. Narancia cackles. Did you know that about him?”
“Yeah, of course. You know we go way back. You asked Fugo in person?”
“Of course, I did,” Giorno replied haughtily. “It’s not the sort of favor you ask over the phone.”
“Then you should’ve expected Narancia would be there. You should know by now that those two come as a set. And I figured you’d just text him. No one uses the phone anymore, Gio.”
“One shouldn’t assume, Guido, and Fugo should have given me warning that Narancia was there. It would have been the polite thing to do. I did the polite thing by not asking him over text. By the way, you’re wrong about the phone. My father uses it all the time.”
“There’s your problem, expecting Fugo to be polite. And your father using it doesn’t count because one, I’ll bet it’s for work, and two, he’s fucking old.”
“You’d better not let him hear you call him that.”
“What’s he gonna do, castrate me?”
Giorno took his eyes off the road again to give Mista a meaningful glance. “He might.”
“Eyes on the road!”
“I heard you the first time.”
Mista snorted. “Which first time?”
“All of them.”
Mista burst out laughing. “You’re something else, Giorno.”
“Hmm,” was Giorno’s reply, and he continued driving, around the block, then through the park, going around the tennis courts and the playground, past the duck pond and the fenced in dog park, and then out on the other side.
“See?” he asked Mista. “I’m a very good driver.”
“Okay, Rain Man,” Mista teased.
“I’m sorry, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You never saw that movie?”
“Which movie?”
“Never mind, that’s not important right now.”
Giorno turned his head and frowned at Mista. “Then why did you bring it up?”
“Eyes on the fucking road, Giorno!”
Giorno’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Then stop distracting me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mista practically preening. “You find me a distraction?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I meant bringing up references to things that you know I’m unfamiliar with. That’s rude.”
“You and Fugo talk about shit I don’t know all the time!”
“What happened to ‘for your information, Fugo, I have read that book, and it was boring.’”
“Hemingway is boring. And that was like three years ago.”
“Fo-” Giorno started to say, then caught himself. “A bit longer ago than that.”
“Was it really that long ago?” Mista mused.
“Yes. You were arguing that reading A Farewell to Arms was like watching paint dry, and Narancia said something about trying that once.”
Mista laughed. “Shit, that’s right. He said it was more exciting than listening to Fugo go on and on about the baroque period.”
“Do you think he really did try watching paint dry?”
“Oh, he definitely did. Fugo called his bluff and brought him to – shit, I forget where, doesn’t matter – but whatever. The point is, Fugo made Narancia sit there and literally watch paint dry.”
“I can’t imagine that lasted very long.”
“Depends on which of them you believe.”
“I’d probably be inclined to believe Fugo. He’d be more accurate with the facts.”
“I knew you’d fucking take his side. Narancia’s not a liar.”
“And you believe Fugo is?”
“Fugo’s like the diet version of your dad, Gio.”
“I’m not sure which of them would be more insulted by that.”
“Your dad, definitely.”
The corners of Giorno’s lips curved slightly. “I believe you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
Giorno glanced over, quirking an eyebrow. “Always?”
“Almost always,” Mista amended. “And slow the fuck down, Giorno, we’re going downhill.”
Giorno did slow down, but he’d waited so long to do so that by the time they got to the stop sign at the bottom, he had to slam on the brakes to avoid going beyond the painted white line behind the crosswalk.
“I’m not in the crosswalk,” he said smugly.
Mista was crossing himself and murmuring a quick prayer to Saint Christopher before prying his fingers off the dashboard.
“Fucking hell, Gio.” Mista took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m going to regret this. I know I am.”
Giorno perked up. “Highway?”
“No!” Mista took another deep breath. “At least, not the interstate. But maybe, with your passion for speed, we need to channel that somewhere that it’s safe and legal.” He scratched his head. “At least somewhere that it’s legal,” he corrected himself. “Not all that sure about it being safe with you driving.”
“That was uncalled for.”
“Giorno, you slammed the brakes on going downhill. You have to slow down on hills.”
“The speed limit’s thirty.”
“Not in the fucking park, it’s not!” Mista took off his hat and wiped his forehead with it before pulling it back over his hair. “Which is why I think we need to get you out to where you can drive a little faster.”
“Define ‘a little.’”
“Like forty.”
“I hope my heart can take the excitement,” Giorno said drily.
“I swear to God, this is why you and Fugo get along so well. You’re both sarcastic mother fuckers.”
“I wouldn’t even touch my mother with your dick,” Giorno muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” Mista asked, cupping his ear and leaning toward Giorno.
“What are you talking about?” Giorno asked. “I said nothing.”
Mista nodded. “Uh huh.” He looked behind them, and then checked the side mirror. “Okay, Gio, a car is coming down the hill. Take a left here out of the park, and we’ll head toward Cow Country.”
“Cow Country?”
“Just drive. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
Giorno managed to stop behind the line – without slamming on the brakes – at the next few stop lights, and he even remembered not to pass that school bus, even though it was on the other side of the street and he’d been glancing over at Mista at the time.
Naturally, Mista had scolded him for that.
Then it was a left off the main road, and a close call entering one of the roundabouts – the fourth one, to be exact, and that was honestly Mista’s fault for covering his eyes as they approached it – but Giorno had heard Mista complain nearly every time they approached one at how many people came to a complete stop they just had to yield.
He’d said something else, once, too. In it to win it, perhaps? But Giorno hadn’t asked what he’d meant by that at the time because Narancia had piped up from the backseat that Mista drove like an old fucking man and that next time he should let Narancia drive. Then Fugo had pointed out that Narancia first had to get his car to pass inspection if he wanted to volunteer to drive; Narancia had argued that he thought he’d be allowed to drive Fugo’s car and what kind of boyfriend was he – oh, Mista had been right about the two of them being a matched set and Giorno should have realized the high probability of Narancia being at Fugo’s – and then Mista had yelled at them both to shut the fuck up before he shot them both in the kneecaps.
There had been a brief silence, then Narancia had cautiously asked, “like, for real?”
“Giorno!” Mista yelled.
“Yes?” Giorno asked.
“You darted out right in front of that pickup! We almost got creamed!”
“Aren’t you the one who said almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades?”
“It’s ‘close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,’ and that wasn’t even me! That was your father who said that!”
“Was it?” Giorno mused. “It sounds more like something my dad would say.”
“Whichever of your dads said it, it still wasn’t me. And pay attention to the goddamn road!”
“You’re rather uptight,” Giorno observed. “I thought you were a ‘go with the flow’ type of person.”
“I am! It’s just that you’re taking fucking years off my life every time I take you out driving. Why don’t you have one of your dads teach you?”
“Father doesn’t like driving. He finds it beneath him and prefers to be chauffeured everywhere he goes. Dad is always willing, but you know he travels a lot.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot he was out of town.”
“Out of the country, actually,” Giorno said.
“Yeah? Mexico again?”
“Italy, actually.”
“Lucky bastard,” Mista sighed. “I mean, no offense to your dad, because I’m not like, calling him an actual bastard or anything.”
“Mista!” Giorno said excitedly. “The speed limit’s forty-five here!”
They’d just reached a stretch of winding road where nothing but trees lined either side of the two lanes, and Giorno accelerated, feeling a thrill of excitement as the car sped up. If not for the amount of time he’d spent on his hair this morning, he might have put the windows down, to feel the wind on his face.
They weren’t going terribly fast, but after months of stop-and-go city driving where the posted speed limit was thirty miles per hour but he was often forced to keep it to twenty – and after weeks of driving in and out of the park which apparently had a fifteen mile an hour speed limit – this felt like flying.
About ten miles later, they approached a sign increasing the speed limit by ten, and Giorno had never felt such a thrill in his life. Not even that time Giorno had accidentally walked in on Mista while he was changing could compare.
It was close, but seeing Mista half-naked was neither horseshoes nor hand grenades.
Why hadn’t Mista taken him driving here sooner?
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Mista asked, and Giorno nodded, and this time, his attention was on the road, on the trees and farm signs – farm signs! – that they passed.
Mista was right; this was Cow Country. They drove right past at least two farms where the cows were out grazing. It was amazing that they were barely half an hour outside the city, and it felt like they’d entered another domain. It was so freeing, being out here, so liberating, so-
“Hey, Giorno?” Mista asked in that tone of voice that meant he was going to say something Giorno didn’t want to hear.
“Yes, Guido?”
“You’re speeding.”
“I am?” Giorno looked down at the speedometer. The needle was just past the mark in between sixty and eighty.
“Yeah, I mean, there are a lot of twists and turns on this road, ya know? Might want to dial that back about twenty or thirty, ya know? ‘Cuz you may not have noticed, but the speed limit’s forty here.”
Giorno let up on the gas a little and watched the needle as it slowly dropped.
“Giorno!” Mista yelled again. “Curve ahead!”
Giorno’s gaze snapped front and center, and he managed to navigate the turn, the tires on the right side of the car going off the road and onto the sandy strip of land that wasn’t quite wide enough for a breakdown lane.
“Seriously, Sammy Haggar, I get that it’s exciting, and it’s easy to forget how fast you’re going when no one else is on the road, but you can’t go that fast on a road like this.”
“Who is Sammy Haggar?”
“He did that song…you know what, never mind.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“The ‘never mind’ thing that you do. Why do you bother making references in front of me if you don’t ever explain them? How am I to learn?”
“Because it’s not that important. I made a bad joke, and jokes are never funnier if you explain them.”
“Narancia always gets your jokes. Even Fugo understands them.”
“He spends a lot of time with Narancia.”
“And I spend a lot of time with you!”
“Okay,” Mista said quietly. “Okay. I’m sorry. Sammy Haggar’s a musician.”
Giorno gave him a withering look. “I assumed so when you said he ‘did that song.’”
“Yeah, so anyway, the song I was talking about is I Can’t Drive 55. And neither can you, apparently.”
“I can,” Giorno argued. “See?” he pointed to the needle on the speedometer, now settled below sixty. It was a good thing he hadn’t decided to put the windows down, because even without the wind in his hair, one of the curls was coming undone, and he lifted his right hand from the wheel to swipe at it in irritation.
“I see,” Mista said quietly. He reached up to catch the stray lock and tucked it behind the center curl, still intact.
“Thank you,” Giorno said stiffly.
“You’re welcome.”
“I don’t like this,” Giorno told him. “This isn’t us.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you’re teaching me to drive, you’re not yourself. I’m not myself. Why are things so different when I’m behind the wheel and you’re sitting in the passenger seat? Why does everything feel so forced and unnatural?”
“I’m sorry,” Mista said. “Maybe I’m trying to channel my inner Fugo and taking this way too seriously.”
Giorno’s lips twitched. “Do you even have an inner Fugo?”
“I fucking hope not,” Mista replied with a laugh, “but you have permission to shoot me if you ever discover I do.”
“In the kneecaps?” Giorno asked teasingly.
“Of course.”
“Mista. That movie you mentioned earlier. The one about the rain.”
“Rain?” Giorno’s eyes were on the road, but he could just picture the way Mista’s face must be scrunching up in thought. “Oh! You mean Rain Man!”
“Can we watch it? Together?”
“You really want to watch that? I should warn you that it’s not like the ones I usually watch.”
“So no loud explosions, lots of gunfire, or comedic misunderstandings on the road to true love?”
“Nope. None of that. I mean, I guess there’s some comedy, and maybe a fraternal kind of love, but no, definitely not a romcom.”
“And yet you still watched it,” Giorno teased.
“That was a Redbox mishap,” Mista admitted. “But it’s still a good movie. Kind of a road trip buddy movie with feels.”
“Don’t all road trip buddy movies have ‘feels,’ though?”
“Yeah,” Mista said thoughtfully. “I guess they do. But they’re often crude.”
“Which is why you and Narancia find them hilarious.”
“Not all of them. It’s actually more hilarious watching them with Fugo because of the way he gets all bent.”
“He does tend to take them rather seriously. Of course, most of those things wouldn’t happen in real life.”
“Can you fucking imagine some of those things happening in real life? Like in Planes, Trains and Automobiles? Or Tommy Boy?”
Giorno laughed. “No, I can’t.”
Ten minutes later, he could.
He and Mista stood on the riverbank, dripping wet. Giorno’s carefully constructed victory rolls were completely undone and he lifted up a hand to push them out of his face as they both stared at the car slowly filling up with water.
“I can’t believe you drove the car right into the river,” Mista said.
“I didn’t mean to,” Giorno said miserably “I didn’t want to hit the deer.”
Mista put an arm around Giorno’s shoulders. Giorno welcomed the warmth because he was freezing.
“We can tell your father I was the one driving,” Mista suggested. “He already hates me anyway.”
“Don’t take it personally. He hates everyone.” He took a small sideways step closer to Mista, pressing their bodies even closer. “And no, you will not take responsibility for my mistake.”
“It’s not going to look good, Giorno. Might keep you from getting your license even longer.”
“I’ve been driving for the past three years without a license, Mista. I don’t expect there will be much of a difference.”
“Getting stopped without a license would really suck.”
“Are you forgetting my father’s a lawyer?”
“You could be looking at criminal charges after something like this.”
“My father’s a very good lawyer.”
Mista laughed. “Shit, I’m sorry. This isn’t funny.” Despite his words, he laughed even harder.
“It’s like something from a movie, isn’t it?” Giorno acknowledged.
“Fuck,” Mista howled. “Road trip movie, with you as the straight man and me making all the jokes. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Not funny, this is not at all funny.”
“It’s okay to laugh, Mista.” Giorno leaned his head on Mista’s shoulder. “We all cope in our own ways.”
“It’s not funny,” Mista forced out. “Fuck, it’s not funny, but it is, oh my fucking god, look at the car.”
“I’m looking,” Giorno said. “Sorry about your phone, by the way.”
Mista wiped at his eyes with the fingers of the hand that hadn't migrated to Giorno’s hip. “Oh, fuck. Well, don’t worry about that. We’re walking away from this, right? And it’s insured. I think.”
“I can’t believe we climbed out the windows,” Giorno said, making Mista laugh all over again.
“Fuck, just wait until we tell Narancia,” he cried. “Hey, do you have your phone on you?”
Giorno removed it from his jacket and handed it to Mista, who swiped at the screen so he could take a photo of the car before handing it back.
“Gonna call your father?”
“No,” Giorno replied. “I’m going to text him.”
A short while later, after receiving a response, Giorno slipped the phone back into his jacket. “He’ll take care of this. It’ll be as if it never happened.”
“Except for the hunk of metal at the bottom of the river.”
“It’s filling up very slowly. Vanilla Ice will get it out and then make sure no one ever finds it.”
“But not really, right?”
Giorno pressed against Mista, but it seemed as though it was impossible to get any closer. “It depends on whether the car is salvageable after this.”
“Oh, it’s definitely not. And I still can’t get over the fact that your father’s right-hand man calls himself Vanilla Ice. And you say your father isn’t old.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t old; I said you’d better not let him hear you say he’s old.”
Mista laughed, but this time it was a short, amused laugh, and not the out-of-control hysterical laughter of earlier. Giorno rather missed the former. Hearing Mista laugh like that had nearly made Giorno start laughing, too.
“I haven’t seen the planes one,” he announced.
“The planes one? You mean the movie?”
“Yes, the movie, the one about planes and trains.”
“And automobiles. You can’t forget the automobiles, Gio, especially not considering,” Mista gestured at the car that would soon be nothing more than a memory. He was glad it had been one of Dio Brando’s cars and not his own that Giorno had been driving. He might not have been able to laugh about it otherwise.
“You know, Giorno, you don’t have to try to so hard to impress people.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re your friends. We like you just the way you are. I like you just the way you are.”
“Oh?”
“I, Guido Mista, like you, Giorno Giovanna, who is and may always be, a shit driver.”
“You make it sound hopeless.”
“It’s not hopeless. Nothing’s hopeless, not even your driving.”
“How can you be so optimistic all the time?”
“I’m not. I just worry about the shit I have control over and do my best to handle the other stuff. I mean, Giorno, I might have thought, for just a sec, that we were gonna die when you jerked the wheel and we went off the road and started down that hill, but just for a sec. I was pretty sure once we hit the water we’d be fine. And look, we are.” He brushed the back of his fingers over Giorno’s forehead, pushing some of the hair out of his eyes.
“Mista.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to ask you something, and it’s okay if you say no.”
“Yes, Giorno, I’ll still teach you to drive, but only if your dad lets you take another of his cars because I’m not going to let you drive mine.”
“It’s not that.”
“Oh. Well, you know you can ask me anything.”
“Are you attracted to me?”
“Am I attracted to you?”
Giorno lifted his head and looked at Mista. “Yes. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” Giorno started to pull away, but Mista’s arm tightened around him. “Giorno, how can I not be? You’re fucking gorgeous.” He reached up and flicked one of the unwound curls. “I mean, usually.”
Giorno pouted, and Mista leaned in to rub his nose against Giorno’s. “I’m teasing! Teasing, Giorno. I mean, because, ya know, I’m a little nervous.”
“Nervous? Why?”
“Before I answer, can I ask you something?”
Giorno nodded.
“Are you attracted to me?”
Giorno nodded again.
“Thank God!” Mista shouted with a pump of his fist. His fingers came to rest on Giorno’s cold, wet cheek. “Can I kiss you?”
Giorno didn’t even finish nodding for the third time before Mista’s lips brushed against his, and then he grabbed the front of Mista’s water-logged sweater in his fists, parting his lips to allow Mista’s tongue entrance.
Both of Mista’s hands were on Giorno’s face now, and it was hard to tell how much he was shivering from the cold and how much from the way Mista’s mouth felt against his. He would have gladly kept kissing Mista, but then the phone in his pocket rang, and he reluctantly lifted his head and answered it.
“Hello?”
“We’re right behind you,” his father said drily. “We’ve been trying to get your attention for a while now.”
Giorno felt his face grow warm.
“I’m sorry.”
“Tch,” was his father’s only response, but he was here, and he would take care of things.
Dio sent Giorno – and, after some intense scowling, Mista – up the hill to the car to warm up, and it was dark by the time the small crew Dio – or probably Vanilla – had hired managed to hoist the car out of the river and load it onto the flat bed tow truck that was also idling at the side of the road.
It was a silent ride home, and, to Giorno’s surprise, they didn’t drop Mista off first. His hand found Mista’s, and he laced their fingers together, squeezing briefly before Vanilla Ice opened the back door and waited for them to get out.
“Nice hair,” Mista commented as he walked past. “What kind of shampoo do you u-”
Giorno slapped his hand over Mista’s mouth. “Forgive him,” he apologized. “He’s just nervous.”
“’m not,” Mista mumbled from beneath his hand.
“Liar,” Giorno said affectionately as they walked inside.
“Oh, I’m not lying. I’m not nervous – I’m fucking terrified.”
“Father isn’t that bad.”
“Didn’t you say he might castrate me?”
“Not personally,” Dio said. He was standing at the door to his office, arms folded over his chest, and one ankle crossed over the other. “But I could have it arranged.”
“Father.”
“You,” Dio said with a nod toward his son. “Are a terrible driver. And you,” he uncrossed his arms and pointed at Mista, “are an even worse teacher.”
“Yeah,” Mista said. “I guess.”
Dio’s lip curled, and his gaze returned to Giorno.
“I should ground you for the rest of your life, but it wouldn’t improve your driving any.”
“You’re still going to let me drive?” Giorno asked hopefully. He and Mista looked at each other, and then back to Dio.
“For a price.”
“Anything!” Giorno said, feeling a swell of excitement.
“First, Vanilla Ice will take you out driving.” At Giorno’s first sound of protest, he held up his hand. “Until you have your license.”
“That’s fair,” Mista said, earning yet another glare from Dio.
“Second, you will not allow him to con you into letting him drive.” That was addressed to Mista.
“Father!”
“Spare me, Giorno. You’re lucky I’m allowing you to continue seeing him.”
Giorno nodded. “And I do appreciate your permission, but I’m an adult now.”
“He is,” Mista chimed in.
“Would you like to explain to the authorities why my car was nearly submerged?”
“Deer,” Giorno and Mista said in unison.
“It was a rhetorical question,” Dio snapped. “This one isn’t even old enough to be your supervising driver.”
“I’m twenty-one,” Mista protested.
“In that case, third, you will not procure alcohol for my son.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Mista promised.
“And fourth,” he began, but Giorno released Mista’s hand and rushed to his father, beckoning for him to come closer so he could whisper in his ear. Dio rolled his eyes but nodded.
“Next, once we are done here, go upstairs and change into something dry. Both of you.” Dio removed his phone from his pocket and began swiping at the screen.
“I assume it’s safe to say that your public display earlier means you two are more than friends.”
“Are we?” Mista asked, looking deep into Giorno’s eyes.
“Do you want us to be?” Giorno asked breathlessly.
“Close enough,” Dio said, and both Giorno and Mista couldn’t help but laugh.
“You should laugh more often,” Mista told him, brushing Giorno’s hair out of his face.
“If you could put your nauseating displays of affection on hold, I have a fifth condition. Unless you would like me to keep it at four.”
“No! I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Dio. Mr. Brando. Sir.”
Dio looked at Giorno as if to say this one? Really? before handing the phone to his son.
It was a text message to Jonathan. “You told Dad what happened?”
Dio sighed. “If I didn’t, and he found out from someone else, I would never hear the end of it. Not from him, and certainly not from Erina.” He held his hand out for his phone, which Giorno returned to him.
“Now take out your phone and text him. Tell him you and your boyfriend are both okay.”
Giorno did as he was told, and Jonathan replied with I’m so so so glad you’re both okay, followed by a rather excessive number of emojis – praying hands, a thumbs up, a number of smiling emojis, party streamers, and a couple of hugs.
Then he wrote, tell your father I’ll wire him the money in the morning.
“He’s going to wire you the money in the morning,” Giorno read back.
A very satisfied smile spread across Dio’s face.
“Father,” Giorno said cautiously, “what money?”
“To pay for half the tow truck?” Mista guessed.
“No, Father looks far too pleased with himself for it to be something so mundane.”
“Let’s just say that I predicted this,” Dio gestured between Giorno and Mista, “would happen before your birthday, and Jojo didn’t believe me.”
“You two bet on us?”
“That’s fucking awesome!” Mista crowed.
“I can believe this of you, Father,” Giorno continued to scold, “but not Dad,” he turned to Mista, “and what do you mean, awesome?”
“I mean it’s awesome that both your dads are okay with me as your boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend,” Giorno echoed. “Mista, you’re my boyfriend.”
“Disgusting,” Dio muttered. “I, Dio, do not need to be subjected to this.”
He dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and they wasted no time in heading upstairs, where Dio preferred to not think of anything they might do other than changing into dry clothes.
His phone lit up. He wasn’t at all surprised to see another message from Jonathan.
They are truly unharmed?
Yes, Dio replied, I would not lie about that. There were plenty of things he would lie to Jonathan about, but not the well-being of their son.
You’re waiting for me to say it, aren’t you?
Dio didn’t reply right away, not wanting to appear too eager. To say what, exactly?
That you were right.
Was I?
Yes, Dio, you were right. You were right about Giorno’s feelings for Mista and about them taking that next step before my birthday.
Ah, yes, Jojo’s birthday, not Giorno’s. No matter. Dio was basking in Jonathan’s acknowledgement that he, Dio, had once again proven himself as one who could easily read others, but then Jonathan replied again.
To be fair, though, you do spend a lot more time with him when I’m on an expedition.
Dio felt a flare of irritation. Don’t make excuses, Jojo, it’s unbecoming.
Jonathan sent him a smiling emoji, and Dio thought that was the end of that, and that it was one of Jojo’s pitiful attempts at teasing, but then another text popped up on his screen.
I bet Speedwagon you’d say that.
Just when Dio was ready to reply with a cutting insult about Speedwagon’s intelligence, Jojo replied again.
You may know Giorno best, but I know you best.
Dio considered sending a scathing retort, but he decided he would let Jojo have this one. He would take satisfaction in the fact that Giorno's boyfriend had given him an idea. He would have his revenge when Jonathan received the bill for not only the tow truck and the wench, but the car itself. Jojo would probably laugh – no, not probably, definitely – and he’d pay it willingly because the important thing was that Giorno was safe.
Jonathan might know Dio best, but Dio knew Jojo even better.