Chapter Text
Giorno Giovanna had grown up with the knowledge that his house was not filled with love or care or nurture. It had been drilled into him since birth. And when you've known something that young, no matter how dire or heartbreaking others may say it is, it's hard for it to affect you.
Well, at least on a surface level. Naturally a childhood of neglect and abuse from all corners has to affect a person in some form. Maybe, if it didn't, he wouldn't be so quiet. He wouldn't be so untrusting of people, and would actually have some real friends. And, of course, maybe he wouldn't unconsciously seek love in the strange and dark places he shouldn't be. In boys at the back of the class who seemed pretty interested in him, at first. Who seemed like he cared about him. Who seemed to be filling a void Giorno almost didn't realise needed filled.
Of course that was all a hoax. An illusion to gain his vulnerability and catch him without his clothes. As soon as that goal was complete he ran off with his tail between his legs, as though it never happened. That was fine. Giorno didn't expect much anyways.
He was currently sat at the end of the dinner table, as per usual. His stepfather and his mother sat facing one another. No words were spoken. That was good. Bad things only happened when words came into the picture. He just stayed quiet as he ate through his take-away dinner (because no-one in this house could ever be bothered to cook, nor were they skilled enough to cook anything and make it edible.) He tried not to seem as hungry as he was though. He ended up doing that recently and his stepfather had maliciously laughed at him and called him greedy, and then made oink noises for the rest of the day. His mother said nothing, but Giorno could see her smirk ever so slightly, and that said it all for her.
He relished in the idea that once he'd scraped up a little more money, partly through his part-time job and partly through stealing, he could take to the streets. What he did from there on out would be his business only. His parents couldn't be able to chastise or berate him for his overarching issue the way he knew they would. They didn't have to know or care.
"Giorno?" His mother cut through the peaceful silence. Giorno looked up at her, not saying anything. She was currently busying herself with carefully dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, skillfully so that she didn't disturb her neat red lipstick. "Tell me something. You haven't been looking yourself recently. It's normal for you to stay closed off, I know, but you seem... more tired," she sighed. Giorno's mouth felt impossibly dry, but he kept his calm, almost challenging gaze none the less. A childhood filled with danger gave you the unexpected perk of expertly hiding your true, often vulnerable, emotions he found.
"Was there a boy or a girl or someone?" Now, there's a question. Giorno kept his fixed gaze on her, trying not to shift or sweat or do anything to reveal what his mother is trying to pick at, like an ugly, pus-filled spot. But he nodded. He's going to leave anyways, hopefully soon. Maybe she deserved to know why, or at least part of why. She probably didn't deserve anything, but Giorno gave it to her anyways. "So, you've been having sex is what I'm hearing?" Giorno nodded again. She was being surprisingly passive about this situation. Though it was a horrible act to gain a false sense of trust and maternal understanding. Giorno should have known that by now.
His mother's face suddenly contorted into a furious expression. She violently slammed her palms on the table. "I knew it!" she yelled, making the room practically shake with the vibrato. Just as his stepfather was in the middle of asking what the fuck was going on, she pointed at her unfortunate son with her accusation of "You're pregnant, aren't you?"
Giorno winced. However, as much as he'd have liked to, he didn't shrink and cry and apologise to his mother for ruining things for her and his stepfather and beg for forgiveness or plead that it was a horrible mistake. But she didn't deserve that. He held his head high. He puffed out his chest, almost proudly. He didn't say a word, but his mother clearly knew anyway. And now his stepfather knew what she knew.
"Oh you little bastard," he growled, getting up out of his seat. Giorno didn't even flinch anymore. His stepfather may be physically stronger than him, but he was old enough now to be able to throw some hits back. Or at least be able to defend himself well enough to prevent any severe injury. Giorno stood too. It had been much too long for him to be afraid anymore.
But this time his mother intervened for once. Not for the right reasons, of course, and it's a few years too late, but it relieved Giorno slightly all the same. "No, this is between me and my son," she hisses, the venom in it clearly directed more at Giorno than her husband. "Mother to mo... Wait... Argh! I don't even know anymore! Just go, please." His stepfather huffed a little, gave Giorno a death stare, then stormed out the front door. Probably to go for a drink and tell his friends at the bar how much of a problem his fifteen year-old stepson is.
Giorno barely got a second after his stepfather left before his mother slapped him harshly across the face. His cheek burned scalding red. She took him by the shoulders. "How could you do this to me, Giorno?" she scolded him. "I tried to give you the best life I could. I married a good man, I got you into a good school, I did everything right!" There was a lot wrong with all of that claim, but Giorno kept quiet about that. He didn't exactly want to escalate things. She wouldn't listen anyway.
She went without words for a few moments, thoughts clearly flying behind her eyes, until she became stuck on one. "Fifteen..." she whispered, in sheer disbelief. "Fifteen, Giorno. God, at least I was in my university years when I had you! You're only in high school!" Her voice was unnaturally high and wavering, as though she were trying to keep herself from bursting into tears. Giorno couldn't help but feel just a sting of pity for her. Just a little. "Who even was he? Was he a boy from school? Do you even know him that well? I bet he's not sticking around for long, is he?"
"It doesn't matter," Giorno mumbled. His mother gave a laughing noise, her eyes wide with a sickening awe. "Doesn't matter? Well, if you're so young, I dare say it is. Now was he from school, or could he be older-" Giorno roughly brushed her hand off his shoulder. "It doesn't matter, because I'm leaving soon," he stated, matter-of-factly. His mother still looked completely bewildered. "I'm gonna get some money, and get out of this house, and it won't matter where I go or what I do. I won't be your problem anymore. Just like you've always wanted."
His mother didn't seem as satisfied with that as he had thought she would be. In fact, she just seemed just as upset about that idea. At the same time, though, she clearly couldn't see a good argument for him not to go. "Fine," she spat, letting Giorno go. Giorno took that opportunity as soon as it opened to rush up to his room. He would otherwise just leave the house after an argument like that, but tonight he's just too exhausted and he just wants to crawl under his covers and sleep this whole situation off.
He couldn't though, no matter how much he wanted to. Within minutes of him getting into bed, he can hear his mother sobbing downstairs from the weight of the situation. Giorno could only sigh and turn on his side to wrap his arms around his stomach, doing his best not to let his own tears run free.
Giorno stepped into the house, shaking out his coat and letting out a long exhale. He braced himself for whatever his family would throw at him on this fine summer day.
It had been just a few days since the news had dropped regarding Giorno's pregnancy. Naturally, the already dysfunctional household had reached an entirely new level of tense. His stepfather seemed so much more pissed at him, constantly. His mother couldn't even look him in the eyes anymore. Even stepping into his house was enough to fill him with dread.
Not for much longer though, he told himself. Once you scrape up just that bit more money to sustain yourself for a while, you can get out of this hellhole. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do afterwards, but he just knew that leaving would remove so many issues already holding him back. He'd figure out the rest once he got there, he told himself.
However, today seemed different. Neither better nor worse, just different. There was a new voice coming from the kitchen. Really new. It sounded nothing like his mom's party friends or his father's pals from the bar. It was too gentle and formal.
He was too curious about it to worry if he'd be told off for intruding something potentially private. He immediately walked in through to the kitchen to observe the scene. A young, dark-haired man sat at the table, with a mug of presumably tea clutched in his hands. He was all dressed in white and looked almost a little too polite and put together. This wasn't who he was used to his parents bringing home. "More tea, Mr Bucciarati?" The man smiled politely, though shook his head. "No, it's fine, don't worry."
"Ah, here's the boy now," his mother grinned when she noticed Giorno had walked in. The man smiled kindly at him. Giorno just gave an awkward little wave. "Giorno this is Mr Bucciarati." He shook his head. "No, please call me Bruno," he corrected. Giorno just nodded. "You can take a seat," Bruno offered, as though it were his own house. His mother didn't object, so he did. Though he wasn't ready to let his guard down in front of this new stranger, Giorno still found his smile and attitude oddly calming.
"Mr Bucciarati runs a nice little home for kids... like you," his mother added, with an obvious edge near the end of that sentence. Ah, Giorno saw where this was going. It was a disciplinary place. A punishment. He immediately shifted uncomfortably.
But then Bruno put it into a little more detail. "It's a home for unwed, typically young, pregnant people. It's a quaint establishment, but it should cover all of your needs-"
"And it's free, right?" his mother asked him, a little too enthusiastically. Bruno nodded affirmatively. "Yes, that's correct." His mother nudged him. "Now you get get away from us without getting stuck on the streets," she grinned. Giorno still wasn't convinced. Bruno went on anyway. "Typically what will happen is the parent stays until the baby is born and one month after that, and usually then our social worker will have set up an adoption. Unless the parent decides to keep it, of course, but that seems very rare with parents like yourself. But none of our current residents have even given birth yet."
Giorno stares at his fingers, fiddling with the end of his school shirt. He doesn't really like to think of after the kid comes out. He doesn't even think of it as a kid right now. It hasn't even started moving yet. He doesn't think he'll want it, right now anyways. He doesn't think he'll have the privilege of wanting it. Where would he go if he kept it? Surely not back here...
He momentarily looked back up at Bruno. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with this man. In fact, Giorno might have even considered him to be the nicest person he'd met in a while. His smile didn't seem to carry any undertones of pity or disgust, as you'd expect directed at someone in Giorno's situation. He seemed to genuinely want to help Giorno. But Giorno had learned better over the course of fifteen years. It didn't matter how genuine someone seemed, he was always better off on his own.
Bruno seemed to notice Giorno's disinterest. He tried to make conversation with him instead. "So, how old are you Giorno?" he asked, before taking a sip of his tea. Giorno inhaled. "Fifteen ," he answered, though he wished he didn't. Bruno only raised his eyebrows slightly, but he kept up his kind smile. "I see. Fifteen's certainly the youngest I've seen, but you aren't the only one, it should please you to know."
Thankfully, Bruno swiftly moved on from the topic of Giorno's pregnancy. "So, you must be in school then? Do you like school?" Giorno shrugged non-committedly. He didn't really, but he didn't want this man thinking he was just an idiot who got bad grades. He was incredibly clever, he wouldn't deny that. But most of the teachers didn't like him and the kids rarely batted an eyelash at him, unless it was for some malicious or apparently scandalous intention, so he didn't enjoy it all the same.
"Oh, Giorno's a very bright boy!" his mother spoke for him, overly enthusiastically. She was putting on her 'fun, loving young mom' persona on as a performance for this poor man. It was all nonsense, and Giorno knew it. And somehow Bruno was the first of any of their guests to spot this too. Giorno could tell, even as he tried to smile politely at her input. Perhaps he was much better than he thought.
His mother didn't let the conversation stray from the proper matter at hand for very long. "So, when will he leave for your establishment, Mr Bucciarati?" she asked him, a small smirk playing at her lips. Giorno gritted his teeth behind thinly pressed lips, at the fact there was no 'if' anywhere in the question. Only 'when' and 'will.' "Well, if the decision is made by Giorno himself to come, I should be able to pick him up from tomorrow hopefully. The house is very new so it isn't very full," Bruno informed her.
Naturally, his mother's selective hearing went deaf to anything regarding her son, and only heard that he could leave by tomorrow. "That's great then! Thank you so much. We'll see you tomorrow." Bruno nodded warmly at her, though Giorno could see the judgement behind his eyes. He immediately turned back to Giorno and outstretched a hand. "Well, if it's okay by you young man...?"
Giorno stared at his fair toned hand for a few moments. Initially, he didn't want anything to do with him or his home for knocked up, school-age mums and dads. It disrupted all of his plans. That and he didn't trust anything his mother brought home, especially regarding him.
He couldn't help but consider it though. Maybe he could actually find decent shelter and solace there. It would probably be a lot safer, at least, than trying to make it out on his own in the streets of Naples. And if this Bruno Bucciarati's kindness was entirely fabricated and the place was an absolute hellhole for whatever reason, he still had the money. He could always run away from there instead. And if it wasn't, he could just stay here until the kid was born and sent away, and then he could just not come back home.
Either way, he realised, it couldn't hurt. So, with what he knew was his mother's expectant stare boring into his back, Giorno shook Bruno's hand and the deal was done.