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Giorno tried to ignore the hulking men behind him as he made his way into the office at the back of the mansion. Paccioretti was definitely living the good life, Giorno had to admit. It was no wonder he took these kinds of precautions. Still…Giorno couldn't help the slight unease he felt now that he was in the man's house. He began to regret coming to this meeting alone, despite the fact that Mista was simply waiting in the car outside.
He had agreed to it after all, going in alone. It was the only way that Paccioretti would see him face to face. Giorno suspected he was the man responsible for a sudden influx of violent, drug related crime in the city and if he were correct, he might not get out of here without a fight.
His private security opened the door to the man's office and Giorno stepped inside, eyes falling on Paccioretti himself, sitting at his desk in a dark red suit, his eyes piercing Giorno the instant he stepped in the door.
"Ah, Don Giovanna," he said, not without a hint of mocking in his voice. "I'm happy you decided to show up."
Giorno chose to ignore the tone and straightened his shoulders. "I thought we should discuss a few things in person. Particularly about some of the propositions you made recently."
"All in good time," Paccioretti said, standing up. "Your bodyguard, he's still in the car as asked?"
Giorno could feel Gold Experience shifting under his skin, obviously sensing some sort of threat from this man, but he fought against the feeling for a moment. He needed information before he took this man down. Bucciarati and Abbacchio were currently out searching for important evidence and as soon as he got a call from them, he could really start pushing Paccioretti. But until that time, he had to play cool.
"Yes, my bodyguard is outside," Giorno replied.
Paccioretti nodded, eyes skimming over Giorno too intently. "Open your coat."
Giorno froze. "Excuse me?"
The man gestured impatiently. "I want to see if you're wearing any wires."
Giorno furrowed his brow. "What does that matter? You think whatever I hear today will not be passed to my team eventually?"
"My concern is merely to make sure that no one is listening in at the moment."
"You won't take my word for it?"
Paccioretti gave a small patronizing smile. "I don't take any man's word, not even the Don of Passione. That's how I've survived this long. Now, if you would humor me please, Signore."
Giorno glowered, but humored the man. There was no point stalling for this part, despite his discomfort. He unzipped his coat and opened it slightly to reveal there were no wires taped to his chest.
Paccioretti jerked his chin to one side. "Let me see your back too."
Giorno froze, breath catching painfully in his throat. All rationality of the situation flew out the window. He could feel the scars on his back tightening, those marks of his shame. He couldn't allow himself to reveal that weakness to this man who was undoubtedly his enemy.
"I'm waiting," Paccioretti said and Giorno flinched slightly. "Unless you have something to hide."
"I would prefer you take my word. You disrespect me," Giorno forced out, somehow keeping his voice steady.
Something flashed in Paccioretti's eyes and he stepped forward.
Giorno instinctively flinched backward, unable to help himself while in his current headspace, but was caught by one of the guards, large hands wrapping around his shoulders.
"Get off me," he snapped before Paccioretti pressed in and grabbed the back of Giorno's coat, yanking it up to bare his back.
Giorno froze, terror and shame and humiliation seeping through him like a slow poison as he could feel Paccioretti's eyes scraping across the scars.
"Ah, I see; so it's pride that made you protest, not dishonesty," the man said. "Which is fair enough. Having so many scars on one's back is typically a sign of cowardice."
Giorno wrenched away from the hands that held him, yanking his coat out of Paccioretti's grasp before zipping it back up, trying to keep the heat from flaring in his cheeks, furious and mortified.
Paccioretti only smirked in a condescending way as he motioned toward his desk. "That will do for now. Let's have our discussion."
Giorno hated that this man seemed to have taken over the entire thing. He walked in here with the upper hand and now one move had made him feel vulnerable and scared like a child, firmly under this man's thumb now. He was furious that all it took was someone looking at his bare back to break him down like this.
There was nothing else to be done for it now but to push through. Giorno took the seat on the opposite side of the desk just as he received a message on his phone.
Ignoring Paccioretti, he reached into his pocket and pulled it out.
"What are you doing?" the man demanded suddenly.
Giorno continued to ignore him and saw the message from Bucciarati, clearly spelling out the man's guilt. Feeling like he had the upper hand once again, Giorno calmly put it back into his pocket.
"So, you were at the docks yesterday," Giorno said. "That's interesting, considering that the last time we met, you insisted you never did business there. I can only assume your hauls have been lucrative of late, though Passione has certainly not seen any of that money."
Paccioretti's face went red, fury washing over him as he surged up from his chair. "You have no proof of that! And yet, you stand here and accuse me—"
"I'm actually sitting here and accusing you," Giorno replied simply. "And I do have proof. I never needed a wire, you see. All I needed was to distract you and your men long enough for someone to collect the evidence I needed."
To Giorno's surprise, Paccioretti went from looking furious to letting out a short chuckle.
"If I were you, I wouldn't be laughing right now," Giorno commented, bristling as he felt Gold Experience rippling beneath his skin.
Paccioretti smirked and nodded to his men. "You weren't the only one who had a plan going behind the scenes, Giorno Giovanna. Bring him."
His bruisers grabbed hold of Giorno and yanked him out of the chair, practically shoving him toward the door.
"What do you think you're doing?" Giorno demanded.
Paccioretti didn't reply, simply led the way out of the office and down the hall. They ended up in a large dining room and Giorno was shoved through the doorway unceremoniously.
"Giorno!"
Narancia's shout startled the don at first, then his eyes fell on the four figures sitting in chairs around the table. It wasn't until a moment later that he realized they were tied to the chairs. Mista looked furious, sporting bruises on his face, obviously not having gone down without a fight. Giorno just didn't understand how Narancia, Trish and Fugo were here too.
"I hope you don't mind that I invited some guests," Paccioretti said. "I thought having a bargaining chip might come in handy so I had my men pick them up earlier. I had a feeling you might be stubborn."
"You bastard!" Narancia snarled. "Giorno's not gonna give you anything!"
"Shut up," Fugo hissed at him.
Giorno was furious, especially since there were more men standing behind his friends, guns clearly visible. He had no doubt that they would start shooting if Giorno did anything.
"Bucciarati and Abbacchio are inexplicably missing, I see," Paccioretti said. "I assume they're looking into my affairs at the docks. I'm sure my men there will give them a run for their money."
Giorno didn't mention that they had probably already taken Paccioretti's men out if Bucciarati had sent Giorno the message. They were the only ace Giorno had up his sleeve right now.
"What do you want?" Giorno demanded.
"I want an agreement," Paccioretti growled. "And I want an answer to how you found out."
Giorno thought of the young boy who had gotten caught up in this because it had been a job and he needed money for his family. How he had overheard things he shouldn't have, leaving him to make the decision to come to Bucciarati, knowing he would help. Giorno knew well enough that any mention of a snitch would cause Paccioretti to kill the boy and his family. He couldn't allow that to happen.
So he said nothing.
Paccioretti waited a minute before he shrugged. "All right. I figured you'd be a little tight-lipped." He went around the table, causing alarm to surge through Giorno. "Which is why I brought your little friends. We have plenty of them here. Plenty of chips to bargain with. What do you say, Giorno? Should I start having my men put a bullet in one of them every time you refuse to answer me?" He stopped behind Trish's chair and reached out to stroke her cheek, causing her to jerk away with a shudder of disgust. "It would really be a shame to start with this pretty little thing, wouldn't it?"
"Get off her!" Mista snapped. "You wanna shoot someone, shoot me!"
"Also a fair choice—the ever loyal bodyguard," Paccioretti said with a sneer. "However…" He glanced back at Giorno, eyeing him up and down. "You're incredibly stubborn, and Bucciarati being unaccounted for is admittedly making me somewhat nervous. I would rather get this over with as quickly as possible. You have a good team, Giorno, I'll admit to that. And loyalty…well…that's a powerful thing. You might care for your team as their leader, but at the end of the day, they're still just your underlings, correct? You, on the other hand, are their very meaning for existence."
Giorno bit his tongue to keep from protesting. Paccioretti didn't know how wrong he was but any opposing admission would only harm his friends, so Giorno stayed quiet. If Paccioretti was more interested in hurting Giorno, let him. He would buy the others time for Bucciarati and Abbacchio to get here.
"What the hell do you mean?" Narancia demanded, yanking at his ropes. "What are you talking about, asshole?!"
"Narancia, shut up," Fugo growled, his own eyes glancing up at Giorno shrewdly, obviously seeing what he was doing. Giorno ignored him.
Thankfully Paccioretti left Trish's side and came back over to stand in front of Giorno. "They are incredibly loyal. You're lucky; it takes strong character to have such devoted followers. But we'll see how loyal they are when they see you for what you really are."
Giorno fought the urge to flinch away as the man leaned in close. "Should we show them, Giorno?"
Giorno kept his eyes glued to the wall, neither meeting the gazes of his friends or his enemy. He felt his chest tighten so much he couldn't breathe as Paccioretti grabbed the collar of his coat, shaking him as if to get his attention. "I'm sure you haven't shown them. What do you think they would say?"
Giorno could feel the eyes of his team on him, concerned, confused. He couldn't look at them.
"It's your choice, Giorno," Paccioretti said. "Will you show them?"
"Giorno what's he talking about?" Mista demanded. "Don't worry about us, okay? Don't let him do anything to you!"
Giorno felt sick. But he couldn't move. His body seemed to have stopped functioning. His ears rang, everything seeming to be fading farther away, as he fought against the memories that were boiling up, assaulting him.
Paccioretti sighed in an annoyed way. "Very well, it seems I'll have to make the decision for you."
Paccioretti grabbed him and slammed him face down on the table. Giorno fought, desperation taking over, forgetting Gold for the moment and just clawing and kicking at the man attacking him.
Paccioretti grunted as Giorno landed a kick to his stomach. "Keep this up and I'll kill your bodyguard."
Giorno glanced over and saw one of the guards pressing a gun to Mista's head and he stilled instantly, fear spiking through him at the thought of losing Mista.
That gave Paccioretti enough time to slam him back onto the table, a hand on the back of his neck to keep him down. One of his guards grabbed Giorno's wrists and stretched them above his head to secure him more firmly. Giorno could do nothing but lay there, trembling with adrenaline as he fought against the urge to kick out again, knowing that he would never forgive himself if he got one of his team killed.
"You know your boss keeps secrets from you," Paccioretti told the others, rummaging in his coat. Giorno watched him pull a knife out and felt him grab the back of his coat.
"Leave him alone, you bastard!" Narancia snarled, tugging against his ropes. "You cut him, I'll cut you!"
Paccioretti ignored him and traced the knife down Giorno's back, making him flinch. "Let's show your team who you really are, Giorno."
Giorno could do nothing as he felt the knife slip under his collar, blade cold against his skin, before Paccioretti ripped it downward, tearing through the back of Giorno's coat completely.
Cold air washed over Giorno's exposed skin but it was nothing compared to the four pairs of eyes now trained directly onto the source of his greatest shame.
He couldn't look at any of them. He simply lay there, humiliation seeping through him like slow poison.
"Didn't know about this, I expect," Paccioretti said, and Giorno could hear the satisfied smirk in his voice.
He hadn't wanted them to find out like this. It had been bad enough when both Abbacchio and Bucciarati had accidently discovered his secret. He knew everyone would find out eventually, but…he'd wanted to be prepared, to tell them himself. To explain why he had a back covered in old scars.
Now what would they think of him? When they were presented with his disgusting weakness like this?
Paccioretti's hand descended to sit in the middle of Giorno's back, finger tracing one of the scars, making his skin crawl. "As you can see, all of your young Don's shame is laid bare. His secret is that he's just a weak little boy, playing at being in charge of Passione." He grabbed Giorno's braid and hauled him up, pushing him off the table, ripping his ruined coat off and turning his back toward the others so that they couldn't look away.
"Behold the marks of a coward."
"Giorno's not a coward!" Mista snarled, surprising Giorno. But, obviously, he was just trying to go against Paccioretti. He couldn't really think that. Not now.
"You don't think so? I'll prove you wrong, and then you can decide whether or not you want to tell me how you found me out. I'm afraid my followers are not as loyal as all of you."
He shoved Giorno over to the wall and Giorno caught himself, heart pounding. Paccioretti snapped some handcuffs around his wrists and yanked his arms over his head, looping them over a wall sconce.
"Leave him alone!" Trish cried.
Giorno heard the clink of chain as one of the guards reached into his coat and pulled out a length of it, handing it to Paccioretti who wrapped one end around his fist, letting the rest dangle at his side.
"You've obviously felt the lash before, hm, Giorno?" Paccioretti asked, leaning in too close. Giorno tugged at the cuffs. "Was it your papa who beat you?"
Giorno's breath caught in his throat as the man chuckled and finally backed away. "What a pathetic little thing you are. I'm beginning to think the only way you beat Diavolo was because of your team. What do you actually do, Giorno Giovanna?"
Giorno's eyes flew wide, biting back a cry of shock and pain as the chain whipped across his back, the impact damaging. The others cried out in furious protest, as Paccioretti hit him again. Giorno could already feel blood dripping down his back, a shuddering breath escaping his throat.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to anchor himself to where he was. He was not back there, he was not trapped in that house, he was…
A particularly brutal blow split the skin across his shoulder blade, and Giorno could feel the rush of hot blood as it slipped down his skin, soaking into the waistband of his trousers.
Another heavy blow caused the chain to wrap around his side, biting into his ribs in a way that had Giorno gasping, trying to duck to one side, but a hand gripped the back of his head and smashed his face against the wall, making it even harder for Giorno to breathe.
"Am I getting anywhere with putting you in your place?" he asked and Giorno gave a sound of pain as the chain hit him in the lower back. "Look at them, look at your loyal followers. See how disgusted they are?"
Giorno didn't move, but Paccioretti gripped his head tighter and wrenched his face to one side, toward his captive team. All of their faces were pale and furious, staring directly at Giorno. Giorno blinked, looking away. He couldn't face them, he couldn't right now. Not while he…
The next blow came as a surprise and allowed a shameful whimper to escape his throat. He pressed his lips together instantly, but it was too late to muffle the sound. His cheeks flamed in humiliation, especially when another cry was punched out of him with yet another brutal blow.
Paccioretti's hand descended into the center of his back, fingers pressing against the fresh wounds as he forced Giorno against the wall again. "And now your true colors are showing. Just a weak little boy."
"Giorno's not weak!"
Giorno shut his eyes against Narancia's protest. He wished he wouldn't say anything. It wouldn't do any good. And it wasn't even true, his mind treacherously added.
"You would say that even seeing him now?" Paccioretti scoffed.
"Yes," Fugo added, to Giorno's surprise.
"Giorno's our friend, nothing will change that," Trish added, voice wet.
"Besides, if we're talking weak," Mista added darkly, "Then what does it say about you, preying on someone you profess to be no more than a 'weak little boy'."
Paccioretti's grip on Giorno tightened and the chain rattled again as he shifted back to resume the beating. "Then you're all fools. I'll make sure he's not the same Don Giovanna you knew by the time I'm done with him. I'll break him myself!"
"Will you?"
Giorno twisted his head around to look at the same moment Paccioretti did, and saw Bucciarati and Abbacchio standing there in the doorway, several of Paccioretti's men already unconscious or dead on the floor behind them. Relief instantly flooded Giorno as Paccioretti turned fully toward Bucciarati, raising the chain as if to strike him.
"Sticky Fingers!" Bucciarati shouted and the Stand surged forward, sending a flurry of punches at Paccioretti before the rending sound of zippers could be heard and the man fell to pieces on the floor, eyes and mouth opened in shock.
Bucciarati went to meet the last two guards, taking them out as well as Abbacchio turned to Giorno, pulling out a knife to cut through his ropes.
"Easy," he said quietly. "You okay, kid?"
Giorno couldn't say anything. He pressed his numb hands to his chest, turning his back to the wall as he waited for the feeling to come back to them. He felt…small. This had not gone the way he had expected in any sense, despite the fact he had come in here so confident. What a fool he had been. He glanced toward the torn pieces of his jacket on the floor and Abbacchio's eyes followed his, before he sighed and started to pull off his coat, wrapping it firmly around Giorno's shoulders before settling a warm hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close.
"It's okay, kid."
"No, it's not," Giorno said in a strangled whisper, glancing over to where Bucciarati was releasing the others. "I didn't…they saw…"
Abbacchio gripped his shoulders tightly and bent to look directly into his face. "Giorno, it's okay. They're not going to judge you for it."
"Giorno!"
Narancia sped over to him as soon as he was free and gently pulled him into a hug, somehow without touching his back. Giorno froze all the same, and Narancia looked up at him with slightly wet eyes.
Abbacchio seemed to perceive the situation though, and gently nudged Narancia away. "Let him be for now, Narancia."
"Mista," Bucciarati called, "Take them out to the van."
Mista nodded, and cast a small smile toward Giorno as he passed, looping an arm around Narancia's shoulders, cutting off the boy's protests.
Giorno felt a little bit of the tension leave his body after they left, but he was shaking now, hands clutching Abbacchio's coat around him.
Bucciarati pulled a chair over and urged Giorno to sit in it, crouching at his side, reaching out to settle one hand over Giorno's trembling fingers. "It's all right, just breathe. You're safe now."
Giorno swallowed convulsively, closing his eyes for a long moment as he took a deep breath until the expansion of his chest made his injuries sting.
"How bad are your injuries?"
Giorno shook his head. "They-they're not too bad." Had worse, he wanted to add. He could still stand, after all. It wasn't the physical hurt that was bothering him.
Bucciarati's face still furrowed with worry, however. "Giorno, if I had known this is how it would go…"
"No, it's not on you," Giorno somehow managed, briefly meeting the older man's eyes. "I just…It all happened so fast, and I…" He was forced to stop because of the lump forming in his throat. He was even more ashamed when the pressure behind his eyes turned to wetness. This was stupid. Was his own pride so much that he couldn't bear to look weak in front of the people he trusted with his life?
Abbacchio stepped in, putting a hand on Bucciarati's shoulder to get his attention.
"Why don't I drive Giorno back in Mista's car," he offered. "We'll meet you there."
Bucciarati looked surprised, but he must have seen the relief wash over Giorno's face because he nodded. "Good idea. We'll clean up here and then head back to meet you." He brushed his hand through Giorno's hair softly before he headed out of the room.
Abbacchio offered Giorno a hand up. "Come on," he said quietly.
Giorno pushed himself onto his feet, and was surprisingly grateful for the hand Abbacchio kept on his elbow, leading him out of the mansion on his shaky legs.
The car Mista had driven Giorno there in was right where they had left it out front and Giorno climbed into the passenger side, angling himself so that his aching back wasn't pressed against the seat.
Abbacchio climbed behind the wheel and started the car up, driving back toward the house. He was silent the whole way, giving Giorno the time to process everything, to think. He was grateful for the small mercy, knowing there would be a lot of explaining to do later. As much as he had been mortified originally about Abbacchio finding out about his scars, it had strangely turned into a mercy on more than one occasion.
As he staggered inside, Abbacchio finally turned to him.
"Why don't you head to the bathroom? I'll grab the first aid stuff."
Giorno nodded tiredly and made his way toward the downstairs bathroom, slumping down on the closed toilet lid, still feeling small and weak, especially in Abbacchio's coat where the sleeves drooped past his hands. Abbacchio came in with the medical supplies, and turned to wash his hands in the sink.
"You ready to let me look at it?" he asked.
Giorno nodded and shifted to pull Abbacchio's coat off, handing it to him sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I probably got blood on this."
Abbacchio snorted, tossing it to hang over the edge of the tub. "It's not the first time I've had to wash blood out of it." He grabbed a cloth and ran it under the warm water before motioning for Giorno to turn around.
Giorno bit his lip, forcing himself to present his back to Abbacchio. He knew the man wouldn't hurt him. He had to keep telling himself that.
"I'm just gonna clean the blood off first," Abbacchio said and placed a loose hand on Giorno's shoulder in warning before he pressed the cloth to the first wound.
Giorno hissed and arched away instinctively. Abbacchio's steadying hand pulled him back and continued with the firm but careful cleaning of Giorno's back.
"Bastard really did a number on you," Abbacchio grunted.
"What's a few more scars?" Giorno murmured.
Abbacchio was silent for a moment as he finished with the rag and turned to set it in the sink before picking up gauze and a bottle of peroxide. "I know you didn't want the others to find out like this," he said finally. "I know you wanted it to be on your own terms, but you know they're not stupid enough to care about this. Not in the way you're thinking."
Giorno stared down at his hands which were currently clasped in his lap.
"I—I know that logically," Giorno said. "But…it's just been so long that I've held onto these scars as some kind of stigma that…It's hard to talk about them."
"I get it," Abbacchio said. "But we also all have our dark pasts that we've had to deal with. If anyone were to understand what you went through, it's the people in this house. Besides, I understood, and they all like you better than I do."
Giorno couldn't help the small twitch of a smile that curled his mouth as Abbacchio said that. "I guess…more than anything I just don't want them to think they have to pity me."
"I don't think anyone is going to want to pity you all of a sudden, Giorno. They all know what you're capable of."
"It's because of that," Giorno groaned. "I've created this…invincible persona somehow. They even defended me to Paccioretti back there, insisting I wasn't weak. But I…I am. I always have been."
Abbacchio sighed, tossing the dirty gauze into the trash before coming around to face Giorno, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. "We all have our moments of weakness, I think anyone here will understand that. No one can expect to be strong all the time."
Giorno pressed his lips together, looking up at Abbacchio before he asked, somewhat snarkily. "Even you?"
Abbacchio rolled his eyes. "Of course, even me, brat," he growled. "That doesn't mean I'm going to cry to you about it."
Giorno gave another small smile. "Thanks, Abbacchio."
"No problem, kid," the older man said sincerely. "Now, do you need help fixing these?"
Giorno called out Gold Experience and his Stand started to slowly fuse the open wounds into new flesh, leaving only bruises behind. He was still sore and stiff, but the sharp sting was gone. He reached over his shoulder to feel new scars over the old, these ones a lot less noticeable; ones that would heal completely thanks to his Stand ability.
"I'll go grab you some clothes."
Giorno waited while Abbacchio got clothes for him and chanced a look in the mirror. He looked awful. Hair a mess and a couple tear tracks under his reddened eyes. He quickly grabbed a cloth to scrub his face and pulled his hair out to redo it. His shoulders hurt too much to re-braid it at the moment though, so he just left it down.
Abbacchio came back with a set of Giorno's sweats and left him to change. Putting on lounge clothes almost felt like giving up, but the loose sweatshirt was a lot more comfortable than anything else would be on his back.
He wandered out to find Abbacchio in the kitchen, making tea.
"You want to relax on the couch or in your room?" he asked Giorno.
Giorno hesitated. He would love to hide away in his room for the foreseeable future, but if he didn't face this now, it would just eat at him and he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway.
"The couch," he said quietly.
Abbacchio nodded. "I'll bring your tea when it's done."
Giorno wandered into the living room and sank onto the comfortable couch, curling onto his side. Part of him just wanted to go to sleep and forget all of this, but maybe that was the coward's way out and he didn't want to prove Paccioretti right after all.
Abbacchio came in with the steaming cup of tea and Giorno pushed himself upright to take it just as the front door opened.
He felt a brief moment of panic, but Abbacchio met his eyes with a somewhat encouraging look and Giorno settled slightly.
Low voices could be heard before Bucciarati poked his head around the corner. When Abbacchio gave a small nod, he disappeared toward the kitchen. "I'll make some more tea for everyone," he said.
Giorno glanced up as the others filtered in. Mista was the first to break the ice, giving Giorno a small smile that was a little lopsided thanks to a swollen lip.
"Hey GioGio, how you feeling?"
Giorno shrugged, fingers clutching the mug in his hands. "It's not so bad."
"That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," Trish added, standing off to one side, hugging herself.
"He healed most of it already," Abbacchio told them. "Why don't you all stop hovering and sit down?"
Giorno curled further into the corner of the couch to make room and Narancia took that as an opportunity to sit next to him, tucking his toes under Giorno's leg.
"Sorry we got ourselves captured to be used as leverage like that," he said.
Giorno glanced at him in surprise. "That wasn't your fault. Paccioretti was a lot more cunning than I expected."
"Yeah, well, those scars on your back aren't your fault either," Narancia added.
Giorno froze and the others all glared at Narancia. Giorno didn't want them to blame Narancia, though. It wasn't his fault for mentioning the obvious.
"Nice way to ease into it, Narancia," Trish whispered.
"It's okay," Giorno cut in and finally looked up at them. "I…I know it looks bad. And I… wanted to be able to explain it to you someday, but …I never found the… courage to do so."
"Giorno," Fugo cut in. "You don't have to tell us. It's okay."
"Exactly," Trish added, coming to sit on the arm of the couch beside him. "We don't care about where you got those scars. Well, I mean, we do, but that's only because we care about you. But the fact that you have them doesn't matter. We still think of you the same way we always have."
Giorno couldn't believe they were actually serious. He stared down into his tea until Narancia scooted closer to him, leaning his shoulder against Giorno's.
"We know you're not a coward, Giorno," he said softly. "No one who really knew you would ever say that."
"Exactly," Mista added, sitting next to Narancia and reaching over to squeeze Giorno's shoulder.
"How much do you really know about me, though?" Giorno demanded suddenly, feeling heat behind his eyes again.
"We know you're Giorno," Trish said and started carding her fingers through his hair, separating it out to start braiding it. "We know you're loyal and smart, and you'd do anything for the rest of us."
"We know you're a good friend," Narancia added. "What more do we need to know?"
"We all have our secrets," Fugo told him, folding his arms tight against his chest. "And if you never want us to know anything about it, that's completely okay with us."
Everyone nodded and Giorno let out a shuddering breath, trying to focus on Trish's fingers neatly plaiting his hair.
"I…do want to tell you all," Giorno said quietly after a long pause. "But just…maybe not right now. It's just…it's something I don't like to think about."
Narancia leaned in and threw an arm around Giorno's waist, setting his head on his shoulder. "And we're totally cool with that, right?" Everyone else nodded. "We're just glad to have you, Gio."
Trish tied off his braid and wrapped her arms gently around his shoulders in a loose hug. "Just remember that you don't have to be afraid to show your scars around us. We all have scars in one way or another."
Giorno sagged into the comforting grasp of his friends, his family. The tension that had been keeping him sick began to finally release him.
"Thank you," he somehow managed past the lump in his throat. "I…" He swallowed hard, closing his eyes, not knowing how to continue.
"You don't have to say anything, GioGio, we know," Mista said, settling his hand on top of Giorno's head.
Giorno nodded gratefully, his throat too tight to say another word. But it didn't really matter. He didn't have to, after all. He realized just how stupid it had been to worry. But then he had lived with the stigma for so long it had become such a deep-set part of him. He wasn't used to people genuinely caring about him in more than the polite way of an acquaintance. This was…something he would have to get used to. But he didn't think he was going to mind very much while doing so.
"I'm gonna ask Bucciarati if we can order in pizza tonight," Narancia said with a smile. "Then maybe we can just sit and watch a movie?"
Giorno knew there was still business to clear up with the Paccioretti debacle, but maybe it would be better to worry about that tomorrow when he had a clearer head. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea to take the night off.
"That sounds nice," he said with a small smile.
It was true that Giorno had a lot to learn about being part of a family, but from what he'd experienced so far, he was planning on enjoying the journey.
