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Giorno has lived for fifteen years and he's never felt as exhausted as he did right now. Every muscle in his body is aching and his legs tremble with the effort of standing up. He's being supported, surprisingly enough, by Abbacchio’s arm around his waist, both of them staring out into the pier where Diavolo dragged himself to. Giorno releases Gold Experience as far as he can and he detects no life force in the surrounding area.
Though Diavolo’s body is nowhere to be found, Giorno can feel it in his soul, in Gold Experience's absolute power. The man is dead. Victory is theirs.
It comes crashing together all at once. Mista is screaming, hobbling towards them. He’s bleeding in several places at once, but he doesn’t care. He wraps the two of them in a hug that makes Abbacchio grunt and Giorno’s eyes close.
Trish is on the edge of the dock, looking out into the ocean waves. She’s shaken up, they all are, but she feels more conflicted than the rest of them. Diavolo is - was her father. Bucciarati walks over to her, limbs still weak from reclaiming his body and the girl leans against him. Her shoulders are trembling.
In the distance, GIorno spots two more figures heading for them. Narancia is stumbling towards them, with several circular scars all over his body. There was a moment where they all thought he was dead, a spike narrowly missed his brain. In a stroke of luck, Fugo found Narancia as soon as he was ripped from his side and he alerted Giorno fast enough to get to him.
Fugo himself looks worse for wear, his clothes and skin stained with blood, but just like the rest of them, he’s alive.
Against all odds, all of them are alive.
Soon enough, everyone else is joining their embrace — Narancia, Trish, Bucciarati, Fugo. They’re all pressed together, grabbing anything within reach, Giorno feels Bucciarati’s hand in his hair, Fugo’s hand on his shoulder. For a moment, they are just basking in the warmth and safety of their found family. Giorno could cry. He doesn’t, but he holds Mista close as the older man sobs into his shoulder.
“We won,” Trish says, voice tinged with disbelief. “We actually won.”
Then, she starts laughing.
The team startles, turning to her with wide eyes. Trish breaks from the hug, covering her face with her hands as peals of laughter escape her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” she says, in between laughs. She moves her hands away, clapping them together. Her eyes are glassy, tears running down her cheeks, even as she continues to laugh. “I’m so fucking sorry.” She covers her eyes again, wiping the tears away. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
Narancia starts laughing too, wiping Trish’s tears away with the pads of his thumb. Giorno knows Narancia has no reason to laugh, only doing it to comfort Trish. Narancia knew best sometimes.
Soon enough, the rest of the gang is laughing too. From Trish’s gasping giggles, to Abbachio’s deep chuckles. They must look crazy, a bunch of teenagers and young adults laughing at dawn by The Colosseum, but none of them care. It’s like the adrenaline of the entire week is gone, leaving only the thrum of victory in their veins. Giorno finds himself high on that feeling. He’s never felt a victory so satisfying and so well-deserved before. Nothing could ever compare to this moment. There’s a loud, booming laugh among the noise and he’s surprised to find it’s coming from him.
Between the tangle of limbs, Giorno meets Fugo’s eyes and the two of them exchange small smiles. Fugo had a difficult journey from the start, chasing them halfway through Italy to rejoin them. Fugo has proven himself loyal and vicious, Giorno’s heart swells with pride as he remembers the way he threw himself in the thick of the battle in Rome against Green Day and Oasis, confident in his Stand in a way that’s different from Pompeii.
Giorno is happy that they’re all alive, of course, but he’s overjoyed that Fugo is safe and sound. The sight of his tired smile and the squeeze of his hand against Giorno’s shoulder, fills Giorno with a rush akin to that victorious feeling from before. His heart pounds in his ears, the rest of the world fades away, until all his senses are anchored only to Fugo’s hand and the stretch of his lips.
Gently, Giorno pushes Bucciarati and Mista away and reaches out to cup Fugo’s neck. His lovely purple eyes go wide, until they crinkle at the corners as Fugo smiles at him. They both want the same thing.
His lips are soft, they taste of blood and mint Chapstick. The kiss is shy, tentative, neither of them knowing what to do, where to put their hands, how to press their lips together, but despite the clacking teeth and bumping noses, the kiss is sweet
When they pull away, all Giorno can see is that lovely purple.
It takes Giorno a while to come back to the present. It’s only when Fugo’s cheeks turn red that he snaps awake. Everyone is looking their way, with varying degrees of shock and delight on their faces.
“Now that’s how you do it!” Mista says, smacking Fugo on the back, which almost makes him kiss the pavement. He grabs Narancia by the chin and smacks a wet kiss on the side of his head, which Narancia reciprocates with a loud exaggerated kiss on Mista’s cheek.
Trish nudges Abbacchio and Bucciarati and grins at them. “Looks like you better get a move on.” Bucciarati chuckles, the first positive sound he’s made the entire mission, and though Abbacchio is frowning they can see the red forming on his cheeks.
They break away, the tension from their final battle diffused, leaving only exhaustion and a growing hunger. Bucciarati leads their way to the Libeccio, all of them leaning against each other for support.
In the tangle of limbs, Fugo finds Giorno’s hand and he squeezes it. “Say, Giorno?”
“Hm?”
“Do you wanna go out to dinner with me some time?”
Giorno grins, leaning against him. “I’d love that.”