Work Text:
Giorno had seen himself in the mirror multiple times ever since he became the Boss. He walked right by them in the mornings, but lately, he felt as if the mirror itself was asking the courtesy of him staring for a little longer. He usually did not have the patience or the disposition to look at himself. He tried to spend as little time as possible in front of it when fixing his hair or brushing his teeth, and he left his eyes anywhere else but on his face; afraid he might see the things he hid under his conscience, buried deep behind his afterthoughts. That fear came through when he obeyed that urgency. Eyes locking with the Giorno on the mirror, he couldn’t even recognize himself. The creature who had his face held no love and no smiles, the image trembling as he tried to engage with the thoughts of his past. Who are you? He asked, and got no reply, only the menacing and sad echo of silence. He stopped after the first wave of fear attacked the back of his head, knowing that during the night the mirror in the bathroom was screaming at him, begging him to get up and see.
Come Giorno, come see.
He did it one day, as he woke from a rowdy dream at five am. He kept the bedsheets over his shoulders, dripping away from them only as he walked directly to the bathroom, where the mirror that demanded the attention of his gaze was sleeping. Giorno did not know what to expect. Demons hid under the smile of humans, behind the pupils of their eyes, and came through sometimes if you stared long enough to challenge them to appear. But this was different. His demons were always with him. They had no business hiding away when he dreamt with them every single night, the darkness was their home. What he found in the mirror, was instead, the look of a tired young man who didn’t seem to understand the reasoning behind his actions. What am I doing? He woke up in the morning and the first thing he did was staring at himself in the mirror? What a joke. He saw the restless nights under his eyes, the heaviness of every death hanging from his skin. Giorno had seen enough death for a lifetime, and it was just starting. His life as a Boss demanded to lead the way many lives would end.
What does it matter?
He took a deep sigh in front of the mirror, and suddenly, as if he was staring at a ghost he saw him: Haruno Shiobana, the spectral vision of himself was staring right from the other side of the mirror. His eyes were just as green but he was scared, trembling, becoming small and mellow under the dark of the early hours of the morning. But he had opened his mouth to spell his name. He wasn’t menacing but inviting; Haruno wanted to start a conversation.
Giorno turned on the lights in a panic and when he turned his face back to the mirror he wasn’t there anymore. He saw it, the way the mirror mocked him and whispered a very quiet I told you so he could never forgive. Giorno stared at himself, holding his hands against the expensive basin that took on his weight with no problem.
“You are okay.” He told himself, saw his reflection mutter the words. He was there, he had always been there. Giorno decided to go back to bed, not before turning one last time to catch his reflection that did not show any signs of Haruno’s black hair. Giorno shook his head and tried to go back to sleep, knowing very well that the conversation he was supposed to have with Haruno was way overdue.
He did not turn off the lights.
xxx
Giorno had considered himself to be blessed with many things. Blessed with money, with friends, with a heart, and with a good sense of when to turn a blind eye on things he had to address about himself. He kept quiet about the incident in his bathroom. Guido never knew although he noticed how jumpy he was, on edge, like a small dog. Boss, take a break. He told him, and Giorno nodded at him without saying anything else. Before he would’ve probably snapped but his recent experiences had made him listen. Taking a break would mean that he would have to unplug for a while, so he finished up just enough of his tasks to do just that.
The problem was that the second he was able to close his eyes and rest, Haruno was back. This time, he was in his dreams sitting on a perfumed meadow and looking directly at him.
“It’s you,” Giorno said, staring back. It was just like in the mirror, and couldn’t keep down his sense of horror. Haruno gave gentle pats to the grass, inviting him to take a seat. Giorno did.
“It tried calling, you didn’t come.” Giorno knew what he meant. He had felt that ache, that desperation to find himself. This is what it took, a scare and an observation from a person he appreciated to finally face the problem: himself.
“I’m sorry. I was busy.”
“No, you were scared,” Haruno replied, looking up and down at him, his black hair moving with the wind. “You still are.”
Giorno had no reason to lie so he stood still turning his head to the magnificent view of the sea that lingered beyond them. “I still am.” He had the feeling that the real conversation was going to start right there and waited for Haruno to begin. This time, his eyes were not on the sea, but on Haruno’s figure. He was himself and hated to think that he threw that away to what he was now, embracing the legacy of his father. Giorno was Haruno and Haruno was Giorno. The two sides of the sun.
“It’s okay to be scared.”
“We got hurt because of it.”
“No. We didn’t deserve any of it and you know it. You know that, Giorno.” Giorno stood silent, he was right. His past self was more forgiving, even softer. Maybe his days in Passione hurt that innocence. But he didn’t want to go back to it and rescue it from his memories. He admired it. He was strong, he had always been strong. It was only the violence that desensitized him from that softness that made him resilient.
“Are you mad at me that I stopped being you?”
“You have never stopped being me. You and I are the same man.” Haruno laughed. “It wasn’t our fault that we became blond.” Giorno laughed too, at last, some lightness coated the air. “You don’t have to push your past behind. You can live with it.” Giorno did not want to. His past died the day he got involved with Passione and followed the path that brought him there, holding his crown even though it bled. His golden dream was worth that and Haruno understood. “You can live with it and still be proud of what you’ve done.”
Don Giovanna took a deep breath.
“I have become what we wanted to be.”
“I know.” Haruno got closer, held his hand tight. “We worked hard.”
“We did.”
The memory of their childhood passed through their eyelashes down to the grass and dispersed along with the pollen. They would go with it to find other lands, become strong memories that would grow into big and colorful gladiolus flowers. Giorno pulled him in for a hug, Haruno melted in his arms.
“Don’t scare me in the mirror again, please.”
Haruno felt like he was becoming part of his skin, melting into it, slowly and surely until his voice became his. “I won’t. Not anymore.” the perfume of the flowers grew stronger, brighter, and Giorno fell down on the grass. Hugging himself, Giorno had accepted that pain, the lessons that he held with the marks. Haruno was still there, in the flesh, in the bones of his hands.
“Be good, Giorno Giovanna.”
When he woke up, the sun was still up but for the first time in a long while, Giorno felt lighter than ever. He smiled to himself, caressing the skin of his arms. He would’ve hugged himself if he didn’t do it already in his dreams. He knew the rest of his days would go without that inner turmoil messing up his insides, for there was no more ache. Giorno knew this had consecrated him as a single man, fusing his thoughts to the flesh and his future to the back of his hand.