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Love was a hard flower to pick.
It plucked on the skin of his bones and left nothing else but the bitter taste of memory when the winter came. It was hard to keep it alive, but when it bloomed it did so with the most unbeatable strength, carrying a sweet scent that would take away the will of any man. Love was an uninterested flower that didn’t understand formalities. It just grew when the soil was warm, and for a while now the earth that they both worked on to materialize their now shared golden dream was bubbling, a womb alive and filled with those patient little flowers.
Mista had seen it in dreams. He saw Giorno too, walking slowly as if he was carrying the wind under his feet. The small buds that were on the soil were ready to bloom. Their desperation ran deep as they were touched by Giorno’s fingers, gentle petals trying to reach into his softness. Mista was hoping for that too, for that electrifying tension, for the moment the sides of their fingers touched, excusing themselves with a smile, wishing for a kiss. Giorno looked back, indicating some level of woe that Mista remembered every time he woke up. It stood so present in his mind that Guido looked for it, walking to his Boss to realize that a glimpse of that halcyon glow was hidden behind his tired eyes.
His always careful and attentive king, the one who could crumble realities apart with a single nudge of his head, was sometimes looking melancholic behind his desk. They had lost a lot before taking over and from time to time Mista caught him staring through the window, the light of the sun trying to get under his pupils as it died on the edge of tomorrow. Mista knew that he was lucky to be sharing the future with this man and in silence, he wondered if Giorno ever wanted to connect in the same way he wanted to. Like comets raced to their death, Mista too wanted to combust in his orbit, shine as he touched the tips of his eyelashes. Was Giorno looking for that too? Or was that shine just the symbol of his never-ending hunger for the dream he had killed for? Was he supposed to leave those flowers in that garden alone, ask them for more patience, and deal with his broken heart in silence?
He would never know what it would’ve been to wait. His soul spoke for him one day, taking advantage of their closeness and asked him out. God bless his boldness.
“You’re suggesting to take a day off?” Giorno asked, a smile crossing over his face. It was a pretty one, even melancholic. Inside Guido’s mind, his proposal to go have a picnic started to look more into an opportunity rather than an impulsive thought that got ahead of him.
“Yeah! I think it would do you good, Boss.” He hadn’t taken a seat and was walking around Giorno’s office making sure Giorno would understand he wasn’t joking. “I miss going to the beach. And I would love to go with you.”
“Fine. But I get to choose the place.” The Boss didn’t hesitate, his answer coming far too quickly. It was something that Mista didn’t register, but Giorno’s voice was ridden with old love, laces set with heavy diamonds.
“Sounds good. I’ll get some peaches and figs.”
“Then I’ll bring the cake,” The Gunslinger then walked to the door, knowing that The Don followed him with sharp eyes, intention dripping from his posture. “I’ll come to get you, Giorno.” He spoke with seriousness attached to his promise, bright yellow, the face of a sunflower turning its head to the sun.
“I’ll be waiting,” Giorno spoke as if he had a ribbon tied to his tongue, unleashing it towards Mista. It had an I always will printed on it, a love note that urged for some response, and Mista felt it touching the tip of his fingers, tying around it with a desperate tug. He hoped this was real, that this softness that he saw in his dreams could be his for a moment at least.
Guido smiled as he walked out, heart thumping inside of his chest like a butterfly that aches for the wind, and he kept that smile all the way up to his room. Neither of them knew why the villa smelled like roses, but it probably had to be because back in his office, Giorno was blushing wildly too, wishing he could’ve gotten to touch Mista’s heated face.
xxx
It wasn’t hard to find a spot on the beach.
The one Giorno suggested was away from the masses of people, and the rocky surroundings allowed them to even have some privacy. The weather was stupendous with a few clouds in the distance, but the sun was walking with them, making Guido silently appreciate Giorno’s idea to bring their umbrella. Even knowing the day was going to be enjoyable, the walk to the beach got him on edge when he realized that Giorno’s white blouse was fluttering with the wind, revealing the areas of his chest that were not exposed by his pronounced chest suit window.
Giorno’s clothes were shaped to be loose just enough to float around his neck like the feathers of a swan when it's about to fly, and Guido really wondered if he could use the excuse of the sun as a good enough explanation for his sweat. He tried to be inconspicuous about it but it was hard to do so when he looked like that. He was so concentrated to not get distracted that he didn’t notice Giorno’s eyes who were all over him too, hidden perfectly under his pair of sunglasses.
“Are you planning on going for a swim?” His boss asked, the wind didn’t mute his words, and Guido laughed a little too much thanks to his nerves.
“Maybe, only if you swim with me.” He didn’t realize that his answer could be laced with a dreamy expectation that they both shared. Going into the water, creating skin contact and watering those expectant flowers with the presence of the sea. Their judge and ally of unspoken promises.
“Deal.” The Don took his time to reply and there was so much to unpack in his answer that Guido didn’t reply back, chewing on the possibility of getting to see Giorno’s chest, and his smile under the purple tones of a dying sun.
Guido started to get the place ready, but Giorno was staring into the horizon, holding his sandals with one hand and the basket with the other, green glass peeking through his eyes trying to reach the edges of the world.
“It smells like rain.” Guido was extending their generous mat when he looked up at his companion and he did it at the right time Giorno turned to him too. He was looking at Mista from above, the sun hitting his back creating a wonderful halo of yellow and blue undertones, and Guido thought he was staring at an apparition, the lost soul of a maiden that lost a lover to this restless sea.
“I think I smell it too.”
But neither of them backed down on their plan to continue the picnic, already getting used to the idea of being prey to traveling and wild water. Giorno was setting up the food on the mat as Guido was left in charge of their huge beach umbrella. And as it expanded creating a gentle shadow over them, Guido was left wondering if Giorno could really smell the rain. He imagined the water following him just like the sun did sometimes. The sea was probably excited to see him too. He was like an old teacher, holding a path to the memory of their lost friends. All of his friends belonged to it now. Bruno and Leone loved the beach, they probably would’ve walked along the shore for hours. Maybe that was why Giorno looked sorrowful, yet content. The pain was never really gone, but with healing came thankfulness, and there was nothing much to do but to allow themselves to feel that forgiveness. Their dream was worth it, and even if crowns could kill, Guido would always be there to make sure that the gold wouldn’t melt.
Chewing on the same bite of dried fruit, Guido reacted when Giorno reached close to him to grab another piece of cake. He did it just in time to drop his gaze and catch a glimpse of his smooth chest, following him all the way to Giorno’s face, to his quiet expression of peace while eating his cake with small bites. He even swallowed slowly; The Gunslinger was silent, looking with obvious interest that only grew thicker under the beach umbrella. He was being too obvious, but there was nowhere to hide under the sun.
“This is delicious.”
Guido nodded and stuffed his face with another bite of the figs Giorno brought, doing his best to not think about the spoon being licked clean.
“I’m glad you think so. I thought of you when I bought it.” It wasn’t hard to see that the Don was feeling grateful. The situation was different. They weren’t in their villa, and that desk was finally gone from Giorno’s presence. For once, they could forget about the world and their obligations and just be right in front of an all-forgiving sea.
“I love the spot you chose,” Guido said right after picking some grapes in one hand, eating them one by one, the juice menacing to leak from his lips. Giorno stared, only wanting to look at Mista eat and enjoy the rest of their evening in front of the sea in quiet bliss, but he had to speak. He had to right himself after he swallowed the last bite of the pistachio cake and licked the last of the cream left on his right thumb. Words were brimming out of The Don.
“Thank you.” A comfortable silence enveloped them. The wind didn’t even dare to blow that low on the shore, and their subtle glances became even more evident with the last bits of the sun prostrating on the faraway line of the sea, soon to start bleeding into the horizon. But that wouldn’t come just yet, there was still some light, there was still some time before the colors of the sky changed.
“The picnic wasn’t a bad idea, huh?” Guido said, still eating. Giorno laughed, reaching his hand to the bowl of fruit and slightly brushing Mista’s hand in the process. It was electrifying, a quick and certain reminder of their current tension. The sea crashed along the nearby rocks and Mista blinked, almost missing Giorno’s smile.
“It sounded like you thought of it on the spot.”
“That’s how my best plans are made, Giorno.” And instead of giving in to the banter, the Don caught a gasp inside his lips preventing him from reacting properly. He felt his blush creeping towards his cheeks. It burned.
“You called me Giorno.”
Has it ever been any different? Mista didn’t move. Only the sound of the sea came in the middle of the moment, cradling around his arms like a cold blanket on a hot night, and he answered just a little later than he was supposed to, just enough so Giorno realized that his thoughts had been messed with. He never noticed.
“Of course I’ve called you by your name before.”
“Not in a while,” He replied, the tone of his voice hanging from his fingertips as he grabbed a piece of fruit from the bowl. Their fingers touched again, but this time there was no hesitation in maintaining it. Giorno’s gaze stood low, sad, almost as if he had given up, and the light coming from a small space between the clouds got stuck on the surface of his eyes like gentle water swaying on a crystal glass.
“I’m your Boss, aren’t I?”
The rumble in the sky stole his words and, right before he was ready to respond, the rain summoned by Giorno made its presence known, hitting the umbrella and the sand around them and basting in the wide unsuspecting ocean. It was an apocalyptic, almost violent rain that brought no wind to the beach. It was just them and the water. Hugging his legs, Giorno kept his eyes on his companion, on the line of the beach that was slightly blurred by the heavy rain. Another silence cuddled their chests as they tried to move around the already weak tension. Guido took a deep breath as he looked at the ocean being stabbed by the rain and laughed to get rid of the nerves. It worked.
“Don’t worry about the rain, Giorno. We have a nice big umbrella. The picnic goes on!”
Yes. Giorno thought, slowly looking up. “I’m not worried,” he confessed, quickly feeling his lips going uncomfortably dry knowing that only the drops of juice still holding onto Mista's skin could fix it.
“I’m glad I’m here with you.”
“I’m glad I’m here too, Giorno.”
Giorno scoffed with no hostility, some water drops latching to the surface of his feet, clinging to dear life as they slowly sunk into the already wet sand. “Now I can tell you’re trying to say it.”
“I gotta make up.”
“For what?”
“Lost opportunities,” Mista explained, resting on the picnic blanket. Their hands were close, but not nearly close enough. He would smile, imagining the rain was but a natural curtain that hid them from the world’s expectation and urged them to get it together. It was a chance to grab that light, explore the beginning of the rest of their dreams. He would prove right now that he was indeed a man worthy of his heart, of the soil for the flowers to bloom. “You wanted me to use it and I fucked up… you wanted me to take initiative.”
“I did.” There was nothing else to hide and taking in the screaming of the sea, Giorno pushed his hand closer to Mista’s as if he wanted to catch his hand to save himself from drowning. More light crept from up above, blessing the moment. All courting ends in promises and theirs was about to culminate in something stronger than that. Guido shook his shoulders, untamed sand dripped from the folds of his open shirt.
“Just as expected from you GioGio, you always want me to catch up.”
“You’ve never let me down before.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Half a lie is not a lie.”
The closeness was impossible to deny, both their faces and their hands were about to touch, breaching that unspoken contract of distance. Fantasies weren’t better than this moment. The moon was about to come out and the firmament turned into a gorgeous velvet orange, mixing with the milk of the sky. The blood of the sun was birthing tiny stars inside the blonde’s eyes. Giorno might not have seen it, but the droplets of water that fell from the angry clouds showed on his eyes like stellar dust, like small comets desperate to fall inside his chest to break apart and be born anew. He was so breathtaking that both the moon and the sun were shining upon him, fighting to stay in the sky just because they had to see him. And Mista understood that his feelings were maybe just as intense. Their garden started to sing and the world was reduced to the smell of wet sand and expensive perfume.
“Say it, Giogio.” Guido moved with the rhythm of the thunder, touching Giorno’s hand when the rumbling started to subdue. It was a delicate touch, unexpected for a man who was known to carry that much weight with his gun, and it would’ve passed unnoticed if it weren’t for the blonde’s excitement. Giorno answered with the same intensity, slowly climbing on top of the rest of his fingers, basking in the texture of Mista’s rough skin.
“What do you want me to say, Guido?” The roots became thicker, climbing upon their arms, ready to pull them down into the water.
“Say that you wanted to be with me,” The plate of fruit was pushed to the side to make way for Guido who invaded Giorno’s personal space. They both stood still for a second when thunder was heard in the distance, letting the world shake and sway around them. They wouldn’t move, not today and not tomorrow. “I want to hear you say it. I wanted to be with you, Giorno. For a while now.”
The Don chuckled and when he looked up, Mista understood. He finally felt the pressure of the ropes of passion, he finally understood every invitation to go out, every side look during breakfast. He got it all and was so ashamed he couldn’t do much but keep smiling. “I was about to give up.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t give up on your fool.” I’m so lucky, Mista thought, entranced. I’m holding the sun in my hands. It’s almost as if it wasn’t raining at all. “Please let me make up for it.”
Giorno smiled with his eyes, looking down to see their hands properly intertwined in the same fashion as the plants found Giorno’s veranda, creeping all the way to the metal furniture where he set his flowers. When he looked up, Guido kissed him. And at that very second, all of their doubts went floating away into the deep sea, saying their goodbyes as their hands grew tighter. With his eyes closed, Giorno felt a surge of excitement and turned the shells behind them into bushes of blooming blue and purple hydrangeas that appreciated the sea’s generosity and drank the rainwater. The sweet scent alerted Mista, and he pulled away from the kiss with a smile. He kept the closeness though; there was no way he was going to miss Giorno's quiet mewls.
“You liked it that much?”
“Shut up.”
Mista kissed him again, setting a rhythm with intentional pauses to peek through the veil of their glory. “Don’t be embarrassed. I feel the same way too, Giogio.”
“Was kissing me part of your plan all along?”
Mista pretended to consider his question but only used the intermission to breathe, touch Giorno’s neck and play with the wild strands of his sun-kissed hair. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. I’m not sure.”
“Then make sure, kiss me again.”
Mista did.
He kissed Giorno as if this was to be their last kiss and let him touch around his neck, over his chest, and around his arms. The day was just welcoming the first traces of a calm night, and they would continue their picnic in the middle of torrential rain. They wanted to enjoy the strands of broken tension, the start of a new, all-powerful love that they would honor and cherish with the same strength as the sea resists the rain. The hydrangeas moved along with them and gave them enough privacy for them to start sharing their secrets, aged oaths. Crowns weren’t that heavy when shared, and what the rain didn’t wash away they would do so together, walking side by side in the blooming garden of their very own twilight.