Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Haruno Shiobana stays in his room alone in the dark. Haruno listens to the noises of the night alone in his house. Haruno shivers slightly from the cold night air. 

His mother is out at a club, drinking and partying, as she is most nights. She left Haruno by himself again, hardly remembering he was there to begin with.

He's used to being left alone. He's used to feeding himself, dressing himself, cleaning himself, waking up to an empty house, and going to sleep to that same emptiness. 

He is not used to the dark. 

No matter how many nights he puts himself to bed in this dark empty house, he is still terrified of it. Alone at night, the darkness steals away everything he has. Unable to see, he can no longer seek comfort in the unchanging walls, his ratty teddy bear, or the stains on the carpet. He's left with nothing to see, and only his own spiraling thoughts to keep him company. 

When he was four, his mother took him and everything he had to Italy. It was there that he became acquainted with a man who told Haruno to call him "Dad". The man gave Haruno a new name, Giorno, telling him it would "help him blend in".

When Giorno was with both his mom and dad, he was spoken to in soft, kind tones. Dad would occasionally ruffle his hair, and smile down at him, regardless of how Giorno flinched at the touch. 

Giorno learned the Italian words for "Bitch", "Spoiled", "Annoying", and "Brat" before he learned to ask for bread. He learned how to read his Dad, his different moods, and avoid him when Mom was gone. He learned to wash his cuts, and sleep on his stomach so the bruises and welts on his back hurt less. 

At school he kept his head down and talked as little as possible. The other children whispered about him, and called him a freak. As time went on they began doing more than whispering and calling him names. Knocked shoulders began to grow into tripping, shoving, and fists to his face. 

Hurt and self hatred began to slowly seep its way into him. The more he heard what people said about him the more he began to listen. He would come home from school hoping he'd find an empty house waiting for him. 

Despite their new family situation, his mother remained mostly unchanged. She would still leave at night, sometimes with Dad, sometimes without. She stayed out late into the night, and would visit friends during the day. She barely managed to glance his way most days. 

But every once in a while, when his Dad was away for work, and her friends were all preoccupied, she would take Giorno out for gelato.

Chapter Text

Giorno could feel a small smile creeping onto his face. He knew better than to get too comfortable, but he loved it every time his mother took him out for gelato. These rare occasions granted Giorno the opportunity to be content, even if it was only for an hour or so. 

Today he trailed a little behind his mother as they walked down the street. The weather was beginning to cool, the tips of the wind laced with a cool autumn breeze that ruffled his mother's skirt. It was cool enough that the sweater Giorno wore didn't look out of place to those passing by. The cuffs of his sleeves were long enough to brush his fingertips, purposefully picked out by his mother that morning to hide the dark bruises lining his wrists. 

The gelato shop is white and blue, near the coast, with tables outside, so its patrons can enjoy the view of the sea. Its view was the perfect picture of serenity, and all its customers loved it.

Giorno was getting towards the bottom of his cup of pistachio and chocolate gelato, the edges beginning to melt into soft slopes. His mother has only just started her own dessert, having been taking pictures for social media moments before. 

There's a movement from beneath one of the trees lining the street. Giorno's gaze flickers to the side, catching on the small frog that had just hopped onto the pavement. A large, childish smile split across his face as it hops closer. 

He glances across the table to where his mom sits, still eating, scrolling through her phone. He knows she won't notice if he gets up, he’s used to it by now. 

He gently climbs out of his seat, crossing to where the frog sits. Crouching down, he looks into the frog's shiny, dark eyes. A small croak fills the air as Giorno delicately picks up the small creature. 

Moments like these were so rare for Giorno. The moments when he began to let himself feel happy, and safe. The wind blowing gently through his hair, hints of sugary chocolate still on his tongue. This frog deserved to feel the same way he did now, and he wanted to protect it as long as possible. He knew he couldn't take it home with him, that doing so would only put them both in danger, but for now he could pretend he had the power to save more than just himself. 

Checking over his shoulder back at the shop, Giorno was not met with the image of his mother eating, or absorbed in her phone like he expected. Instead, his eyes catch on the cool gaze and sharp eyes of a man a few tables over. 

Time seemed to stop as their eyes met. Giorno finds himself unable to look away, something about this man seems to instinctively keep him place. The man for his part continues to look back at Giorno with a long, almost searching gaze, before he slowly gets up. 

The man reaches a massive height when he stands, and the way he carries himself exudes confidence and pride. He abandons the paperwork and laptop on his table as he makes his way to where Giorno is still frozen in place. He lightly crouches down a couple feet away from the young boy, and despite his large stature and commanding presence, Giorno feels nothing but soft affection and tenderness emanating from the man. 

“Hello,” came the low smooth voice. 

When he finally spoke, the spell that had seemed to hold Giorno in place was broken.

He knows he shouldn’t answer, but against every bit of his common sense, he wants to answer this man, to talk to someone and have them listen. Even when everything in him was screaming at him not to, telling him adults can’t be trusted, that talking to this man will only end with him beaten and bruised, with his moment of happiness ruined, he finds himself answering. 

“Hi,” was Giorno’s reply, accompanied by a small smile. 

“What have you got there?”

Giorno had momentarily forgotten about the frog still held in his palms, he frowns down at the small creature who seems so content to simply sit in the warmth of his hands. 

He holds the frog up to the man, letting him get a better look at it. 

“That’s quite the specimen that you’ve found there,” his gaze travels down to Giorno’s wrists, now exposed  from holding the frog up for the man. “I wonder, how did you manage to get those?” he asks as he gestures towards the bruises along Giorno’s wrists. 

Giorno can feel his heart drop in his chest. 

Lie.

Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie.

It’s the only thing he can think to do, the only thing he knows he should do. His mother was just twenty feet away, she could overhear him at any moment, see him talking to this strange man. She would tell Dad, then everything would just get worse. Giornon doesn’t know this man, he could tell his mother that Giorno had spilled family secrets. Maybe the man will just laugh at him, or pat his head. Maybe he will punish Giorno himself. And Giorno knows he would deserve it.

He can’t tell him the truth. 

He lowers the frog back down, and looks up at the man beneath his lashes before replying, “I was playing at school, and fell.” 

He feels sick to his stomach.

The man’s face goes momentarily blank, before flickering back to his expression of careful interest. 

“That’s rather unfortunate. Does it hurt?”

Giorno simply shakes his head, No. No it doesn’t hurt, I’ve had worse. These injuries are hardly worth noting. 

“I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Giorno.”

"That's a lovely name," he peers down at the frog again, then back into Giorno's large green eyes, "Do you often make friends with animals?" 

Giorno is silent for a moment as he thinks about it. He supposes that he does make friends with animals rather frequently. He finds a small comfort in them, they never judge him, whisper, or purposefully harm him. 

Hesitantly, Giorno nods his head.

The man’s lips part, as if to say more, but they’re interrupted by the sound of his mother's heels clicking on the pavement and cutting voice. 

“Giorno, who are you talking to?” her words were clipped, and upon hearing her voice, he can feel the demeanor of the man next to him shift.

The temperature around them seems to drop, as the man stands to his full height once again. This time is nothing like before, there’s none of the warmth he previously felt radiating off the stranger. Now an almost inhuman cruelty has entered his eyes as he turns towards Giorno’s mother. 

“Well, if it isn’t the lovely Miss Shiobana.”

His mother’s face pales as recognition crosses her face. 

“Dio. What are the odds that we’d meet here of all places. A Gelato shop in a country neither of us are from.”

“I would call it fate. After all, seeing both you and my son on a business trip cannot be chalked up to a mere coincidence.”

Giorno’s head snapped up. Son? What is he talking about? That can’t be right. My dad’s at work right now. This man, Dio, isn’t my dad. 

Annoyance and anger twisted his mother's expression into something nasty. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have a husband, and this right here is our son, he has nothing to do with you.”

Dio smiles sharply.

“Really? A boy about six years of age who's the spitting image of me when I was a child," he looks down at Giorno again, scrutinizing his features, "His hair is a completely different color of course, but that's to be expected. I would have recognized his face anywhere.”

Giorno's still crouched down, the frog has hopped away, but Giorno doesn't notice. He's too busy frowning up at the adults next to him as they argue, although he's not following the conversation.

Dio said that he and Giorno look the same, but Giorno doesn't see where. The man before him is tall, taller than anyone else he's met. His hair is much lighter than Giornos and looks feather soft where it's grown out in the back. Despite the slacks and blazer over his shoulders, Giorno can see his muscular frame and pierced ears, seemingly at odds with the business attire. 

Nothing about this man reminds Giorno of himself.

“That must be a coincidence because this is not your son.”

His eyes narrow, “I know what’s mine.” 

His voice has dropped dangerously low, but his mother doesn’t back down. Her face contorts into a harsh sneer as she answers, “Clearly you don't. I don't know what you're expecting to gain here, or how you'll do it, but you're not getting this child.” 

“I’ll have you know that I, Dio, am the best lawyer of our time, and I will do whatever it takes to save my son. If that means I take you to court, good,” he pauses briefly, eyes flashing, “If that means I watch as the blood drains from you and your husband's bodies,” a smile spreads across his face, “even better.”

"Don't you dare threaten me over something you have no claim to." 

"Really? You're prepared to die on this hill? After you so clearly do not care for the boy?"

His mother doesn't answer. Instead, she simply turns on her heel without so much as a glance behind her. She grabs Giorno's wrist, and roughly drags him along behind her, as she heads in the direction of their home, ignoring Dio when he yells at her retreating form not to lay a finger on his son.

Chapter Text

Giorno can hear them talking through the floorboards. 

Although his parents are certainly not whispering, they’re talking quieter than usual. 

Everything has been wrong since they left the gelato shop. It feels as though everything and everyone around him has become quiet and tense, for a reason that seems to elude him. He knows that it must be his fault, but he’s not sure why. He can’t seem to figure out what he did wrong. It must have happened when he talked with that man Dio, but as hard as he thinks about it, he doesn’t know why. He did everything right, he barely spoke with the man, and he even lied to him, but ever since he met Dio, his mother has been acting strangely.

She came home, sent Giorno to his room, and waited for his father in the living room. 

He can’t remember the last time he saw her do that.

His gut has been filled with an ugly, overwhelming ball of anxiety all afternoon. He has remained curled up on his bed, listening to the sounds outside and downstairs, trying not to let himself get lost in his own thoughts, or the dread that’s been with him all day. He had closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep and gain some relief from his own feelings. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t drifted off. Instead he waits for his father to come home, waits to see what will happen to him, as the feelings of nauseous apprehension grow. 

When his father came home, his heavy footsteps never touched the stairs. Instead, he remained downstairs, where he’d been talking with Giorno’s mother all evening. 

"You don't seem to understand, he approached our son, and threatened me."

"No I understand, but I really don't know why you're making this a bigger deal than it needs to be." 

"Because he's my son. Dio just threatened me and our family. What are you not grasping here?" 

“ Why , pray tell, are you insisting on keeping him?”

“He is my son! What is not clicking in your brain? That’s my child!”

"I'm really just not seeing  why we can't let him go." came his father's harsh reply, “You’re barely around him as is, and he's a huge financial burden.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but that is my son you’re talking about.”

“And when do you spend time with your son?”

His mothers reply was much louder than anything she’d said so far, but unlike her previous words, it was riddled with sadness, “You’re a fucking asshole. Do you even realize that I took him out for gelato today? I have spent years with this child, doing my very best. I was left to raise him alone for the first four years. I never even wanted anything to do with him. This wasn’t something that I asked for, or ever even wanted. So forgive me if I don’t always spend as much time with him as I should, but I’ll be damned if I let a man who didn’t even know of Giorno's existence until today take him away.” 

She doesn’t want him.

This isn’t something that should surprise Giorno. His mother had basically said as much before. He knows all of this, and knows she means it. 

He knows. 

He knows this. He knows this, so why does it still hurt? He knows this, so why does he feel a silent, warm tear sliding down his cheek? He knows, so why does he care?

“I-” his father starts to say something rough and loud, before seemingly thinking better of it. The pause that follows is heavy and thick, but when he does speak again, it’s with a much softer voice than Giorno has ever heard used on himself, “Listen, you have been an amazing mother for years. You looked after him, paid for him, helped him learn to speak japanese, english, and italian. You’re much more than Giorno ever deserved. But maybe it’s time that you leave him in the past. You said yourself that you never wanted him, and if Dio is really willing to put up a fight for Giono, is it really worth it?”

“I do not want to lose to Dio. I was nothing more than a summertime fling to him, and because of him I had to carry and raise that child. He ruined everything that I loved about my previous life.”

“We can’t really afford to go to court over this. You know as well as I that if Dio really is a good lawyer, both you and I could end up in a lot of trouble," he pauses, and his voice softens, "Besides, if you let him go, there's a possibility you could go back to living like you used to. And when the time comes, we can have our own, real children.”

“You don’t know that we would lose," but his mother's voice has also softened now, and all the fight that had been in her voice has left.

“We couldn’t rationally spend money on a lawyer that would come anywhere near Dio’s caliber. It would cost us more than I make in a year, and for what? The chance of possibly winning custody of that brat?”

“Do not call him that.”

“Sorry, I’m just exhausted from all of this, but my point still stands. We can’t go to court over this, and it’s already too late to stop Dio from finding out about him. It’s best if we just cut our losses here.”

Another long silence follows this one, but much of the air's previous tension seems to have dissipated. 

Finally, Giorno’s mother responds, so quietly, Giorno almost can’t make out what she says, “I want to think about it. Although I suppose you’re right, I need a few days to think first.”

“Of course dear, this is an incredibly heavy dilemma after all. We’ll talk about it again in a few days, and see how you feel.”

They dissolve into whispers and soft noises after that. Giorno spends the rest of the evening in his room. His father never comes to punish him, but the heavy ball of anxiety doesn’t leave his chest until he hears both of his parents footsteps enter their room. 

For the first time since they left the ice cream parlor, Giorno feels like he can breathe, as relief washes through him, and a deep exhaustion settles in his bones. 

He’s fine for now. 

Soon, morning will come, and with it a new set of terrors, but for now, he can use these few hours of real freedom to rest peacefully.

* * *

Pain.

Bruises can be beautiful, when they’re washed in morning sunlight, blooming a deep, new burgundy.

Sometimes, when fresh blood will creep across his skin and stain it, Giorno thinks of the time his mother had bought the wrong jam.

The store she frequented sent out coupons for plum jam.

That’s the kind they always ate.

Except once.

The store was out of plum jam, so instead of going back to the store later that week, his mother just bought the strawberry. 

Breakfast quickly became his new favorite part of the day.

Where the plum was dark, and punctuated with sour undertones, the strawberry was a vibrant red, filled with a sugary sweetness. 

Giorno wished he had that jam to look forward to now.

Instead, he was left looking down at his red stained skin, with nothing but remnants of what once was.

* * *

Nothing in Giorno’s life makes sense anymore. All of the memorized schedules and invisible rules he had learned meant nothing. His parents were in and out of the house all the time, they no longer kept their work schedules the same, and they never seemed sure when they would be back. Giorno doesn't know what they’re doing, but it’s so very different from the schedules, and predictable patterns he has found comfort in for years.

He is left on his own more than he has been since his mother had gotten married. The quiet hours by himself become a comfort. He can do what he wants, and doesn't have to worry about disturbing his father as he works, or his mother as she gets ready to leave for the night. 

But beneath the comfort, there lies a constant panic. He never knows when his parents are going to be back, when he needs to head back up to his room for the night, or if they are going to be home much sooner than he could have possibly expected. It eats away at him through everything he does, unable to quell the rising anxiety as more and more of the day progresses. 

The longer this goes on the more time he spends in his room, not wanting to risk seeing his parents when they come home. 

One time was more than enough.

The time his parents do spend at home is far worse than it previously was, as the pain and injuries become more constant and harsh than they ever were before.

It’s as if his life has shifted into days of freedom, punctuated by condensed hours of pain.

His parents now leave together at times, in nicer clothes than he is used to seeing them in. They always seem to have paperwork with them when they leave and come home. It covers counters in the kitchen, and the desk in his fathers office. They’ve begun to have whispered conversations more often.

Giorno may not know what’s going on, but he can already tell it’s not going to be good for him. 

* * *

The morning sky is overcast with heavy, gray clouds. The world is motionless, as Giorno looks out his window at the bare trees, quiet roads, and fogged glass. He wonders if it will snow for the first time that season.

Giorno’s heart drops in his chest when he hears the footsteps on the stairs.

It’s only his mothers.

Relief washes through him as the footsteps grow closer. Pain is less frequent when his mother is around.

His doorknob turns, and his mother seems to struggle a little for a second when the door sticks to its frame. She enters his room with an air of gentleness he hasn’t felt in a long time. With that same softness, she calls his name.

“Giorno,” and when he looks up into her eyes, hidden beneath the constant resentment and annoyance, there seems to be some sort of remorse. “Come here, we need to pack your things.”

Giorno is still for a moment as the confusion sets in. Then he tilts his head, “Why?”

His mothers eyes get a little glassy as she responds, “Because you’re going to be leaving. You need to take whatever of your things you still want.”

For how long?  Giorno wants to ask, but instead he nods his head and begins to gather favorite possessions. His mother simply sets an old backpack down next to him, before turning to leave. 

Giorno is picking up his teddy bear when his mother hesitates mid step, and comes back over to him. She presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head, and runs a hand through his hair. 

Giorno freezes.

His mother has never been this gentle, or tender with him before, leaving him confused, but strangely warm. However, as his mother leaves the room, he can’t seem to quiet the voice in the back of his mind, wondering why. After the months of strange behavior from both his parents, more hurt and suffering than usual, he can’t figure out what this means. Why she would choose today to become soft, or what she means when she says he’ll be leaving. 

The warm buzz beneath his skin subsides, and Giorno forces these questions out of his mind. His place isn’t to question what his parents are doing. All he has to do is pack his bag.

And so he does, filling it with his toys, and as many clothes as he can fit. When he’s finished, he climbs back onto his bed, and hugs the backpack to his chest as he watches out his window waiting for the snow to fall. The world beyond the glass remains unchanged from before, save for the dog now trotting down the street.

It’s silent and beautiful, and if Giorno were brave enough to leave the house right now, he expects it would smell crips and cold, and the cool air would begin to turn the tip of his nose red.

Eventually, the noiseless world beneath him is disturbed. A sleek, black car makes its way down the street, before pulling up to the curb beside his house. Giorno’s grip tightens on his backpack, as he watches the scene below him unfold. 

A large figure exits the driver's side of the car, who seems to be wearing some sort of yellow jacket to fight off the cold. Giorno loses sight of him when he makes his way towards the front door. Everything is quiet for a moment, before he hears the noises from downstairs. The door opening, his parents' voices laced with a strange bitterness, and a deep, yet familiar voice.

Their conversation is short, and soon he hears an unfamiliar set of footsteps make their way up the stairs. Unease settles over him as the new set of footsteps draws nearer to his room, and when the shadowy figure is finally in his doorway, Giorno’s breath catches in his throat. 

Cautiously, the figure takes a step into his room, and for the first time since his arrival, Giorno can get a good look at his face.

Dio. 

He’s just as intimidating as Giorno remembers him, but seems to carry the same warmth as when he first approached Giorno. Hesitantly, Giorno looks up into his eyes, and Dio comes closer to where Giorno sits on the bed. He crouches down in front of Giorno, and speaks for the first time since entering the room. 

“Hello again Giorno. You remember me of course?”

Giorno nods his head, finally breaking eye contact with Dio, and fixating on the hole in his own pair of pants instead. 

“Good. I don’t know what your parents have told you, but you're going to be living with me.”

The hole in his pants was large, right at his knee.

“I see you’ve already gathered your things.”

Another boy in class had shoved him to the ground when he got the hole. 

“If you tell me where your shoes are, I can help you put them on and we can leave.”

He gestured towards his closet, his gaze remaining fixated on the hole in his pants.

Dio got up, and opened the door to his now mostly empty closet. After a second, he returns with Giorno’s scuffed shoes, and kneels down in front of him. 

When the pavement had hit his knee, he didn’t cry. He didn’t cry when he saw the hole in his pants, and he didn’t cry when he washed his skinned knee beneath cold water.

He knows better than to cry over things like that.

Dio lifts one foot into its shoe, and then the other. He ties their laces, and Giorno can feel Dio looking at him once again. 

“We’re going to leave now,” and in a fashion similar to his mother, Dio softly runs a hand through Giorno’s hair. 

Giorno’s gaze snaps back up as a gentle warmth begins to settle in him again. 

Dio stands back up, and for all the space he seems to take up in Giorno’s small room, he still doesn’t feel crowded. Dio’s looking down at Giorno in silence, before once again speaking. 

“Come on Giorno, we’re leaving.” 

It’s as if Giorno’s mind finally seems to catch up with what is happening around him. His shoes are on, his backpack is packed, and Dio it telling him it’s time to leave. He slides off his bed, slips on his backpack, and starts to follow after Dio as he exits Giorno’s room and heads towards the stairs. 

Giorno is half way down the stairs, when he feels a large warm hand enclose his own. He glances up at Dio, but he’s staring pointedly ahead as he descends the last few steps.

They pass his parents, who have stayed in the living room. Giorno regards them with wide eyes, but Dio doesn’t acknowledge them other than a muttered “useless” beneath his breath as he passes. 

Soon, Giorno is hit by the cold winter air, and it smells just as fresh, and crisp as he had imagined. 

Dio opens the passenger side of his car, lifting Giorno into the seat, setting his backpack beneath his feet, and sliding the seatbelt across his body. The door closes, and moments later Dio is sitting in his own seat next to Giorno. 

There seems to be a warmth emanating from the seat itself, and Giorno wonders if cars were always supposed to have self warming seats, or if it was just Dio’s. As the car pulls away from the curb, Dio flicks on the radio. 

He doesn’t say anything more to Giorno, instead he seems to be content to drive in silence punctuated only by the quiet notes. 

Giorno’s okay with this. He simply fixes his gaze out the window where he watches the scenery pass by. Neighborhood houses condense into stores and restaurants. Stop signs and trees become traffic lights and crosswalks as the car makes its way deeper into the city. 

Eventually, Dio pulls into a parking garage where shuts off the smooth engine before getting out to help Giorno. Dio leads him out of the parking garage, and towards the lobby of a lavish apartment complex. 

“We’ll be staying here for a few more weeks as I finish up my work. After that, we’ll head to Florida, where we’ll set you up in my permanent residency.”

He takes him though the sparkling lobby, and into the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. 

“For now though, I have a spare room you can have. And tomorrow, we can go shopping for more suitable clothing.”

The elevator door opens, and he’s led into an expensive, if rather devoid of personality, apartment. A little further in, Dio shows him a mostly empty room. It’s larger than what he previously had, but somehow feels less welcoming.

“This will act as your room for the remainder of our stay. I’ll let you get settled while I make lunch.”

Giorno simply nods, taking in the blank room around him. 

“And Giorno,” he pauses, waiting for Giorno to look up at him, “you can call me Papà.”

Chapter Text

The first snow begins to drift towards the ground as Giorno places his teddy bear on the bed, its matted fur and limp limbs at odds with the crisp, white bed. 

Giorno himself feels much like his bear. He doesn't belong here. The furniture is too nice, the floors are clean, and Dio's been suspiciously kind to someone like him. He fears with every step that he'll ruin the plush sofa, or stain the rug, and when that happens this will all be over. Dio will punish him, and everything will be like it was before, except this time he doesn't know what to expect. 

He doesn't know how hard Dio hits.

He doesn't know Dio’s patterns and moods. 

He doesn't know how to stay out of the way here. 

He doesn't know anything.

Large warm tears begin to fall on the gray rug beneath his feet.

It's all so just new and confusing here. He doesn't so much as know where the bathroom is. The comfortable familiarity he once had has been completely ripped away. All he has left now are his own thoughts and an out of place teddy bear. 

The sounds of Dio moving around in another room are starting to drown out beneath the ringing in his ears. 

He's not supposed to be here. He doesn't belong. His father always said he was a nuisance. That if he kept acting the way he did, no one would want to be around him. His father was right every time. The kids at school didn’t want to be around him. His mother kept as much distance as she could since the moment she brought him into the world. His father hated every interaction he had with Giorno. And soon Dio would too.

Alone now.

That's what he is. 

Sick nausea is trying to climb its way up his throat. 

“Giorno.”

His name is spoken softly, and it successfully jerks him away from his thoughts. Giorno didn’t hear Dio come back to his room. 

Stupid.

He let his guard down, distracted by his new surroundings and own pathetic thoughts. 

As subtle as he can manage, Giorno wipes the trail of tears from his cheeks with the end of his sleeve. He takes a breath, and cautiously turns to find Dio leaning against his doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. Dio’s gaze tracks over his form, pausing to study his face, but if he notices anything wrong he doesn’t mention it.

“Come eat.”

Giorno follows Dio to the kitchen, where he's handed a plate of apples and a grilled cheese. 

Made of real bread. 

Giorno has never been given this type of bread before. The slices are thick and cloud-like, and the shape isn’t square, but more of an oval. He’d seen his classmates with bread like this, but his mother never bought it. She said all bread tasted the same.

He realizes just how wrong she'd been as he climbs in a chair and takes his first bite.

He keeps his head down, eating in silence. He doesn’t notice for a few minutes that, for the first time since they’ve met, Dio almost seems unsure of himself. It’s so out of place with his character, that Giorno pauses eating momentarily. 

He’s been standing next to the kitchen island since Giorno began eating, his acrylic nails tapping a quiet rhythm against the swirled marble. Perhaps he isn’t unsure of himself so much as he’s simply impatient.

“Do you want to watch something when you’re done eating?” The tapping stops, and his voice sounds much the same as usual, confident and commanding attention.

Giorno shakes his head no. 

He’s tired, and he doesn’t want to be around Dio more than necessary. The more time he’s in Dio’s vicinity, the greater the possibility he’ll mess up.

“Would you rather just go to bed early?”

Silently Giorno nods his head.

“Come then. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

Giorno stands, bringing his empty plate over to the sink. Dio raises an eyebrow at that, but otherwise makes no comment. 

Dio moves to another room in the apartment, and opens the door for Giorno to enter. The bathroom looks more lived in than the other areas of the apartment. There are bottles of body wash and shampoo in the shower, towels hang on their racks, and skincare products are displayed on the counter. Everything in here looks expensive, from the eyeliner and lipstick on the counter, to the soaps in the shower, Giorno knows it’s all nicer than anything he’s used before.

Dio reaches for a new towel from a top shelf and hands it to Giorno.

“Use this. When you're done, come find me.”

Giorn takes the towel, its fibers pleasantly soft beneath his touch. Dio leaves, closing the door behind him, and Giorno is once again left alone.

It should bring him relief, no one is here to bear witness if he messes up now, but instead, he’s left with an anxiousness gnawing away inside him. He doesn’t want to be left alone in this new place. All of his thoughts constantly seem to be conflicting with each other and it’s exhausting, but nothing he does seems to quiet them. 

Slowly, he undresses, and climbs into the shower, turning the water on hotter than he usually does. He scrubs away the dirt beneath his nails and the grim left in his hair. He watches as the water swirls down the drain, and can’t help but feel as though a part of him is going with it. The part of him that kept watch around his father and learned to memorize footsteps. 

He doesn’t want that part of him to go. 

It kept him safe for years, and if it goes away he’ll end up in a worse situation than before. He’s only been with Dio for a few hours and he’s already cried more than he’s let himself for years, let his mind wander when he knows someone else is in the house, and become more of an inconvenience than he has in his entire life.

He got swept away by the kind words and soft bread. He has to be more careful. The farther he ventures from the safety of shore, the more the ice will crack, and one day, it will give way. He’ll fall in, and he’ll have no one to blame except for himself and his own want for love. Something he never had a right to in the first place.

He shuts off the water, and begins toweling off before pulling his clothes back on. He shoves his lingering thoughts into the back of his mind, hoping he can leave them in the bathroom.

Dio is sitting on the living room couch when Giorno exits the bathroom. His face is propped up by his hand, his cheek squishing ever so slightly against his palm.

When Giorno's in front of him, he reaches out his other hand and brushes Giorno’s damp hair away from his neck, quickly retracting the touch when Giorno flinches.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at Giorno’s face, as if trying to read his thoughts in the planes of his face.

“Do you need anything else before you go to bed?”

Giorno shakes his head. He has more than enough already. 

“Goodnight then, Giorno.”

When Giorno closes his door, the room and all it’s unfamiliar furnishings are cast into darkness.

He goes to sleep with his thoughts in turmoil, and barely restrained tears in his eyes. 

And if he wakes up in the middle of the night to foreign shadows on the walls, a dampness on his pillow, and his breathing uneven, that's nobody’s business but his own.

Chapter Text

Giorno awakes to the soft morning light creeping through his window.

He’s looking up at a ceiling he doesn’t know. Unknown and unwanted. He wishes things didn’t have to change. He knows that this is temporary. Dio wouldn’t want him around longer than necessary, and his parents wouldn’t let him be around a stranger longer than they have to. Every second spent around others is another chance he'll tell them something he's not supposed to.

Still, the thought of leaving is bittersweet. As much as his new environment is stressful in its unfamiliarity, the bread was good. Dio was nice to him, even if this set Giorno a little on edge, and the bed was pleasantly comfortable.

Giorno should get out of bed. The sun is starting to creep higher in the sky, and, judging by the silence of the apartment, Dio must have left for work by now. It’s his opportunity to eat and get ready, to make sure that he’s out of the way and in his room again by the time Dio comes back from work. He doesn’t know his schedule yet, and he wants to avoid learning what mood Dio’s in when he comes home for as long as possible. 

As long as it’s not worse than his own father’s, he’s sure that he’ll be just fine.

Giorno slides out of bed, changing his clothes, and pulling on a pair of socks to fend off the morning chill. 

Quietly, he opens the door to his room. He feels his heart plummet, and time seems to freeze as he takes in the scene before him.

There sitting on the couch is Dio, in his own pair of socks, and an atrocious pair of yellow sweats adorned with green hearts. He had one leg pulled onto the couch and was typing away at something on his laptop. Paperwork was scattered across the coffee table, and the pair of glasses he was wearing were sliding down his nose. 

"Good morning, Giorno," he licks his thumb before turning over one of the papers, "There's a muffin on the counter for you," he turns over a different paper, "It's chocolate chip."

Giorno just nods numbly and makes his way over to the counter. 

Dio must be able to work from home, at least partially. The thought never even crossed his mind, but now he can feel his cheeks start to warm with shame. He should have taken into account every possibility, but once again he had clearly gotten too comfortable. 

The clicking of keys and rustling paper fills the air as Giorno eats his breakfast. 

Dio doesn’t seem to be in a bad mood, in fact, he’s not paying much attention to Giorno at the moment. He appears to be almost completely absorbed in his computer screen, but Giorno catches the way his eyes periodically flicker over to where he’s sitting. 

When Giorno’s done eating, he sits for a moment, a little unsure of what to do with himself. He doesn’t have any school work or coloring pages. He doesn’t know how to turn on the T.V. here, and even if he did, he wouldn’t even consider it. It’s too close to Dio. 

He doesn’t want to be a nuisance. 

He settles on going back to his room to watch out the window, failing to notice the gaze tracking him as he crosses the apartment. 

The foot of the bed is soft, and overlaps the edge of the room's large window, making it a comfortable viewing place for the outside world. The view from up here is completely unlike the one in his real room. There are more people milling about, and the buildings are everywhere, and much closer together than he’s used to seeing. The streets are decorated in wet footsteps where people have walked over the new snow, and the roads are lined with black stained snow where cars have driven past. It’s still snowing a little. Soft snowflakes flutter down to the hectic world below.

It’s not a view he’s used to, not a view he wants. 

Minutes pass by, or maybe it’s hours. Giorno has lost track of the time sitting here, watching the world below him pass by. 

Eventually, he hears an increasingly familiar pair of footsteps enter the room. It’s Dio, now without his glasses, but a coat and pair of shoes on, makeup done, and a brush in hand. He takes a seat next to Giorno on the bed and begins brushing out his dark hair.

Giorno can’t remember the last time someone else brushed his hair.

“We’re going to the mall, we have some things we need to get for you.”

Giorno nods his head in acknowledgement, but otherwise remains still.

He should get up and get his shoes and coat on, but Dio’s still running the brush through his hair, and perhaps it’s a little excessive by this point, but it feels so nice. He doesn’t want to move. The rhythmic motions of the brush against his scalp warm him on the inside, and it’s just so cold outside. 

Then it stops, and Dio is standing up. 

“Come on Giorno, get your coat.”

And so he does, following Dio out of the warmth of his apartment, and into the snow dusted world. Even with all the people and cars still around, it always feels quieter when it snows, like the soft blanket of snow that covers the world is only there to muffle all sound.

The drive to the mall is much the same as Giorno's first drive with Dio. Warm seats, and quiet only punctuated by the low hum of the radio. 

Before Giorno knows it, they’re pulling into the parking lot of a large mall, already filled with Christmas lights, and seasonal decor. 

As they exit the car and begin crossing the parking lot, Dio looks down at Giorno and his rose dusted nose, and allows a low sigh to escape his lips. “Stay close to me Giorno.”

Giorno looks up into Dio’s sharp gaze, and for the first time since his arrival, Giorno speaks.

“Okay.”

The inside of the mall is pleasantly warm, and beneath the scent of new fabric and freshly opened boxes, Giorno can catch the scent of cinnamon and pine. Everything here has a strange, twisted allure to it, something in it that draws you in and makes you want to stay. 

It’s crowded, and nauseatingly loud.

Giorno doesn’t like it here. 

It fills his gut with a heavy unease.. 

When a worker wearing too much cologne and a plastic smile begins to say something to him, he instinctively takes a step closer to Dio.

Dio doesn't say anything, he simply fixes a cold stare on the worker and continues walking between the stores.

They weave through stores selling all sorts of items, the prices all appear to be expensive regardless of the quality or quantity being sold. The brightly colored toys and the loud music are a little disorienting, but they don’t seem to deter Dio as he enters a children's store.

Giorno finds it to be less overwhelming here. The holiday music is a little less loud and there aren’t as many people around. He takes a deep breath, and watches as Dio sorts through all kinds of clothing.

His mother had done the very same thing around a year ago. He had outgrown his current clothes, much to her annoyance. She had bought him new ones, a size bigger than comfortably fit just so she wouldn’t have to buy more any time soon. 

He missed his mom.

Oftentimes, she didn’t even look at him, but every time she did he felt warm. She was the only one watching over him for years, and every time she was around, Dad was nicer to him. She made him feel safe, even if she wasn’t around frequently.

When he went back home, he’d be sure to thank her for all the time and effort she had put into him. Making sure to be extra good, and not cause her problems.

When he went home. 

“When am I going home?” 

If he was going to ask a question, now would be the time. His father never hit him in public and he hopes Dio will be the same.

Dio doesn’t hit him. In fact he doesn't do anything at all, becoming momentarily motionless as Giorno looks up at him with wide, glassy eyes. The music seems to fade away, and seconds pass by in complete silence from Dio. Giorno can feel his own breathing coming in at a faster and faster pace, until finally Dio speaks.

“Giorno, you’re not going home,” he says it with the same polished tone as usual, but this time hidden beneath the low tones, Giorno can hear something akin to a remorseful sadness. 

Why?  

Why wouldn’t he go home? He knows his parents didn’t love him, sure, but they wouldn’t send him away. They were his parents, they had always taken care of him, and in turn he had done his best to be good for them. 

He was sure that he had been good for them. He was always good for them. He had to be.

So why couldn’t he go home? Why didn’t they want him? He’d done so much so why did it feel like they were sending him away?

“Why?” he croaks out as large, wet tears escape his eyes.

Something inside of Dio seems to break at that, he sets the shirt he was looking at back on the rack, and crouches down in front of Giorno, taking both his hands in his own.

“Listen to me Giorno. Your parents are not good people. They don’t deserve my son’s sorrow,” hes wipes away a fresh tear with his thumb, “Don’t waste your tears on people like them, they are not worthy.”

Giorno nods his head, but finds himself unable to move from his spot. He feels as though he might be permanently stuck there, with warm tears falling to the ground and Dio’s hands encasing his own. 

For some inexplicable reason, he feels a hollow ache inside. He thinks maybe he was supposed to figure this out by now, that his parents didn’t like him, didn’t even want him around anymore. 

He can’t seem to make the tears stop.

Dio doesn’t say anything more, he seems content to sit there holding Giorno’s hands in his own. He hears someone walk by them, their footsteps stalling momentarily as they pass by. 

Eventually, Dio stands back, keeping one hand on Giorno’s as he shuffles through shirts once again. 

Giorno’s breaths are starting to even themselves out again when Dio speaks.

“Do you want this one?” 

He's holding up a white shirt, with a bear print pattern on it. His mother usually didn’t ask what he wanted, picking for him instead.

A new slides down his cheek, but he nods his head anyway because he does like it.

Several Christmas songs later, they’ve picked out an assortment of clothes for Giorno, a coloring book and some crayons to use on it.

The fluorescent lights overhead are beginning to give Giorno a headache by the time they’re standing in line. The parents in front of them have a sizeable stack of gifts and clothes, likely for their own children. 

His feet hurt. 

They couldn’t have been there for more than an hour or two, but already Giorno feels exhaustion setting in and a dull ache in his feet. 

The shelves next to them have an assortment of stuffed animals, meant to draw customers in for one last purchase before they leave. There are gray elephants, giraffes, and dinosaurs, but Giorno doesn’t care about any of those. 

He likes the ladybug. Its large plush body is a vibrant pink, with large eyes, and short fuzz covering its circular body. It looks soft, and he wants to reach out and touch its fuzzy body.

He doesn’t.

He knows not to touch what isn’t his.

A manicured hand is reaching out for it instead, gently picking it up from where it sat, and handing it to Giorno. 

“It’s almost as big as you Giorno,” and when Giorno looks up into Dio’s face, there’s nothing malicious about it. Only a soft smile beginning to play at the edges of his lips. 

It feels unusual to be given something like this so freely. Yet here Dio is, offering it with full sincerity and a teasing smile. 

Hesitantly, Giorno takes the ladybug from Dio’s hands. 

It’s even softer than he thought, and he can’t seem to help the small smile fighting its way onto his mouth.

By the time Dio’s buckling him back into the car, Giorno can’t seem to keep his eyes open. Every turn of the car pulling him deeper into the grasp of sleep.

He regains consciousness to a loud clutter from the kitchen, and Dio muttering a curse, before he’s drifting off again.

When he awakens a second time, he finds himself being shaken awake by Dio. He finds himself on the couch, ladybug under his arm, a blanket tucked around him, and in the kitchen he can see two plates of food sitting on the table.

He brings his ladybug with him to bed, and when awakens in the early hours of the morning to his dark room, he only squeezes it tighter as he falls back asleep.

Chapter Text

Giorno is tired of coloring. He had filled his book with pages with vibrantly colored plants and animals for the better part of two days now.

He likes coloring in their forms, it feels like he is bringing them to life, but his hand is starting to hurt, and his legs are going numb from sitting on his bedroom floor all morning.

Dio is in the living room, typing away on his laptop and reading through documents. Despite the hours he seems to spend working every morning, he always has time to make him lunch, and no matter how busy he seems when Giorno enters the living room, he’ll drop what he’s doing to help Giorno with whatever he needs. 

Giorno gets up now, wandering into the living room to see Dio stationed on the couch, working, just as Giorno thought he'd be.

Dio looks up, as Giorno makes his way further into the living room, and over to the couch, sitting down on the cushion next to Dio. 

Perhaps it's a risky move, much bolder than he's used to being, but he's been feeling more confident as the days pass by. He's not sure why, he knows it will end with him hurt and bruised eventually. It feels as though ever since he came here with Dio, he's become more and more careless. 

Dio, however, doesn't move Giorno away, or raise a hand against him. Instead, he looks down at Giorno and asks, "Do you need something, Giorno?" 

Giorno just shakes his head, bringing his legs up onto the couch, and making himself more comfortable. 

Dio studies his face for a moment longer, but doesn't say anything more, opting to go back to work instead. 

The laptop is filled with words that Giorno doesn't understand. He doesn't know what Dio's doing, but he can tell it's complicated. He's continually clicking through tabs, flipping pages, typing paragraphs full of complicated, foreign words. 

He supposes that Dio must be important, or at least his work is. He'd heard him on a phone call yesterday, using words he'd never heard before, and a harsh tone.It had unsettled him a little, it wasn't a tone he'd heard Dio use since they'd first met, when he'd argued with his mother. 

Clouds slowly make their way through the sky, and time seems to slip through Giorno's fingers as he watches Dio work. The rhythmic typing, and the occasional small sigh from Dio's lips building a sense of warm serenity in the room. 

The words on the laptop were starting to blur at the corners of Giorno's vision, and he could feel every blink getting longer and longer.

His eyes were so tired from coloring all morning, and the couch was soft, and comfortable. The longer his eyes closed, the less he tried to keep them open. He wasn't doing anything particularly interesting, really he was just passing time here, watching Dio do work he didn't understand. 

His thoughts began to drift off, and gently the soft noises of the apartment pulled him into sleep.

He's only vaguely aware at first, of the soft sensation of fingers running through his hair. Slowly, he notices that he's resting against something soft and warm. It might be Dio's side, but his eyes are closed, so he's not sure. 

He should open them, move away and apologize, but he doesn't. It's comfortable, all his limbs feel heavy, and it makes a small part of him feel as though he's wanted.

Almost loved.

He really must be growing careless in a way he never was before. Even though he knows that he shouldn't, that he should keep his guard up, he feels safe here. 

For now, as he slowly drifts back to sleep, that's enough.

Chapter Text

Time starts to blur together, the days begin to turn into weeks, and soon Dio's helping him pack his things into a new suitcase. 

The apartment starts to feel a little emptier day by day, as more items seem to disappear. His room begins to feel less and less like his own, although he hadn't even noticed it felt that way to begin with.

Of course, not everything was being packed away. Dio needed to keep some items here for the next time he came to visit, but still, there seemed to be too much space now, every footfall  echoing in all the wrong ways.

He awakens this morning, to a sluggish feeling filling his head, and early morning light filtering in through the window.

It's darker outside than he's used to seeing. He must've awoken earlier than usual. For the first time since arriving here, he can't even hear Dio moving about the apartment.

He must still be asleep then.

He can feel a strange giddiness settle in his stomach. 

There shouldn’t be anything to be excited about, but something about the early morning air, and change in routine, send his blood pumping a little faster than he’s used to. 

He gets out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Dio, or the monster that’s lurking somewhere beneath his kind exterior. 

Giorno knows it will crack one day, and then things will go back to how they used to be.

He wants to postpone that as long as possible, selfishly indulging in Dios kindness while he can.

It’s strange entering the rest of the apartment and finding it empty, the rising sun casts shadows in odd places when the lights are off. The air’s filled with the quiet hum of the refrigerator, and everything feels just a tad more peaceful like this.

Although the apartment, the furniture, and even the cereal he’s about to eat are completely different, it reminds him of living with his parents. He almost always awoke to an empty quiet house. It was something of a relief to him there.

It meant that until he came home from school, he could live in relative peace, without the constant anxiety and fear that lived in his mind whenever his father was around. He could take deep, full breaths, eat at his own pace, get himself ready, and leave the house without ever crossing paths with his father.

It was a consistent source of peace for him, knowing he could count on the vacant, still apartment when he awoke.

It’s different now. 

He knows it is, but something about it feels so familiar, in a way that almost brings him comfort.

Now, he gets out a box of cereal, something easy, something he ate when he still lived with his parents. He turns to retrieve a ceramic bowl from a kitchen cabinet, setting the smooth, cool glass on the kitchen counter. 

At least, that's what he means to do.

He can feel the slick bowl sliding from his grip before fully making it onto the countertop.

He feels every piece of himself break as he watches it fall off the counter.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No. No. No. No.No. No. No. No.No. No. No. No.

This is it. 

The mistake.

Everything he was beginning to enjoy here would be gone. All of the peace and comfort he'd grown so fond of would be ripped away.

The new life he'd begun to build up, shatters in front of him as the bowl hits the ground.

He doesn’t want to go back to his old life. The fear and pain lives with him, always there as a reminder of what has been left behind. It looms over him constantly, keeping one hand firmly on his throat ready to choke him when he begins to forget.

He had almost forgotten.

He knew he’d gotten too comfortable.

Dio would be here any second, awoken by the sound of the broken ceramic.

Then, the monster lurking beneath the surface would emerge.

Dio would be just like his father, angry, loud, violent.

No.

He doesn’t want to go back to that.

But what choice did he have?

He should be grateful that he ever even got a break from that. He knew that it was more than he deserved already.

And yet, he can’t seem to stop the tears that are beginning to gather in the corners of his eyes, the tremble that’s entered his limbs, or the thick, heavy panic that has coiled itself around his gut. 

He should run, get away from here, but he won’t.

He’s stronger than that.

He never let his fear get the best of him before, and he wouldn’t start now.

He’ll remain here, no matter how loud the voice in his head is telling him to go. 

Heavy footsteps, and the sound of a door opening. 

Dio emerges in sweatpants and tangled hair, evidently just awoken.

"Giorno, what in the world happened?" 

He takes a few steps further into the apartment, and Giorno's hands begin to shake just a little, his eyes growing more wet.

Dio eyes scan the room, taking in the scene before, the abandoned box of cereal, broken ceramic scattered across the kitchen floor, and his trembling son at the center of it all.

He lets out a sigh, and brings a hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. 

Giorno knows what's about to happen, what should happen. 

Dio makes his way over to where he stands, and Giorno’s heart beats faster in his chest, breaths going shallow. 

Dio only crouches down and begins to pick up the large fragments of ceramic bowl. 

"Be careful, the prices are sharp." 

Nothing else.

Giorno doesn't understand what's happening, Dio shouldn't be telling him to be careful, shouldn't be picking up the pieces. 

At least not yet. 

He's supposed to hit him first, call him a bitch and a nuisance. 

But he doesn't.

Instead Dio throws the pieces aways, and gets out a new bowl.

White hot tears fill Giorno's vision, and he can't barely hear the sound of cereal being poured over his own shallow breaths. 

Why wasn't he being punished yet?

His father had always hit him first, and cleaned up later. 

He didn't want that to change, to prolong his anxious feeling as he waited for Dio to clean up his mess.

"Papà," Gioro's voice was barely above a whisper, and thick with tears, "Why haven't you punished me yet?"

Dio freezes momentarily, before kneeling down in front of Giorno, taking one of his hands firmly in his own. Dio tries to look into his eyes, although Giorno is resolutely looking at the wooden floor. 

"Giorno, I have done everything in my power to keep you from harm. I will not be inflicting it upon you myself, no matter the circumstances. So long as I am around, no one will raise a hand against you."

“But I broke the bowl.”

“It was only a bowl Giorno, we have more than enough of those, and even if we didn’t we could have fixed it. It’s alright.”

Giorno nods his head slowly. He hears the words, knows what each one means,  even if he doesn't believe them.

"Now, let’s get you some breakfast."

And they do, taking a new bowl to the table, and eating his breakfast next to Dio, even if he doesn’t taste any of it.

His mind replays their conversation over and over, trying to pick out hidden malice and figure out if he can truly trust a single word that’s come out of Dio’s mouth.

Eventually, his breathing begins to slow down and deepen, and his mind no longer continuously  replays the previous events.

Dio is putting their dishes away now, he'd turned the T.V. on at some point, and it quietly fills the air around them. 

He doesn't seem mad. In fact, the previous incident barely seems to have made an impact on his morning.

Giorno decides that perhaps it really is different here than with his parents.

Chapter Text

The airport was worse than the mall.

Everything smells of sweat, and the people around them are in varying states of disarray, clothes wrinkled and hair undone. They carry large bags of luggage, backpacks, and are shouting at their loved ones in different languages.

The people press in on all sides, their large bodies and loud voices drowning out the thoughts running through Giorno’s head, leaving him with nothing, but crowded, anxious feelings.

Dio looks nothing like the people around them. His hair and makeup are done, clothes smooth, and he doesn’t raise his voice to talk to Giorno, opting instead to frimley keep a hold of Giorno’s hand.

Giorno quickly discovers there is a lot of waiting to be done at the airport. He stands in long lines with Dio, removing their shoes, putting their luggage on conveyor belts. It feels so similar to the mall, but the lines are longer and this time, he doesn’t have his ladybug. 

Later, he sits in a hard chair, waiting to get on the plane, and watches as travelers pass them in droves. Dio had gotten them smoothies to drink while they waited, although Giorno had nothing left but a transparent cup tainted with bits of fruit by this point.

The airport television is a few yards away, playing a rugby game. The player’s all seem to be doing well, but Giorno finds that unsurprising seeing as it must be towards the end of the season by this time of the year. Dio seems to notice Giorno’s shift in attention, turning his own head to watch the game with some vague fascination.

“I used to play rugby for my college, you know.”

Giorno looks up at Dio, surprise lining his face, but Dio has focused his gaze on the pixelated forms moving across the television. 

“Really?” Giorno asks.

He never would have guessed that Dio even enjoyed sports.

“Yes, my brother Jonathan and I played on the same University team. I was quite good when I was younger.”

Giorno’s face screws up in confusion as he tries to process Dio’s words. A brother? 

Up until this point Dio hadn’t mentioned any family of his own. Giorno had started to wonder if Dio had been alone like he was. 

Although Dio’s keeping his focus on the screen, it’s as if he can feel the thoughts and confusion running through Giorno’s mind as he says, “He’s my adoptive brother. I absolutely despised him as a kid, I thought he was a pretentious brat,” and a small, acid smile starts to edge it’s way onto his lips, “I still do.”

It grows quiet for a moment, the weight of the words forcing the constant chatter around them into an invisible background noise. He can tell Dio means every single word that he just spoke, but it almost feels as though there’s something more to them, lying beneath the letters of disdain.

He wants to know what Jonathan is like. What about him Dio hates so much, but seems reminds Dio of him when he watches a rugby game. What makes him important enough to be the first person from Dio’s life that he tells Giorno about.

Giorno wants to ask if he’ll ever meet Jonathan, but before he gets the opportunity, their flight number gets called. Giorno’s awareness of the airport returns, and he sees Dio stand and grab their bags. 

The conversation has closed, and Giorno can tell it isn’t likely to open again. The remnants of a past life, purposefully buried beneath the surface.

The flight is full of long, uncomfortable hours of sitting. Dio had sat Giorno down next to the window, and taken the seat next to him. 

It feels different than when he flew to Italy with his mother. The memory of the flight feels a little blurry around the edges, but he knows there were three seats in his row that time. They were smaller, and a little harder than these ones, people filled the space around him.

He supposes it doesn’t really matter why there are less people on the plane, or why the seats are bigger. His legs still grow numb from hours of sitting, and his head starts to hurt from the constant hum of the plane’s engine. 

Beside him, Dio has fallen asleep, his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth parted slightly.

Eventually, a lady with a kind smile brings him a bag of crackers. They’re a little stale around the edges, but enjoyable regardless. The tufts of soft clouds are visible from the window, painting the sky white below them. Time feels meaningless on the plane, blurring together and stretching out the seconds. The T.V. screen in front of him plays a show he’s never seen before, pixelated figures moving across the screen in mindless actions as he drifts in and out of sleep. 

He notices the ocean first, the sun reflects off the tips of bright blue waves. It looks much the same as the ones they had in Italy, although if he gets closer, he knows it will be different.

To Giorno’s surprise, he can see the grass and shrubbery through the windows of the Florida airport. There wasn’t a snowflake in sight here. It was warmer than he had expected and even from inside, he can feel the heavy air sticking to the back of his throat. 

He doesn’t mind the change in environment, so much as he does the smell. The air has an unpleasant tang to it. It’s getting stuck in the back of his nose, constant and slightly unpleasant. The carpet of the airport has stains, and the seats around them appear worn out, and a little dirty. 

There’s more people too.

More than could ever be considered pleasant.

Upon deboarding, Dio wrinkles his nose at the passing crowds, and with a slight sneer mutters, “Miami is disgusting.”

Dio’s situating their bags around them now, ignoring the waves of people passing by. 

People are all around, moving together. It feels as though they could sweep Giorno away at any moment, their constant noise drowning out any protest he would offer.

Giorno reaches up and tightly grabs Dio's hand. Dio doesn’t say anything, just keeps a firm grip on the small hand in his own as he shifts through a bag looking for something in it.

Through the throngs of people, Giorno can feel the heavy pressure of someone staring. He looks up, searching the groups of people around them. Over the heads of the surrounding people, are a pair of deep blue eyes, looking directly at him.

The man they belong to is massive. He's roughly the same height as Dio and almost as muscular, his face is stern and seems as though it's constantly set in an unpleasantly neutral expression. He wears a long white coat, opened in the front and decorated with gaudy pins. It matches his strange hat that seems to have the back ripped off. 

He's holding the hand of a redheaded man with twin scars running through his eyes, and despite the Florida heat, he’s wearing a cardigan over his turtleneck.

Giorno doesn't know why the man is staring at him. He looks at their bags, at Dio, and down at himself, but is unable to find anything amiss. When the man's partner notices them, he too freezes in place mouth falling open a little.

He couldn't figure out why these strangers were looking at him. Giorno didn't think he was doing anything wrong. He was just standing here, so what about him had so fully caught these strangers' attention?

Keeping an eye on the strangers, he gently tugs on Dio's hand, unsure of what else to do. 

Dio stops, closes the bag and looks down at Giorno, concern hidden in the edges of his expression. Without a word, Giorno points to where the strange men stand twenty feet away.

Dio’s mouth twists into a dark smile, and he immediately begins to move them in the direction of the strangers.

“Jotaro,” Dio calls out, and Giorno assumes that’s the taller man’s name.

“Dio,” he says the name as if it’s a bitter taste he can’t seem to wash out of his mouth.

In front of the two men, Giorno feels impossibly small, the adults loom over him in a way that suggests his insignificance to the conversation.

“My, my,” Dio says, “It seems fate has brought us together once again. What could you possibly be doing here this fine afternoon?”

“I’m traveling. What else could I possibly be doing here?”

“Perhaps you heard of a starfish species that eats airport grime, or maybe you actually enjoy the smell of desperation that clings to Miami.”

“Oh good grief, I’m visiting my family in Japan for the holidays.”

“Really? I’m surprised you had the will power to take time off from fucking around with dolphins.”

“Unlike some people, I actually spend time with my family.”

“I’ll have you know, I spent the last four weeks with my family,” he gestures down at Giorno though he’s still looking at Jotaro.

Jotaro raises an eyebrow, and glances down at Giorno, but doesn’t say anything in response.

“This is my son Giorno.”

Jotaro stays quiet for a moment before asking, “You get some chick knocked up or something? Tell her I’m sorry she ever even had to interact with you.”

The redheaded man brings his free hand up to his mouth, trying to cover the snicker that’s escaping his mouth. Giorno feels as though he’s been left out of some joke, not understanding what about that was funny. 

The conversation itself leaves him feeling a little lost, although he has a basic idea of what's going on.

Dio’s expression has shifted into something vile, his other hand tightened into a fist, as he lets out a low, repulsed breath, “You damnable bastard.”

Giorno’s hand instinctively stiffens in Dio’s, causing Dio’s attention to shift down to where he stands. He takes a breath before saying anything more, he unfurls his fist, and with nothing but a sharp edge to his words says, “We’re done here, come on Giorno.”

Dio doesn’t look back at Jotaro as he takes them through the airport, collecting their suitcases and bringing them out into the warm Florida air.

The air is heavier out here, and it smells worse, but Giorno’s glad for the fresh air regardless. Dio too, seems to have released all tension in his body, now that they’ve left the airport.

As they climb into a cab, Dio lets a quiet sigh, and in a voice almost too low for Giorno to hear he murmurs, “It seems the past is desperate to catch up to me today.”

Chapter Text

Dio’s sitting in the cab, arms crossed over his chest, irritation lingering in his features. Giorno thinks he looks a little like a pouting child.

The road is full of cars. Everywhere Giorno looks, there are cars lined up bumper to bumper. It feels as though they're never going anywhere. He can even hear the screeching tires and honking horns through the car door.

The further they get from the airport, the more Dio seems to relax, letting the residual tension leave his body as they travel through the crammed streets.

Eventually, Dio breaks the silence with a heavy breath, “Giorno.”

Giorno looks up into his face, surprised to see unease in the far corners of his expression. It doesn’t feel as though it belongs on his face, the self-doubt at odds with Dio’s usual impassive confidence.

“Today is Friday,” he begins, and Giorno slowly nods his head, “Then it’s Saturday and Sunday.”

Giorno nods again, that is how the days pass.

“And then Monday. Do you remember where you usually are on Mondays?”

“School,” Giorno answers, feeling as though it’s an obvious question, but willing to indulge Dio regardless. He used to always go to school throughout the week, but he hasn’t been back since living with Dio, and now he’s left school in another country.

“Giorno, while we were in Italy, I've gotten you enrolled in a school here. You’ll go back to school on Monday.”

No.

That can’t be right. He left school in Italy. He left his classmates halfway across the world, and he was so glad for it. He can’t go back, he doesn’t want to go back. School had been almost as bad as home sometimes. The other kids caused bruises the same way his dad did, calling him similar names spat with the same venom.

He can feel his hands start to shake, his eyes growing wet, as slowly he nods again. He doesn’t want to, but it feels as though his head is moving without his permission.

“Giorno,” Dio says again, his voice softer than before, “It will be a different school with different classmates. It won’t be like before.”

But it would be.

How could it not be?

There is nothing about him to like.

Other kids were cruel, they saw the worst parts of him and ripped it to shreds. They relentlessly poke at everything he hates about himself, never letting him forget all the ways that he is wrong.

Other kids didn’t understand him, and never wanted to. Instead, they called him names, shoved him to the ground and kicked him as they walked past. Nothing good would come from school, it never had. He had grown so comfortable with Dio, growing soft in all the wrong places. He should be used to what other kids do by now, how they act, what they say. It shouldn’t bother him anymore, but in the weeks he’d been away from them, he'd become weak.

“How do you know?" Giorno's voice comes out small and broken around the edges, but each syllable is crystal clear in the small cab.

"I promise you they'll love you just as much as I do."

Love was such a foreign concept. It wasn't always visible to him, his outsider perspective limiting him to the view of other people's love. He's always thought his mother loved him, some small part of himself grasping for love in the scraps of attention she threw his way.

Dio is different, he's shown Giorno more kindness and attention than he's ever known before. He's been patient and understanding with Giorno every step of the way.

It's been completely different since Dio came into his life.

Maybe this will be different too.

Slowly, he nods his head again as he asks one more question, "And if they don't?"

Maybe Dio's right and it will be different, but some things won't ever change. Giorno knows that not all of the kids will like him. Some kids will still throw hateful words and fists his way. He wants to be prepared.

"Then you remind them that you are superior to them. They are lucky they even get to know you, and if they try to get violent, you hit them back even harder."

Dio's house is beautiful.

The property is well kept, and the inside is clean. There's a constant tone of vanilla and sandalwood floating through the air, and the carpet is soft beneath their feet.

Giorno is shown his new room, bigger than the one at the apartment and a little more approachable. His life is changing again, and although he liked the time he spent with Dio in Italy, he finds it's easier to adjust this time. The house should feel alien, but something about it feels welcoming.

Despite the house's large interior, Giorno finds that Dio's never too far, always there when he needs him, helping him when he can't help himself.

Even if the air is too hot and thick, Giorno likes it here more than he ever did in Italy.

Chapter Text

Come Monday morning, Dio is in the kitchen making Giorno a lunch to take to school. He's in a similar suit to the one Giorno had first seen him in, likely planning to go into work after he takes Giorno to school. He helps Giorno brush his hair and pack his backpack, double checking that his son has everything he'll need for the day.

It's a busier morning than Giorno had grown used to, but he's grateful for it. It distracts his mind from the unease settling in his stomach.

The drive is a different story, quiet and peaceful, letting his mind wander as they turn down streets full of cars carrying passengers to their jobs.

Memories begin to surface the closer they get to the school. Memories of cruel names, stolen items, and the taste of blood in his mouth. Things that were better than his father, and he should have been grateful for, but he wasn't.

Ungrateful brat, as his father had put it.

And now, he's going to a different school, and it will be worse there than it is at his new home. He knows it will be, everything is worse when Dio isn't around.

But Dio had promised him this school would be different, had promised him the kids would love him.

He forces himself to remember that as they open the car doors, and begin walking into the school. His backpack feels heavy and strange to wear again, and with each echoing step on the sidewalk the sick feeling in his stomach grows more acidic. Giorno reaches up, and grabs Dio's hand, anchoring himself to something before his hands begin to shake too much.

The school building is larger than his old school had been and the inside seemed to be in better condition. They enter a room with large panes of glass isolating it from the rest of the school, and behind a wooden desk running wall to wall, sits two middle aged women. They each have a computer in front of them, a phone and paperwork scattered in the space between them.

He can hear Dio talking to them in low confident tones, but he can't seem to process a single word beneath the sound of his own rushing blood. The carpet beneath his feet is hard, and has a curious stain off to his right. He can't seem to focus on anything else in the room, but the carpet beneath his sneakers and the way the different tones of dark blue threads blend together.

He doesn't even notice the adults have finished their conversation until Dio is tugging on his hand with a quiet, "Come on Giorno."

As Dio leads him down a hallway, Giorno notices other kids walking around too. There aren't many of them, but he doesn’t remember seeing any at all when they had first entered the building.

The classroom Dio leads them into is colorfully decorated, and well organized. There are a few students already here, although many of the desks remain empty. In the far corner sitting behind a large desk, is a well dressed man with dark, chin length hair, who looks to be in his mid twenties. He gives a kind, warm smile when he sees them walk in, meeting them halfway to his desk.

Dio's talking to the man now, but Giorno finds himself tuning them out as he looks around the classroom again. The walls are decorated with posters of cartoonish animals and words he doesn't know in large, bubbly fonts. On the other side of the room, a small kid with an orange headband lets out a yelp, as his friend with a strawberry shirt smacks the back of his head.

Giorno doesn’t even notice the conversation has come to an end until Dio turns to Giorno, "I'm going to leave for work now."

Giorno looks up at Dio and nods, trying to fight the growing anxiety of being left here alone. He can feel tears start to well in his eyes, but he fights them back, knowing better than to cry in public. He knows Dio doesn't have a choice, he can't stay here with Giorno, but that doesn't stop the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach from growing.

Dio gathers Giorno in his arms, and picks him up in a fierce hug, and, instinctively, Giorno's arms wrap around Dio in return. For a few moments, Giorno's nervousness is put to rest as Dio holds him in his arms, strong, warm, and comforting. He wishes he could stay like that for the rest of the day, never going to his seat in this classroom, instead staying in the safe embrace of his papà.

"I'll see you after school, Giorno," Dio whispers, and he sets him back on the ground.

Dio leaves the classroom, and Giorno turns to find the other man smiling down at him.

"Hello Giorno," he greets in a kind, low voice. He crouches down in front of Giorno, bringing their eyes relatively level before continuing, "I'm Mr. Buccellati. I'll be your teacher from now on."

He holds out a hand for Giorno to shake, and Giorno nods back a quiet "Hi," while he shakes Mr. Buccellati's hand.

He stands back up, and gestures for Giorno to follow him as more kids enter the classroom.

"Come on Giorno, I'll show you where you'll sit."

Giorno sits towards the back, and finds the desk next to his empty, although Mr. Buccellati had assured him another kid sits there. More and more kids have begun to enter the classroom now, several cast curious glances his way, but none of them approach him, choosing instead to whisper to the kids around them in excited or curious tones.

It's not until most of the seats have been filled that someone sits down next to him. Giorno turns, finding a boy wearing a red beanie and bright blue shirt beaming at him.

"Are you new? I haven't seen you here before."

Giorno nods his head, but doesn't say anything more.

"Cool, this desk has been empty so I've had to sit by myself all year, but now you're here, so it'll be less lonely during class,” he pauses for a moment, thinking, "Wait what's your name?"

"It's Giorno. My name's Giorno."

"My name's Guido Mista, but everyone here just calls me Mista."

Giorno lets out a small smile, "It's nice to meet you."

In response, Mista smiles large, and bright.

The bell rings, and Mr. Buccellati is asking for the class's attention before Mista can say anything more, but the small interaction leaves a feeling of relief in Giorno's chest as class begins. Dio had been right, it wouldn't be like before.

Giorno finds that class here runs similar to what he was used to in Italy. The shapes and colors are indistinguishable from what he’s already learned, and the math is exactly the same. He finds the hardest part for him are the words. His mother had taught him how to speak Japanese and English as best she could when he was younger, but he knew very little about writing and spelling. It reminded him of when he first moved to Italy, when he knew nothing about the language and often found himself lost in the content being taught at school.

The words below him are muddled together, and he continually finds himself turning to Mista, and asking him what the words say. Mista had been initially surprised and a little confused when he found out Giorno couldn't read very well, but he would always tell Giorno the words he himself knew. He never explains it with any scorn, he's only patient and helpful unlike the kids at his old school.

When neither Giorno or Mista knew what the work said, Mr. Buccellati was there to help them sound out the words and explain what they were supposed to do in a calm, low voice.

By the time lunch and recess came around, Giorno was feeling much better than he had earlier.

Chapter Text

As the day creeps towards lunch time, Giorno can feel remnants of his previous anxiety begin to slip back in. Mista had been friendly towards him this morning, but he knows that doesn’t necessarily make them friends, and now lunch was almost here, leaving Giorno with the worry that he’ll be left to sit alone as stifling hot shame and embarrassment run through him. It's also a prime opportunity for the other kids in the class to pick on him. They hadn’t yet, and Giorno likes to think it will stay that way, but he also knows lunch will be the best time for it to start. 

He stares blankly at his work, no longer able to focus on the complex words littering the paper. He shouldn’t be letting himself get worked up again, this morning had gone well, and none of the other kids had seemed hostile towards him, but the constant fear of hatred and rejection didn’t easily let Giorno out of its grasp.

The bell rings, and while some kids scramble to grab a lunch from their backpack, others immediately leave the room to get lunch from the school. Giorno finds himself moving slower than the kids around him, unsure of what to expect from lunch here. By the time he has retrieved his lunch from his backpack, he’s the last kid to leave the classroom, most of the other kids having ran at a near sprint to the lunchroom.

He walks down the hallway, keeping his gaze trained on the tiled floor beneath him. A few kids run past him without so much as a glance in his direction, too focused on trying to get to lunch and away from their classes as fast as possible to spare Giorno a second thought. 

The first thing Giorno notices when he enters the lunch room is how loud it is. The constant talking, squeaking shoes, and scrape of utensils reverberates through the lunch room in a way that was reminiscent of the airport and mall. The only difference here is that Giorno is alone this time. Dio’s large, warm hand, a comfort that had always seemed to be there before, was no longer within reach. The safety it had constantly seemed to provide couldn’t feel farther away, and now Giorno was vulnerable and alone in the sea of noise.

“Giorno!” a now familiar voice calls to him from a few tables away, and Giorno turns his head to see Mista sitting at a table with three other kids. He waves Giorno over, and hesitantly, Giorno smiles and makes his way over to where Mista sits.

“Man, this is perfect,” Mista comments as Giorno takes a seat next to him.

“It is?” Giorno asks, confusion lacing his tone. Sure, this was perfect for Giorno, he now had a place to sit and potentially new friends, but there shouldn’t be much for Mista to gain from him sitting here.

“Yeah, if you’re here, it means there will be five of us sitting here instead of four,” Mista explains as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Across from them, the boy with platinum blonde hair and strawberry shirt Giorno had noticed this morning has buried face in his hands with a small sigh. The boy with an orange headband is sat next to him, and begins to giggle. A girl with bright pink hair is directly across from Giorno, but she continues to eat her lunch as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

“What?” Giorno asks, finding himself more confused than when he had first been invited over.

“Listen Giorno,” Mista starts, “The number four is bad news. Anytime it sticks its ugly face into your business, you're doomed. It’s awful luck really, which is why it’s perfect that you’re here.”

Slowly, Giorno nods his head, beginning to understand the situation, even if he doesn’t really get what Mista was saying. 

“Are you done explaining your stupid superstition, Mista?” asks the boy with the strawberry shirt.

Mista lets out an indigent squawk, while the boy with the orange headband gives Giorno a wide smile, “Hi, I’m Narancia. That idiot over there,” he points to the boy next to him, “Is Fugo, and she’s Trish.”

“Hey,” Fugo glares at Narancia, a warning in his tone as his grip tightens around his fork.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Giorno answers as he begins to open the lunch that Dio had packed for him, “My name is Giorno.”

“So why did you switch schools? It’s the middle of the year dude.” Narancia asks, without an ounce of shame in his tone, despite the tactless question.

Giorno’s breath catches for a moment. He doesn’t know what he should tell them. He can’t tell them about his old family, his dad had always told him not to tell other people about what it was like at home. He could lie, but he doesn’t have any idea what a good lie would be here. Besides, lying to potential friends would leave a bad taste in his mouth.

Fugo smacks Narancia’s arm, “Don’t ask people things like that.”

“What, why? I just wanna know,” Narancia practically whines at Fugo.

“You’re making him uncomfortable,” says Trish.

“No, it’s okay,” Giorno says. He may not want to answer the question, but it would be a fast way to be accepted by the others, “I used to live in Italy, but my papà took us here.”

“You used to live in Italy? Man, that’s so cool,” and it really must be because Giorno notices this has piqued the interest of the others. He begins to feel relief wash through him, until a confused look starts to settle over Narancia’s face and he asks another question.

“Wait, but what about your mom?”

Oh.

Giorno should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“I don’t have one,” not anymore.

Fugo smacks Narancia’s arm for a second time, but Narancia hardly seems to notice as his face lights up a little, and he looks at Giorno like he’s the most interesting thing he’s seen all year.

“Really? I don’t have one either. She died a few years ago,” Narancia explains, much to Giorno’s surprise. Something about that strangely makes Giorno feel better.

Narancia knows the pain of never having your mother around, even if the pain he must feel is a little different from Giorno’s, Giorno at least understands some of what Narancia surely feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and finds himself meaning the words, even if they’re not much.

“It’s okay,” Narancia replies, although his smile had gotten a little smaller, “I don’t remember her very well, and Mr. Buccellati and my other Dad, Abbacchio, are my parents now,” he brings his voice down a notch, mock whispering, “Besides, Buccellati is basically my mom now.” 

He starts to giggle, a contagious thing that spreads through all of them. Mista and Trish dissolve into peals of laughter, and Giorno can feel a smile building on his own face.

“Mr. Buccellati said to stop calling him your mom,” Fugo says to Narancia, although he’s fighting a smile tugging on his lips, and there’s unvoiced laughter in his breathing.

By the end of lunch, Giorno feels truly at ease for the first time all day, and he thinks this may have been the best lunch he’s ever had.

The end of the day rolls around, and Giorno can’t seem to help the giddy sense of accomplishment that’s running through his veins. 

He loves his teacher, who helped him anytime he couldn’t read what the work said, he had successfully made his first friends, and now, he was only minutes away from Dio coming to pick him up. 

He hadn’t felt this good in years.

The last bell of the day rings, and it’s not until he’s gathered all of his belongings, and put on his backpack, that he realizes he doesn’t know where to go.

His hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed, and Mr. Buccellati is more than happy to help him find the pick up area where he stands with other kids waiting for their parents.

He's standing for only a few minutes before he sees a familiar black car pull up to the curb. The window rolls down. Dio's in the front seat, still in his work clothes, although he's taken off the suit jacket. He motions for Giorno to get in the car with a small, affectionate smile, and Giorno’s grinning ear to ear as he makes his way towards the car, letting his feelings of delight go unchecked for the first time months.

“Giorno!” a voice call to him from somewhere behind him.

He pauses turning around, only to see Mista waving at him from a few yards away. Giorno beams and waves back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mista yells in his direction.

“See you,” Giorno calls back, nodding his head.

He turns, climbing into the car, noticing that Dio’s still wearing a small smile.

“Was that your friend Giorno?”

“Yeah, one of them,” he answers, excitement still lining his tone, “I made four of them, Mista, Trish, Narancia, and Fugo.”

“My, you sure are popular already,” comments Dio, “Though I can’t say I’m surprised. I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t like you.”

Giorno shifts in his seat, getting comfortable, as a warm happiness begins to settle over him.

Chapter Text

Giorno's life begins to gain structure. Over the next two weeks, he and Dio fall into a routine, something he's never been able to rely on before, a consistency that’s been absent in his life. Dio goes to work after dropping off Giorno, then picks him up after school. On Fridays, he brings Giorno to a nice man, who asks him questions about what it was like in Italy, and talks him through what happened there. He said he’s a doctor, but he’s unlike any other doctor Giorno’s met. Saturdays, Giorno follows Dio around at the grocery store, where he always gets to pick out a candybar at the end. The rest of the weekend is spent doing whatever he wants. It’s reliable and peaceful.

This Saturday, he’s wandering around the house aimlessly. He finished all his homework yesterday, although, even if he did have some left, he's not sure he would be able to focus on it . He wants to do something or go somewhere, but Dio’s been talking on the phone for the past 15 minutes, and Giorno doesn’t want to interrupt him. He knows that Dio will drop what he’s doing without a second thought, and take Giorno wherever he wants to go, but doing so would only leave Giorno with feelings of guilt.

He’s already combed through everything in his room, searching for anything that could occupy his mind and hands, but was unsuccessful. The closet in the hallway had only held unused bed sheets, towels, and pillows, which had brought him here, standing in front of Dio’s room. 

The only other rooms in this hallway are a bathroom and Dio’s own room. Giorno knows that nothing in the bathroom could cure his boredom, he’s been in there enough times to know. He however, hadn’t been in Dio’s room enough to fully know what’s in there. Something about the room had always felt off limits to him, as though even looking in there too long would be enough to warrant punishment.

When he had lived with his parents in Italy, he hadn’t been allowed in their room, regardless of circumstances, and his father had made that explicitly clear. Dio had never said that Giorno couldn’t go in his room.

Although he’d never given permission either.

The restless bored feelings were eating Giorno alive, slowly carving away at his rational thought. It would be better to stay safe and never enter Dio’s room. He knew better than to go looking through what wasn’t his, but Dio had always been so nice, encouraging him to take what he wanted. A little peak couldn’t hurt too bad. He’d be in and out.

Besides, Dio promised he would never hit Giorno.

Giorno opened the door, feeling a little brave as he did so. 

The room was large, and elegant. A king sized bed, draped in beautiful sheets, was off to the left of the entrance. A large rug sat in the center of the room, and on top of it rested  a couple chairs and a small coffee table. Something about the room felt lived in despite the expensive furnishings.

He ventured further into the room, taking in his new surroundings, and noticing the way that they almost felt familiar. Nothing in the room appeared to be particularly interesting, just abandoned paperwork on the coffee table and lamp left on beside the bed. The far wall had a door left partially open, likely just the door to Dio’s closet and bathroom.

Curiously, he crosses the room and opens the door a little more. Stepping through the doorway he finds that he was right about what lay on the other side. The bathroom is clean and large, and through the entryway to the closet, he can see dozens of outfits and expensive shoes, some practical leather ones that Dio wears to work, and some less practical heels.

On the counter next to him, he can just barely make out the makeup Dio wears, and some of the jewelry he puts on. He wasn’t wearing any makeup or jewelry today, instead choosing to walk around the house in an old t-shirt and sweatpants.

He liked it when Dio did his makeup. He always looked so cool, and something about him looked a little more dangerous, and a little less sad, like he could cover up his internal scars and take on anything thrown his way. A part of Giorno wished he could look like that, could look beautiful while he hid the pain permanently lining his face.

Maybe he could.

He finds himself running back to his own bathroom, the one next to his room, where he kept his step stool. He can’t reach the counters on his own, but with a step stool that was an easy fix. The makeup and jewelry are easily within his reach now, and he gets to work. 

He doesn’t know how to use everything here, but he has a good idea. He had spent countless nights watching his mother apply her own makeup, do her hair, and shuffled through her sparkling dresses, never seeming to be satisfied with how she looked. 

She would leave him then, gone through the late hours of the night and early morning.

He starts with mascara, at least that’s what he thinks it’s called. It’s harder than he expects, but other than a few stray streaks of black around his eyes, he thinks it looks pretty good. He decides to forgo eyeshadow, although his mother had always used lots of it religiously, Dio hardly even touches it.

He applies blush next, but feels a low simmer of frustration start to build when he uses too much. He overestimated the amount he needs, and uses more than Dio or his mother. He attempts to wipe some of it away but only smears it around. He thinks that it looks a little better this way, it’s something that he can work with, even if it’s not something he likes.

For his last step, he takes Dio’s lime green lipstick in hand. He has other colors, but this is the one he wears the most, and Giorno wants to look as much like Dio as he can manage. It’s by far the easiest part, and he ends up with almost all of it in the correct places.

Looking into the mirror, he feels himself beaming with pride. He thinks he looks pretty good, and he feels like he looks a little more like Dio than he ever has. The glaring difference between them is his hair. Giorno is dark and silky, unlike his papà’s bright, shiny hair. It’s something that may never change, and he does like his hair, but sometimes he wished it looked more like Dio’s and less like his mother’s.

Looking back at his reflection, he banishes all thoughts of his mother. His face looks more like Dio’s than his mother’s anyways.

He brings his step stool back to his own bathroom, and notices the house has gone mostly quiet again. Dio’s phone call must have ended, and now the only sounds are the faint noises of Dio making lunch.

He makes his way to the kitchen, his steps a little faster than usual. 

He’s beaming with pride when he enters the kitchen and says, “Papà, look.”

Giorno’s rather proud of his hard work, and he can only hope Dio will be too.

Dio turns, and his face gets a funny look on it for a second, although Giorno can’t figure out why. He looks shocked, face going momentarily blank, and then he looks a little bit like he’s trying to hold back a smile. His lips keep trying to turn up at the corners, but Giorno doesn’t know why. Wasn’t he proud of him?

Although Dio’s expression is confusing, he still answers Giorno with all the sincerity in the world, “You look very beautiful, Giorno.”

Giorno’s smile is blinding as he grins up at Dio, his delight warming him a little as Dio turns back to the sandwiches he was making. Dio's breathing is uneven as his shoulders shake a little, for reasons Giorno can’t explain.

Chapter Text

They were running later than usual this morning. For no apparent reason, everything they did seemed to take longer than it was supposed to, and now Dio and Giorno were rushing out the door.

They manage to get Giorno to school only a few minutes later than normal, but there are more kids entering the school at this time, all of them trying to get to class before the bell rings. Some kids, he recognizes from his class, but most are faces he’s only seen in passing, if that. Everything in the hallway is a little more crowded and rushed. He knocks shoulders with someone in the hallway, briefly apologizing before continuing on his way. He waves at Trish, Narancia, and Fugo when he enters the classroom, but notices that Mista isn’t there yet.

It’s not unusual for Mista to arrive only seconds before the bell, so Giorno doesn’t think much of it. Minutes after the bell rings and class gets started, and Mista still isn’t here. Giorno tries to shove down his disappointment, and focus on his work. He must not be coming today.

The day goes by a little slower than usual, and Giorno feels as though every minute is an eternity of boredom. He feels himself slowing down too, as though the boredom and loneliness from Mista’s absence have affected his ability to work. His day is truly starting off on the wrong foot.

Lunch arrives, and he grabs his lunch bag, leaving the classroom later than normal. He’s excited to talk to his other friends, but something about it feels different without Mista here, and maybe he’s been listening to Mista too much, but he can’t help noticing that there will be four of them at lunch.

He really must be moving slower than usual because the hallway is almost vacant, the only other kids in the hallway are two boys from a couple years above him. They’ve stopped a few feet ahead of where Giorno currently is. He was pretty sure the one closer to him was Cioccolata, and the other boy, who followed Cioccolata around like some sort of sick puppy, was Secco. He’d heard Fugo say some unpleasant things about them once, but he’s never personally talked to them. Giorno didn’t have a clue as to why they were stopped in the middle of the hallway, but it really wasn’t any of his business. He just has to keep his head down and keep walking.

“Hey,” comes the rough voice of Cioccolata.

Giorno paused, turning towards them, confusion and fearful tension swimming in his eyes. Cioccolata has made no effort to even introduce himself to Giorno before, and with him being two years older, there shouldn’t be a reason to. He checks over his shoulder making sure there isn’t anyone else who Cioccolata could be talking to. They’re alone.

“Hey?” Giorno answers.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Yes?” Giorno says, phrasing it like a question. Inside he’s trying to figure out what’s happening, but finds no answers.

“I think you owe me a lot more than a ‘Hey,’” Cioccolata replies, taking a step closer to Giorno.

No.

“What are you talking about?” Giorno asks, and he means it. 

He’s never even interacted with Cioccolata, and as far as he’s concerned it should stay that way, but Giorno knows how these things go. The other kids don’t need a reason to push him around, they never have, and if Cioccolata’s tone is anything to go by, that’s exactly where this is going.

“This morning, you bumped into me, and you gave me a real half-assed apology. Besides, your face is annoying to look at.” He takes two more steps towards Giorno, within arms reach now.

“Oh, I really am sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“I don’t care if you didn’t mean to, it pissed me off,” Cioccolata says, his voice beginning to dip to a low growl. 

This can’t be happening, everything has been going so well. He can’t go through this.

Not again.

Not again.

Not again.

Not again.

Not again.

He can still save this, he just has to get Cioccolata to back down.

“I mean it, I really am sorry.”

Cioccolata lets out a laugh, “Listen to him Secco, he’s practically begging to be punched in his stupid face,” he calls back to his friend, who's laughing right along with him. He shoves Giorno backwards a little, and Giorno stumbles, dropping his lunch in the process.

“Listen, if you’re really as sorry as you say you are, you’ll let me take out some of my anger on you. After all, you're the reason I’m annoyed in the first place. I couldn’t even focus in class after what happened this morning.”

Disgusting.

Giorno opens his mouth, but a fist collides with his face before he can say anything else. Instead, what comes out is a cry of pain as he falls to the ground.

He can hear Cioccolata and Secco laughing again, but it sounds far away. There’s a metallic tang to his mouth, and he knows this is nothing, that he should be beyond used to this, but the pain is strong, and the shame is unbearable.

Why?

What about him was so unbearable, so unloveable , that no matter where he went, this kept happening? What was so wrong with him?

His old classmates had done the same things, this was nothing new so why was he crying again? He was better than that, he’d moved past crying when others hurt him, so why were warm tears falling down his face?

Through breathless laughter comes Cioccolata’s voice again, “Look, the brat’s crying already.”

The laughter ringing through the hallway sounds so much like his fathers did. It has the same nasty edge to it and dips down to the same low tones.

Dozens of memories flash behind his eyes, his father’s fist, belt, laughter, his foot making a low swinging arc towards Giorno’s stomach.

Then Dio had been there, pulling Giorno from his fathers grasp. He wished Dio were here now, but he wasn’t. Giorno was left alone in the hallway. 

But that doesn’t mean Giorno can’t be strong like Dio. All those weeks ago, while they were driving home from the airport, Dio had told him that if someone hit him to hit them back harder. Cioccolata might be big, but that wouldn’t stop Giorno from trying.

Giorno climbs to his feet, and Cioccolata tracks the movement with his eyes, “Guess you didn’t go down after one punch. A little surprising considering you’re such a small guy.”

“Useless,” says Giorno, and Cioccolata seems momentarily caught off guard.

“What?”

Giorno punches him as hard as he can.

Cioccolata seems genuinely surprised, almost like he didn’t even think Giorno could fight back.

Giorno doesn’t let him recover, punching him again and again. 

Cioccolata falls to the ground, bringing his hands up to protect his face, but Giorno doesn’t relent. Secco tries to pull Giorno off of Cioccolata, but Giorno pushes him away, and only vaguely registers the sound of footsteps running away. 

You’re just like my father.

“You’re a useless, disgusting, piece of trash,” Giorno says, punctuating each word with another punch.

I hate you Dad.

“You’re a waste of space and I hate you,” Giorno’s switched to kicking him now, stomping on every body part he can. He can’t even see Cioccolata anymore, “I hate you so much.”

I wish you had never been part of my life.

Firm hands are pulling Giorno off of Cioccolata before his foot can make contact again.

Secco has returned, and he brought a teacher with him, one he doesn’t even recognize.

Giorno sits in a chair in the front office. On the other side of the room is Cioccolata, holding an ice pack to his blackeye and bloodied face. He can hear bits of conversation coming from behind the closed door to an office. After Giorno had been pulled off of Cioccolata, their parents had been called. Giorno tried his best to explain what had happened to Dio, but the sobbing had made that difficult, catching the words in his throat before they became full sentences.

Through the closed office door, Dio’s voice was easy to pick out, familiar to him and distinct from the others. He sounded angry, and though his voice wasn't particularly loud, Giorno could still hear the cold edge running through his tone.

Eventually, the door opened, and the adults exited, bringing a heavy atmosphere with them. 

Dio didn’t say anything else to the people in the room, only gently took Giorno hand in his, “Come Giorno, we’re leaving. I don’t have anything left to say to these half-wits.”

Dio’s hand feels so safe and warm. It brings him back to the present, away from the nasty memories of his father, and anchoring him to the safety of his papà. As Dio leads him outside towards the waiting car, Giorno feels as though they can’t leave the school fast enough. He’s never been so relieved to breathe in the heavy, warm, Florida air. 

The car ride is quiet, but it feels a little more somber than he’s used to, and Giorno starts to feel anxiety claw its way up his throat. Giorno had thought he did what he was supposed to, but maybe Dio hadn’t meant those words he’d said to him all those weeks ago. Adults lied to him all the time, and Giorno was stupid for thinking Dio was any different.

They pull into the drive, and Dio turns to him, “Giorno, you did everything right.”

Ease washes through Giorno.

“But, they’re not letting you go to school tomorrow. Today’s Thursday, and those senseless fools running the school think a three day weekend will help you cool off.”

Oh.

Giorno could live with that. Dio said he was right, and he wouldn’t mind an extra day away from school.

He nods his head.

Chapter Text

Friday morning, Dio is gently shaking Giorno awake in the soft morning light. It feels as though Dio’s waking him up earlier than usual, and the light streaming in from the window feels weaker than he’s used to, but perhaps that's just his imagination.

“Giorno, I have to go in for work today.”

He nods his head, a little surprised Dio’s even waking him just to tell him that. He had expected to wake up to an empty house this morning, Dio gone at work while he stayed home, the same way his mother and father left him.

Dio’s not his mother or his father, he knows that, but something about it keeps slipping his mind.

“I can’t leave you alone, so you can either come with me to work,” he pauses for a moment, taking a breath, “or, my brother Jonathan can watch you.”

Giorno looks up at him, “I can take care of myself.”

It’s true. Giorno has been doing it his whole life, and he didn’t have to stop now. He would be just fine on his own for the afternoon. 

“That doesn’t mean that you should,” he looks Giorno in the eyes, trying to make a point “ Now, where would you like to go?”

“No, I’m fine alone.”

Giorno wants to make that perfectly clear. He wasn’t allowed to go to school today because of something he did. He doesn’t want to burden Dio. To become the nuisance his father had always said he was.

“Giorno,” Dio’s tone had become a little more icy around the edges, not angry or annoyed, but a small warning that he didn’t want to play games this morning, “Do you want to come with me or go to Jonathan’s?”

“You.”

He absolutely didn’t want to spend the day with some stranger, even if he was a little curious about Jonathan.

“Let’s get ready then,” and though he doesn’t say it, he’s obviously pleased by Giorno’s choice.

Giorno brings his coloring book and ladybug with him. Dio had told him not to, to just bring a coloring book and leave the ladybug at home, but Giorno hadn’t listened, and Dio didn’t really seem to care that much. It was a little big to carry, but that’s what made this special. He could take a coloring book almost anywhere he wanted, even brought it to school a couple of times, but the ladybug was different. It was big, and a little hard for him to hold sometimes, but the comfort it brought made up for that.

The building they enter is clean, organized, and furnished dark wood and leather couches. There’s a secretary at a polished wooden desk, and she waves as they enter. Dio waves back, but doesn’t say anything more than good morning. He guides Giorno through a large door and into an office. It’s decorated similar to the main building, but there are shelves filled with thick leather books lining the walls. He can even smell the new paper and polished leather coming from the books.

“Here Giorno,” says Dio, lifting him into one of the chairs across from the desk.

The work reminds Giorno of his last few weeks in Italy, when Dio would spend hours in the morning typing on his laptop and sorting through the stacks of paper on the coffee table. It brought a comfortable familiarity, and Giorno felt himself settle into the office chair quickly. 

He spent a couple hours coloring, his book was almost full by this point, but he knew Dio would get him another as soon as he needed it. Eventually, he grew bored of the dark lines and slick crayons. He paused, watching Dio furiously scribble into a notebook, while continually glancing back at his computer screen. 

He wouldn’t notice if Giorno left for a few minutes. Giorno was feeling a little restless, and he wanted to explore the building just a little. Besides, it’s not like he could get lost here.

He slips out the office door, and into the hallway. There’s a few open doors in the hallway, and a couple small paintings on the wall. He goes back to the front of the building, passing a short middle aged man in a suit who led a young couple down the hallway. The man seemed a little on edge and the woman was clearly unhappy.  Giorno didn’t know why it felt as though they didn’t want to be here, everything had seemed fine to him, but he didn’t really understand why they were here in the first place. 

He didn’t really know what Dio did for work, if he was entirely honest with himself. He’d heard the word lawyer tossed around a few times, but no matter how many hours he spent watching as Dio worked, and listening to his conversations, he couldn’t seem to understand what that meant. It was one of the mysterious things that got brought up in adult conversations that everyone seemed to know the meaning of, and never explained to him.

The front of the building was still empty, save for the secretary and a man sitting in one of the leather arm chairs, his foot tapping a nervous rhythm. The secretary looks up when he wanders in, and upon noticing him, smiles and waves him over. A little warily, Giorno makes his way to her desk.

“Hi there, your Dio’s kid, right?” she asks him.

He nods, but doesn’t give her more of a response. 

“Do you want a sucker?” and she offers a small bowl to him. 

He picks a strawberry one, still eyeing her large smile warily. She seems too nice, but he does want a sucker.

“And, what’s your name?” she asks, taking her bowl back. Giorno thinks she asks a lot of questions, too many in his opinion, but he should answer her. She had given him a sucker after all, and he tries his best to be polite.

He opens his mouth to answer, but someone else is saying his name before he gets the chance.

“Giorno,” and he turns, seeing Dio a few yards away. He’d been gone less than two minutes, and Dio had already noticed his absence. 

“Papà,” he calls back.

Dio makes his way over, taking his hand and walking Giorno back towards their office.

“Giorno,” he looks down at Giorno, but keeps walking, “Don’t wander off on your own,” his voice doesn’t leave room for argument.

“Okay.”

An hour later, they eat their lunches that Dio had packed for them. Giorno eats his sandwich, watching out the office window, pointing out an “ugly,” magenta car he sees drive by. Dio mutters a “Tacky” beneath his breath, but a smile had graced his lips when his son had pointed it out to him.

Giorno falls asleep for half an hour after they eat, using his ladybug as a pillow.They leave a couple hours later, and Giorno waves to the secretary as they walk out.

It had been a little boring, and Giorno still had no idea what Dio did for work, but he decided he’d  enjoyed going to work with Dio. There had been something so safe about the hours spent in the office with Dio working next to him.

Chapter Text

Giorno rests his head against the cool glass of the car window, watching the building and cars pass by as they drive home from the office. Going to work with Dio had been fun, but, despite the nap he had taken, it had unsurprisingly made him a little tired.

Palm trees and people on the sidewalk fly by as they drive, blurring the figures until they're indistinguishable. Slowing at an upcoming light, the stop near the front of a gift shop. Tourists walk out of the shop and right by their car. Some are wearing cheap gift shop shirts stained with their slick sweat, and holding their tacky souvenirs in hand. Some hold snow globes, even though Giorno has yet to encounter anything even close to snow here, others have refrigerator magnets, or fake seashells.

A lot of the tourists have ocean themed souvenirs, Giorno notices as he looks closer. It’s strange, they live an hour away from the ocean, but none of the tourists or shops seem to care about that. The car begins moving again, but his thoughts stay behind with the tourists and the sea.

Giorno misses the ocean a little. It was always there in Italy, a constant in his life of inconsistencies. The beach had always looked beautiful to Giorno, cerulean waves crashing into the soft, golden sand, leaving a frothy, white foam behind. He had never really been to the beach. Neither of his parents offered to take him, and he couldn’t even imagine asking them. Even now, the thought scared him a little.

He always watched it though. Saw the ways the animals coexisted, relying on each other and the sea to survive, but living separately. He saw how the ocean gave signs before a storm approached, and how the beaches filled with people when it was warm. The people always seemed to be enjoying themselves, splashing in the water with loved ones, their laughter audible even from where Giorno had stood.

“Papà,” he starts, and Dio makes a noise of acknowledgement, “Can we go to the beach tomorrow?”

Dio’s head turns a little, examining Giorno curiously from the corner of his eye.

“What brought this on, Giorno?”

“I want to see it.”

Dio’s silent for a beat, thinking it through.

“I suppose we can go."

They arrive at the beach early in the afternoon. Giorno’s carrying a towel and wearing his new pair of swimming shorts that Dio had gotten him. The sun is warm, but not yet unpleasant, and the smell of salt is strong even from where they’re parked. Dio leads them down the beach, his nose wrinkling a little in disgust every time he gets too close to a family of sweaty, sunburned tourists, reapplying sunscreen to sand-covered skin. Giorno follows closely behind, his mouth persistently turning up into a small excited smile. He barely notices the other people here, too focused on the calm blue waters and cries of birds overhead to even glance at the other people around them.

Dio finds an area of sand somewhat isolated from the other beach goers, and sets down his bag. He begins setting up their umbrella, laying down towels, and pulling a sand bucket from his tote bag. Behind him, Giorno shifts a little from foot to foot as he waits for Dio to finish. Finally, Dio seems satisfied, and with a small sigh, sits down on his towel. Giorno sits down facing Dio, crosses his legs, looking up at him.

Dio turns his head, looking down at Giorno a little curiously. Giorno keeps looking up at him. This doesn’t feel right to Giorno, he thought they were supposed to do more at the beach than just sitting on the ground, but that’s what Dio’s doing, so he’ll do that too. Dio continues to look back at Giorno, until he lets out a low breath and stands up.

“Come on, Giorno.”

He leads Giorno down to the water, and takes a few steps in. Giorno steps in beside him, watching as water splashes against his knees. The water is warm, and the waves are small and gentle. He takes another step in watching as the water rises past his knees. He takes a few more steps into the ocean, feeling it brush past his waist in soft waves. 

He feels a sudden splash of water from behind, soaking his head and torso that had previously been dry. His hair sticks to his forehead, and water is dripping off him, and back into the ocean. He quickly turns, looking at Dio’s teasing smile, and noticing the way he’s still bent down, hands below the water.

“Papà!” he practically shrieks.

“Giorno,” Dio answers, an innocent tone to his voice that was a little too fake. He splashes Giorno again. 

Giorno lets out a yelp of laughter before splashing Dio back.

Giorno runs back up the beach, an armful of seashells grasped tightly to his chest, eager to show his findings to Dio. 

Dio’s still sitting in the sand, working on the sandcastle they’re making. Giorno sets the shells at his feet, showing Dio each shell that he found, trying to decide on the best ones to decorate the castle with.

The sand is surprisingly soft, even after sitting on it for hours. Dio makes noises of appreciation for every shell that Giorno shows him, pointing out the ones that he especially likes. They decide on the best ones, and line them along the base of the castle.

Giorno licks the last of his pistachio chocolate ice cream from his cone. His eyes are growing heavy, and his limbs feel as though they’re a pile of bricks. His towel is wrapped around his shoulders, and he’s resting his head against Dio’s side. 

The beach has grown less crowded, most of the families starting to head home for the day. In about an hour the sun will set, and the people still here will leave..

Dio stands, letting Giorno flop into the sand, as he begins to pack up their umbrella and towels. Giorno doesn’t want to stand, using his legs sounds so hard right now. He feels Dio’s shadow standing over him, but he doesn’t move. He hears Dio let out a heavy breath, and he bends down scooping Giorno up out of the sand. He sets Giorno on his shoulders, who immediately feels less tired, looking around at the beach with his new view. He can see farther than he ever thought was possible from up here. 

People all around are packing up bags, loading large families into cars, couples are holding hands beneath the subtly darkening sky. The beach was perfect.

Chapter Text

Sunday night, Giorno goes to bed feeling a little nervous. School feels less safe, and more real now. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, he’s grown so comfortable here that he forgot what it was like to be hit. Forgot the pain that other people could cause. 

He wasn’t supposed to forget, no matter how much he wanted to.

He brought his ladybug a little closer, tightening his grip on the soft form, and burying his face into the fabric. He takes deep breaths, laying still, and wishing he could gain the temporary relief that sleep brought with it.

A fist connects with his face, and metallic tang of blood reaches his tongue. A foot collides with his stomach repeatedly, and he feels himself gasping for air as he violently holds back the tears that threaten to fall. His father's laughter rings in his head, and he hears his deep voice calling Giorno a “little brat”, yelling at him to mind his business. To his left, Cioccolata sneers at him, looking at him with all the hatred and venom he can.  He punches him hard, just like he had at school, laughs right along with his father. 

He hears his father undoing his belt, feels his own heart drop in his chest, and a violently nauseous feeling claws its way up his throat. He turns to the side, throwing up bile and blood, breathing roughly, and dry heaving. His vision is blurry with tears, but even through them, he can see the form of his mother leaning against the wall. She glances down at him, but looks away without a second thought, digging through her purse and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. She lights one as his father's belt comes into contact with Giorno.

Giorno sits straight up in bed, gulping in deep breaths of air and wiping the tears from his face. The moon shines through his window, washing his room in silver light. His hands are shaking, and his covers have been tossed to the ground. He climbs out of bed, picking his ladybug up off the floor, and exits his room, tears still streaming down his face.

Quietly, he walks down the hallway towards Dio’s room. The door is partially open, and Giorno can hear Dio’s heavy, even breathing coming from inside. He pushes the door open, and walks towards Dio’s sleeping form. He softly shakes Dio’s arm.

“Papà,” he whispers, his voice still heavy with tears. Dio cracks an eye open. His expression is clouded with sleep, but instantly becoming more awake the moment he properly takes in Giorno.

“What is it, Giorno?”

“Can I sleep in here tonight?”

“Of course you can.”

He pulls the bedsheets aside, and Giorno climbs into the bed next to Dio. Dio wraps his arms around Giorno and his ladybug, pulling them close. He doesn't say anything else, just holds Giorno as he drifts back to sleep. Giorno feels his heart beat slow, and his breathing even out, and eventually, sleep finds him too.

Chapter Text

Giorno doesn’t have any more problems at school. When he returned on Monday, Mista told Giorno that he was the coolest person he knew, and the rest of his friends had agreed. Giorno was a little embarrassed, but deep down, he found himself enjoying the praise. School remains much the same, and as weeks pass without incident, Giorno finds himself growing comfortable again.

Dio is still there to pick Giorno up from school everyday, listening to Giorno tell him about his day at school, whether it was good or bad.

He settles back into a routine, and finds himself enjoying the peaceful consistency it brings. Dio is still just as patient and loving to him as before, even as Giorno struggles to understand where the love comes from.

Giorno likes Dio, and that makes more sense to him. Dio is charismatic, patient, and protective. He doesn’t let anyone push him around, and he buys Giorno more things than he could ever need. He listens to Giorno, and has never laid a finger on him. 

He doesn’t always understand why Dio says he loves Giorno. Giorno was selfish, a nuisance, and he can’t seem to let his past go. His fathers voice still plagued his thoughts, and he saw his mother’s distant, neglectful stare in the faces of strangers.

Dio said he was resilient, perceptive, and kind, that people were lucky to know him, but Giorno didn’t always see it. Sometimes though, Giorno found himself believing what Dio said to him. Dio hadn’t lied to Giorno yet, and the more he said it, the easier Giorno found it to believe him.

He still found himself casting a skeptical look at Dio when he would say something nice, but it grew less and less frequent as time went on.

Summer was approaching, and in a few months Giorno would be free of his homework. He couldn’t wait for the break, and he would miss seeing his friends everyday, but he was sure he could still visit them over the long months of summer.

This morning, Giorno climbed out of the car, into the hot, spring air, pulling his backpack after him.

“I’ll see you later, Giorno. I love you,” Dio calls as Giorno pulls on his backpack.

“Bye Papà,” Giorno calls back, hesitating for a second, “I love you too.”

He realizes that he means it.