Work Text:
Giorno was adjusting well to his new livelihood. Given the circumstances of his ascent to the metaphorical throne at the top of Passione, anyway. He’d been going over the whole organization with a fine-toothed comb, hunting down anyone who’d ever had a hand in the drug trade. For the most part, a simple reassignment was enough to halt their operations, with only a few edge cases requiring more direct intervention. Ironically, however, those “simple” changes always involved so much more paperwork.
Mista and Trish were both shocked by how much of a regular office job the position of don could be. Their esteemed boss could spend hours each evening shuffling papers, signing documents, making calls. He hardly had time to talk, considering the focus that was required to finish all the tasks that kept Passione running like a well-oiled machine.
Trish always left first.
She and Mista stayed dutifully by Giorno’s side every day as he worked, entertaining themselves and each other with card games, bad jokes, magazines, or whatever else they could find. Before long, Giorno began to expect the noise of their chatter in the background. Welcome it, even. Especially Mista’s occasional eruption into raucous laughter. His moods were always so infectious that Giorno couldn’t resist smiling along with him.
But every day, at eleven PM on the dot, Trish would stretch her arms above her head, yawn, and say something along the lines of: “I’m heading home. Goodnight, boys.” Sometimes she’d remind them not to stay up too late, or promise to see them in the morning, even though it was a given. Mista and Giorno would always nod and bid her goodnight.
And then, it was just the two of them.
The air outside was still and warm, as it often was when June faded into July. It was nearing one in the morning, and Giorno didn’t look even close to finished with the stack of documents that had been delivered to him early that day. When Trish was there, Mista didn’t worry about boredom. But after she left…well, that was a different story.
Mista was glad Giorno had become the don. Honestly, he was. Sometimes, though, he missed his friend Giorno. The one who’d swum to Capri with him. The one who’d helped him take down Cioccolata’s helicopter. The one who’d had his back when they fought Ghiaccio all that time ago.
It had only been three months since that hellish week.
Mista tried not to think about it. He’d never forget the friends they lost, but life went on whether he wanted it to or not. He knew Abbacchio would scold him for moping, and Bruno would remind him of the responsibilities he carried. Narancia would tease him, tell him he was going soft. Mista thought that if this was what “soft,” was, then maybe he’d been soft all his life. Nevertheless, he carried on. Giorno needed him, and by extension, all of Passione needed him, too.
“Hey, Giorno,” he said, breaking the silence that had stretched on from the moment the door closed behind Trish almost two hours ago.
Giorno looked up from his work, silently giving Mista permission to continue.
“I was just thinking,” he said. I didn’t know you were capable of it, Fugo’s sarcastic voice echoed in his head. He ignored it. “Maybe I could help with some of this crap. Then we could get home quicker.” He didn’t really have the patience for numbers, and Giorno knew that, but he was a good strategist, and often weighed in on decisions that Giorno didn’t feel comfortable making alone.
After some thought, Giorno nodded, gesturing for Mista to come to the desk and shifting his chair to the side to make room for another. Mista sat down beside him, and Giorno slid a file over. “A few of the members in the hotels division are retiring.”
“Time to shuffle some people around, then,” Mista inferred, and Giorno made a soft noise of agreement.
“You know them better than I do,” he said. He was always a little awed by Mista’s people skills. “What do you think?”
Mista opened the file, reading over the list of names and the notes Giorno had already made. “Menta has some kind of grudge against the owner of this place near the Galleria,” he remarked, “so that’s out. Guy’s kinda stuffy, so maybe we send Biscotto instead. He could probably get the Pope into bed with him if he tried.”
Giorno offered a slightly sharp exhale to signify his amusement. Mista just said whatever came to mind, didn’t he? It was one of the things Giorno really liked about him. He was a straight shooter, in more ways than one.
“Biscotto it is, then.”
It still took them nearly two hours to finish going through the folders Giorno had stacked on his desk. Mista had no idea how helpful he’d been, but he was confident that if he was actively hindering Giorno, he would have been gently shooed away long ago. So at least there was that.
Eventually, Giorno sat back in his chair. The telltale sign that finally, finally he was considering finishing work for the day. “There’s more I could do,” he said, letting it hang in the air. Mista seized the opening without hesitation.
“No way,” he said, getting up from his own chair and rolling it back over to its usual spot in the corner. “Even the boss needs to sleep sometimes, Giorno.”
Giorno just barely smiled despite himself. Mista had grown protective over the past few months, and it was very endearing. “So does the boss’s right hand,” he said. They’d had this conversation a hundred, no, a thousand times before, but each iteration just felt more comfortable than the last.
“You don’t have to stay, you know. You could go home with Trish.”
“You kidding me?” Despite having heard the offer almost every day for months, Mista was still just as bewildered as the first time. “You just said I’m your right hand. I’m your guy! It’s my whole job to stick to you like a wet t-shirt.“ He probably shouldn’t have said that, though, because his brain delivered a piping-hot mental image of Giorno in a very see-through t-shirt soaked by ocean spray, and Mista was totally caught with his pants down, so to speak. Fortunately, he was pretty sure he managed to keep his expression neutral enough to avoid suspicion. If he didn’t, Giorno didn’t mention it.
Well, Giorno thought, he had a point. Giorno stood up and tidied the papers off of his desk and into their proper drawers, and Mista sat in a newly-cleared spot to watch.
It’s my whole job to stick to you. Something about the wording there unsettled Giorno this time, despite the lighthearted and vaguely crass metaphor that followed. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing. He didn’t know what to say.
“Hey,” Mista said, catching sight of his expression. “What’s eating you?”
Nothing , Giorno tried to say. But when he opened his mouth, it refused to cooperate. “Do you enjoy it?” he blurted out instead. “Having to follow me around everywhere, I mean.”
Mista was completely floored. “Do I— Giorno , what the hell are you talking about?” he asked incredulously. “Enjoy it? Are you fucking kidding me? I get to hang out with my best friend all day every day. Yeah, I enjoy it. Even though you’re busy a lot, I still like being around you, man. And hey, the perks of being at the top of the food chain ain’t bad, either.”
“Right,” Giorno said. It was a kind thing to say, as was to be expected from a guy like Mista. So why did he feel worse ?
“Hey.” Mista’s voice caused the nasty little thoughts to dissipate. Giorno looked up to meet his eyes, which narrowed in concern. “Giorno. Seriously, man. You been getting enough sleep? I mean, I know you’re not, you never go to bed before two in the fucking morning, but…you know what I mean. You seem worse than usual.”
“Thanks.”
“Come on! You know what I meant! You’re avoiding the subject.” Mista pouted, and Giorno felt just a little lighter. Things were supposed to stay just like this, weren’t they? It was useless to try to change anything when it meant risking ruining everything.
“I’m not avoiding anything. Also, I just remembered I have something else to check up on, so why don’t you go on ahead and—”
“ Giorno .” Mista slammed a hand down on the desk, startling both of them. “Shit. Sorry. Just…talk to me, alright? If you keep bottling everything up it’s gonna explode eventually.”
Bottling everything up . Giorno supposed he’d been doing that for a long time. It was all he knew how to do, really. Opening up to people had never been an option for him.
He didn’t know what would happen if he started now. But the way Mista looked at him, with so much concern and care, made him want to try.
They stared each other down for what felt like a small eternity as Giorno searched for the right words. He’d probably do a piss-poor job at getting his feelings across, but Mista was pretty emotionally intelligent for such a carefree guy. If there was anyone who might understand what Giorno was really trying to say, it was Mista.
“...I don’t really know how to talk about my emotions,” he started, figuring it was best to give a disclaimer upfront. Mista nodded, acknowledging his admission, but stayed quiet, giving him space to speak his mind. The importance of this moment was not lost on him. If he fucked this up, Giorno might never try to confide in him, or anyone else, ever again! It felt like the stakes were higher than they’d ever been, but Mista wasn’t nervous. He was laser-focused.
“Are you really…content with ‘protecting’ me, day in and day out? You know I can hold my own in a fight, not that I’ve even been in one in months. You’re good at what you do. Better than good. Don’t you ever feel like you’re… wasted on this?”
Giorno still wasn’t getting to the point, hard as he was trying. He hadn’t meant to make this about work. But it was so easy to pretend. He could separate himself from his work. Giorno Giovanna, the leader of Passione, speaking to Guido Mista, his bodyguard and right hand.
It was so much harder to be Giorno Giovanna, the vulnerable, scared little kid, speaking to Guido Mista, his closest and damn near only friend in the world.
Mista was onto him, but he still wanted to take this seriously and give a thoughtful response. Prying would just make Giorno clam up again. If he had to start by talking about work stuff, then fine. Mista didn’t have anywhere else he needed to be, much less wanted to be.
“I get what you’re saying, but it’s still bullshit,” he said. So much for “serious and thoughtful.”
“Yeah, I’m good at what I do. I’m fucking great at what I do,” he continued, his voice gentle despite the actual words he was saying. “That’s why I’m part of the famiglia in the first place. But I don’t really care if I’m out there every day, taking down Stand users and doing crazy shit like we did with Bucciarati and the others.” He was grateful that they were at the point now where they could mention their friends’ names without hesitating.
“Giorno Giovanna, I believe in your dream. I believe in you . Why the hell else would I be here?”
Without even meaning to, Giorno had given Mista a very difficult test. And without even meaning to, Mista had passed with flying colors.
Having said his piece, Mista held Giorno’s gaze, watching him closely for the slightest change in his expression, and Giorno nodded almost imperceptibly. He knew Mista was here because he wanted to be. Deep inside, he knew. But…it helped to hear Mista say it. It helped that he’d listened, that he’d considered the question, and that he’d said what they both already knew, just because he wanted to be sure that Giorno knew it.
“Guido…” Thank you. “You know I wouldn’t stop you if you found something you’d rather be doing. But if you’re sure you want to stay, then…I’m glad.” It was a simple sentiment, but Mista enjoyed hearing it nonetheless. The knowledge that they both wanted to stay together was comforting.
“Yeah,” Mista replied, so quietly he almost didn’t hear himself. Giorno was so close that Mista could feel his warmth. Anyone would say he was easy on the eyes, but the more Mista looked at him, the more obvious it became that he was easily the most unbelievably beautiful person Mista had ever seen in his goddamn life. He had such bright eyes, like a cloudless summer sky, as disgustingly sappy as that was to say. Mista wanted to brush out his hair and watch it cascade down his shoulders and back, he wanted to curl it around his fingers and play with it while they sat quietly together, forgetting about work, forgetting about everything that wasn’t the two of them.
Giorno was having an embarrassingly similar thought. Most people didn’t take the time to really look at Mista, but in this position, he had no choice in the matter. Up until now, he hadn’t noticed just how long Mista’s eyelashes were. Behind them, eyes so dark they looked bottomless. Giorno found himself thinking, stupidly, that you really could get lost in them. Maybe if he poured all his thoughts, all his emotions, into those eyes…maybe then he’d be free.
“Guido,” he murmured again, wondering if they’d be locked into this stare for the rest of their lives. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Giorno,” Mista answered, like he was making an oath.
The wall clock chimed one, two, three times, startling both boys and causing Giorno to break that spellbinding moment as he glanced up to confirm the time.
“Three AM,” Mista said, sighing softly. “Time to get the hell out of here, huh?” In an instant, the spell had broken. He had thought…well, it didn’t matter what he thought. Even though Giorno clearly hadn’t said everything that was weighing on him, he'd taken the first step. Mista was proud of him.
Really proud.
Giorno looked back over at Mista, but he had already gotten up from his spot on the desk and was heading to the door to wait for Giorno.
The moment was gone.
Giorno and Mista walked shoulder-to-shoulder down the dimly lit sidewalk, as they did every night. The walk from headquarters to home was a short one, just a couple blocks away, but tonight, they both wished it was a little longer. Even with their prior conversation, and the little staring contest that followed, lingering in the space between them, the silence that settled over the pair was comfortable, as was the temperature outside. They both had a lot weighing on their minds, so the walk felt even shorter than usual. Mista would have walked right by their place if Giorno hadn’t stopped. He was thrust unceremoniously into reality once more, while Giorno unlocked the front door, too lost in his own thoughts to notice Mista’s daydreaming.
The kitchen light was on. Trish’s doing. If she didn’t leave it on when she went to bed, Mista would bump into the furniture and wake her up. After two incidents, each ending in a half-awake shouting match, she never forgot again.
Giorno, on the other hand, was quiet. He slipped off his shoes without a sound, then hung his keys by the door, which he locked behind them. He led the way up the stairs, as he often did, and watched as Mista stopped in front of his bedroom door, lingering for a moment to look over his shoulder.
“G’night,” he said quietly, so as not to disturb Trish.
But Giorno couldn’t leave things this way. “Guido,” he whispered, reaching out to catch his wrist before he could disappear into his room. Mista seemed a bit surprised. Their routine was so effortlessly exact, so consistent and unchanging that even a small deviation felt earth-shattering.
Giorno felt a little daring, though, emboldened by his earlier display of vulnerability. He couldn’t get that exact moment back, but…maybe he could create another one. He pulled Mista a bit closer, so they could speak without raising their voices above the softest murmur.
“Do you ever think about us?”
Mista could swear his heart stopped. “Us?” he echoed, like an idiot. His mouth felt dry. Unbelievably dry.
“Us,” Giorno repeated. “We’re compatible, don’t you think?”
“Compatible?” Fuck. Mista’s brain was short-circuiting.
Giorno smiled just a little, though. “You remember how we fought Ghiaccio together. We’re a good team.”
Oh. “Oh,” Mista said, his body relaxing slightly. So that was what he meant. “Yeah. We’re a great team.”
Giorno nodded, just staring at him for a moment. His smile faded into a more serious look. “We’ll be together for a long time, won’t we?”
Mista felt his face getting a little warm. Hopefully it was too dark for Giorno to see. “Yeah,” he said. “Couldn’t get me to leave you if you tried.” He was a little terrified by just how much he meant it, too. But Giorno didn’t have to know.
“Guido,” he said, one more time.
“Yeah?”
Giorno suddenly grabbed a fistful of his sweater, pulling him closer. Mista stumbled, and just as he was about to ask what the hell that was for, Giorno silenced him with an unpracticed kiss. It was bad . Their noses were smushed together, the angle wasn’t right at all, and they both had their eyes open the whole time. When Giorno finally pulled back, Mista put a hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh.
“That was the shittiest kiss I’ve ever had,” he choked out, trying desperately to keep his voice down.
Now Giorno was blushing, too. “Well, it’s not like I have experience to draw from,” he said, exasperated. “You’re ruining the moment, again .”
“Sorry, sorry.” When Mista uncovered his mouth, he was grinning ear to ear. “It was still my favorite one I’ve ever had. Well, second favorite.”
Giorno could not believe he had really said that. “ Second favorite ,” he repeated in disbelief.
“Yeah. After this one.”
Damn, I’m smooth , Mista thought to himself as he leaned in to give Giorno a proper kiss this time. Giorno, startled by the sudden advance and slightly irritated that his own brave gesture had been totally overshadowed, returned it without a second thought. It didn’t feel as intense as he expected it to. It just felt like…Mista. Now that they were in a comfortable position, it felt as natural as the rest of their little routines. Giorno hoped it would become one.
When they separated this time, it was slow and reluctant, and they stared at each other while they caught their breath.
“So,” Mista said, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Are we gonna do that again?”
Giorno looked thoughtful. “...Maybe tomorrow. If I have the time.” With that, he stepped back from Mista and into his bedroom doorway.
“Giornoooo,” Mista whined. “I can’t believe you’d tease me like that.”
“Goodnight.” Giorno gave Mista the slightest smile, then disappeared into his room, leaving Mista standing alone in the hall. He was flustered, and nervous about what tomorrow would bring, but it didn’t matter. He’d never forget tonight as long as he lived.
“Giorno Giovanna, you are one in a million,” he muttered to no one, shutting his bedroom door behind him. “One in a fucking million.”