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Josuke was sprawled haphazardly atop a huge sofa, designed and handmade by a local craftsman. The red wine lapping at the edges of his crystal glass threatened to ruin the upholstery, but Giorno couldn’t bring himself to care. Fabric could be replaced, but the one blood relative he’d met who didn’t seem to hate his guts could not.
Giorno stared into the fireplace, his fireplace, a real one like he’d always wanted when he was young and cold and his mother wouldn’t pay for winter clothes that he’d just grow out of by next year.
He’d done it. He’d proven her wrong for every time she’d called him worthless. He had wealth and power, he was making the world better , and he’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted. Almost.
Josuke had a comforting light in his eyes, even as exhausted as he was from travel. This was the first time they’d met in person, but they’d been corresponding regularly through email so consistently and thoroughly for the past year that he already felt like an old friend. Josuke knew more about Giorno than almost everyone he’d ever met.
It was easier to talk about his fears and weaknesses over text, to someone without a face. Josuke had a face now, though, and the feeling hadn’t changed.
Josuke shifted, turning his head towards Giorno with a look of concern that seemed to have sprung from nowhere. “You and Jotaro are like, super weird around each other, dude.”
Giorno held up a finger, to which the concern was replaced with something like indignation. Ignoring it, Giorno nodded to where Mista was stationed at the door and waited for him to step outside before motioning Josuke to continue. Mista could still hear, but the illusion of privacy was the best one could get in a position such as his.
“Uh, right. I was saying, being in a room with you two is tense as hell. He’s told me more about why on his end, but I guess I was wondering what you had to say about it. Are you mad about the stuff with Dio? I know you’ve never met him, but either way it’s gotta be tough trying to get along with the person that killed your father.”
Giorno stamped down a very morbid and unprofessional fit of laughter. Tipsy or not, very few people could say something like that to him and expect to leave with their life, much less an answer. But Josuke was special, and he knew it.
“You could say that.” He swirled the dregs of wine in his own glass and contemplated whether or not to elaborate. Later he would blame the alcohol, but the actual reason he continued was twofold, and far different: Josuke was the type of person that made you feel like you could tell him anything, and Giorno desperately needed to talk.
“I’m not angry for the reason you think. Believe me, I am glad that my father is dead.”
Josuke’s eyebrows seemed to make an attempt to shoot straight off the top of his head. Giorno forgot sometimes that familial attachment was something that came naturally to most people.
He sighed. “You know that he was a tyrant, Josuke. I don’t have childish fantasies of him whisking me away and giving me a better childhood than the one I endured. Even if he knew that I existed, I doubt he would’ve given a damn about me. My mother certainly didn’t.”
Josuke was clearly in over his head and trying his best to remain casual. He made an admirable effort. “Man, I guess. You just seem pretty chill about it, considering.”
This time, Giorno allowed a small chuckle to escape him. “I’m very good at pretending.”
“Oh. You don’t gotta do that around me, you know.” Josuke looked the slightest bit put out at the prospect of Giorno putting on a front for him.
Giorno did his best to give him a reassuring smile. “I can’t help my ways of self expression, or rather lack thereof, but I’m talking to you, aren’t I? I promise you, I’m being as honest as I can.”
And it was terrifying. Josuke had enough information to destroy him three times over already, and Giorno was adding more ammo to the pile. The thing that scared Giorno most, though, was that he didn’t want to stop. Trust was not something he gave freely, or without a great deal of consideration. Josuke had earned it by taking everything in stride and never once using it as a weapon.
Josuke knew just how rare and sacred that was. “I appreciate it. Really.” Not one to leave a job unfinished, he returned to the initial subject of their conversation. “So, you were saying something about being angry?”
“Yes. Like I said, it’s not because he’s dead. Not directly, at least. I feel robbed, I’d say. Not of a father or a childhood or anything like that, but because I learned about all of this years after his death. I never got to confront him. I am more angry at my father than words can describe, and there’s nowhere I can even direct it. The fight is over. That’s what your nephew took from me.”
Josuke considered his words for long enough that doubt began to creep into Giorno’s mind, followed by fear. He didn’t want to lose his friend over this. His family.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he added. “I know why he did it. I know he had to. It doesn’t stop the bitterness.”
“Yeah, of course,” Josuke said. He seemed to have caught on to Giorno’s need for reassurance. “And like, it’s not bad to feel like that. It’s a complicated situation, it makes sense that you’d have complicated feelings about it.”
His easy acceptance of Giorno’s honesty only pulled more of it from his throat. The vulnerability burned like bile. “When things like this happen in fiction, most of the time the father is redeemed. Or there’s this great cathartic confrontation. Something that makes it feel better in the end. The chance for me to have that was gone before I even knew that I needed it.”
He took a rattling breath. “And I do. Need it. I have so much rage with no outlet, just swelling inside me and threatening to burst. It hurts. And I'm so scared of being like him. I’m scared that I already am.”
“Giorno, you’re not—” Giorno cut him off with a hand and immediately felt guilty for it, but he couldn’t help his impulse of taking some small kind of control when helplessness threatened to swallow him whole.
“Don’t try to feed me useless platitudes. I can see it in me sometimes. The ruthlessness, the hunger for power. I know that Dr. Kujo does, too. He looks at me and sees a monster, and I think he might be right.”
Josuke still looked like he wanted to argue, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Giorno continued, “I know I don’t deserve trust from him, or even civility, especially so soon after meeting. Just,” his voice strained from the effort of keeping it level, “how am I supposed to be more than my blood if I can’t even confront the man that made me like this? How am I supposed to prove myself to Dr. Kujo when all he sees in me is cruelty and senseless violence?”
He didn’t notice his rising anger until it had already spilled out of him in a rush. He loosened his grip on his glass. He lowered his voice as he lowered his eyes to the rug. “I hate to sound like a whining child, but it’s not fair . None of this is fair.”
Josuke gave him a moment to gather himself before responding softly, “Can I tell you what I think?”
If he hadn’t asked for permission, then Giorno surely would have lashed out with venom and desperation. But the question was a reminder. Josuke was willing to do this on Giorno’s terms. Giorno was in control, and Josuke was here to help.
“Yes. You may.”
Relief flooded Josuke’s face without shame. “Honestly dude, the fact that you’re trying so hard is enough for me. I can’t speak for anyone else, but like, you don’t scare me. And I know you’re not evil. I’ve seen evil people and you’re… no. Just no. You deserve a chance. A dozen chances even, considering what your past was like. You’re not a monster. You’re just my family. And I know your experiences with that have been pretty shit, but like, even with that, you’ve learned how to do it so well.”
Giorno couldn’t help but scoff. “I’m sorry Josuke, but that’s ridiculous. You’re the only family I’ve met that gives a damn whether I live or die. If you weren’t here, Dr. Kujo likely would have tried to kill me himself already. I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but I am not good at family.”
“I don’t mean that.” Josuke didn’t seem at all fazed by his response. He was more steady than ever.
“Alright, then. Enlighten me.”
Josuke sat up fully and placed his glass on a coaster with an expression of determination. “Trish, Fugo, and Mista.” When Giorno said nothing, he continued, “Giorno, you made your own . And you take such good care of them, I can tell by the way you act around each other. They love you. They trust you, and they’re so loyal. I know you can do this because you already have.”
He searched Giorno’s face for a moment before adding, “You can do hard things. Even like, impossible things, if your stories are anything to go by. If you wanna connect with your family, then I’ve got absolutely no doubt that you can do it. And if you decide it’s too much, well, at least you have your team. And you have me.”
Giorno was feeling something that he couldn’t name. He was afraid that if he inspected it too closely it would leave him, so he let it be. He wanted to feel like this at least a little while longer.
“Thank you, Josuke.” No matter how much he meant them, the words didn’t feel like enough. “I want to do this. I want to get to know your—our family, and to be in your lives, whatever it takes. They sound incredible, from what you’ve told me. And even if that’s unattainable, then… This just might be enough.”
Josuke smiled so brightly that Giorno got distracted thinking about how much his face must hurt. “Yours seems pretty incredible, too. Trish is my favorite, though. I’m pretty sure Fugo hates me, and Mista is nice but he kinda scares me. But like, don’t tell him that, though.”
Giorno felt a small grin tug at his own lips. “Josuke, Mista is my bodyguard.”
“Yeah dude, bodyguards are scary as hell when it’s not you they’re guarding.”
Giorno debated briefly over whether to preserve Josuke’s dignity, but the opportunity was too amusing to pass up. “I mean that he’s right outside the door. He can hear us.”
All at once, Josuke groaned and curled into a dramatic pile of embarrassment. Giorno could barely hear a muffled voice coming from behind his arms. “Mista, you can shoot me now.”
Though the heaviness in the room was lifted, the air felt charged with something else: something new. It reminded Giorno of the concept in physics of potential energy. This wasn’t change, but rather the possibility of it. This was a stationary object that only needed a push to go flying into motion. All he needed to do was reach out his hand despite being afraid of the consequences.
He’d never let something as silly as fear stop him before.