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For all his lackadaisical attitude, it was rare for Mista to take a day off work. Of course, it helped that Passione wasn’t your typical kind of workplace, plus the fact that work was also an excuse to hang out with his best friends. So the day off was rare, but it wasn’t a vacation either. He’d been up since the early hours, baking bread and rolling out pasta dough.
Now, as five o clock neared, he’d begun to feel a little antsy, as evidenced by the restless pestering of the Sex Pistols. On one hand, the little guys were helpful, salting the water and dropping in the spices he told him to. But on the other, they were voracious monsters who couldn’t be trusted not to sample a little too much here and there. The result was of course, just more stress on his usually relaxed existence.
Normally, he wouldn’t mind so much. Mista liked a noisy kitchen and thought it was fun to share meals with his Stand. But this meal was more important than usual.
“Hey, quit trying to steal it!” he griped, shooing Number 2 away from the cutting board. “I have some cheese and sausage cut up for you guys over there, so don’t bug me!”
“But Mistaaa!” Number 2 whined back, “what you’re making looks so gooood!”
“Yeah!” Number 1 chimed in, “We always have cheese and sausage! Why can’t we have octopus too?”
Mista continued slicing the tentacles into bite sized pieces. It had been cooking for half an hour and had just chilled to the perfect temperature. Earlier today, he’d gently simmered it in the seasoned water, making sure to dip it in three times first so that the tentacles would curl. Now, it was soft and tender and—as he could tell from the bite Number 2 had managed to take—seasoned perfectly. Well, he thought so anyway. The judge of perfect would be the one the octopus was intended for.
“Look, I’ll make a smaller one for you guys, ok? But Giorno has to eat it first. This isn’t just a chance to go wild you know.” The Pistols grumbled, but settled down on top of the bowl of food he’d prepared for them, nibbling while eyeing the octopus like a pack of hungry wolves.
They said that Stands were a manifestation of one’s soul, but Mista wasn’t gonna think too hard about what it meant that he’d ended up with one like the Sex Pistols. One that needed such care and keeping. It was enough to think it was just because of his skills with the gun and leave it at that.
He sighed, dumping the octopus chunks into a serving bowl.
“Here, Mista!” Number 5 said, dragging a bunch of parsley over to him.
“Thanks,” he said, switching out his cutting board and accepting the bundle of herbs. As he began to chop the parsley for the citronette, he felt himself calming down. Giorno would be here around five—or, well, Mista had told him “around five”, which meant that he’d be here at five on the dot. Knowing that, it looked like he’d timed things just right. The bread was cooling on the table, the pasta was just about ready to come out of the water, and dessert was chilling in the fridge. The only problem really was the so-called manifestation of his soul.
Juicing a lemon into a jar with the parsley and olive oil, he shook the mixture up, gently pouring it over the octopus. He’d just tossed the salad and set it on the table when he heard the ring of his buzzer from downstairs.
A jolt ran through him; the happiness he always felt at Giorno’s visits mixed with his newfound nerves. He looked over the table to make sure that everything was set up just so and was confronted with a new problem.
“Damn it, how am I supposed to go let him in with you guys hanging around? You’ll probably finish this in two seconds flat the moment I turn my back!”
“No we won’t!” Number 1 protested.
“Yeah right, I don’t trust you guys for a second. Can you go away for a little bit?”
“Nooo!” cried Number 5, “We want to see Giorno too!”
“How could you not trust us, we’re your soul!” Number 2 protested.
“If you’re my damn soul then can’t you see that I lov—” He stopped, face turning bright red.
This was met by a chorus of “OooOOOoooOOoo!” from the Pistols.
“Knock it off, will ya?! The point is I made this for him, I can’t have you guys eating it all before he even gets up here!”
Number 5 drifted forward, a sappy smile on his face. “Don’t worry Mista! I won’t let the others eat anything!”
“Hey, idiot!” Number 3 snapped, “We’re not going to try to eat it! Not that you could stop us if we did!”
“Could too!”
Number 3 gave him a bonk that set him off wailing.
“Oh my god, I’m begging, pleading with you little bastards to behave yourselves! The food can’t sit around forever and Giorno’s already been waiting down there for ages, and I need this all to be perfect so I can tell him—”
“Tell me what?”
Startled, Mista turned to see Giorno leaning in his doorway, his black suit impeccable, a baby blue scarf draped loosely around his neck. His cheeks were dusted a light pink from the autumn chill outside, and Mista’s heart skipped three beats—and not just out of surprise.
He should have remembered that after three years of working together, his door was hardly a barrier to Giorno anymore. He’d let himself upstairs countless other times when Mista had been busy putting together a meal for them.
The Pistols had, conveniently for them, decided to make themselves scarce now that they’d walked Mista right into this situation.
“Oh, hey Giorno! You surprised me a little. C’mon in! I just got everything laid out.”
Closing the door behind him, Giorno came and sat easily at the table, setting his briefcase down beside him. “Goodness… all of this for me? You’ve been busy on your day off.” When his eyes reached the bowl of octopus salad his face lit up in a way that melted Mista’s heart. “Is that…”
“I know it’s your favourite, so I dunno why I never made it until now.” Giorno turned his eyes from the octopus salad onto Mista, and his earnest, undivided stare set him off rambling. This wasn’t at all like he planned it to be, but hell, there was nothing to do but roll with it. “And for dessert, I’ve got chocolate pudding in the fridge. I remembered what you said at that café last week so I tweaked the recipe to make it extra rich this time.” His mouth felt unusually dry. “I guess dessert’s supposed to wait ‘til the very end, and I was gonna tell you then, but there’s no sense leaving you in suspense so I’ll just say it. I made all of this special because I wanted to tell you that—”
Giorno took Mista’s hand in his at the moment that their voices rang out in unison—
“I think I’m in love with you.”
“Uh, what?” Mista said, dumbly. Of all things, he wasn’t expecting a confession at the exact same time as his own.
“How many meals have you cooked for me, Mista? With how busy I am, to be honest, I’d probably end up just grabbing something quick or forgetting entirely. But you’ve always got something for me.”
It was true, over the course of their years working together the number was probably immeasurable. Normally they ate at restaurants with the rest of the gang, but after Mista had heard that Giorno had never had a homecooked meal, he’d felt he needed to fix that right away. And he’d never stopped after that. If it wasn’t their weekly meals at his house, it was quick snacks he brought on days when he knew Giorno would be extra busy.
Mista blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, y’know, good food’s one of the joys of life an’ all…”
“A joy that you bring to me! And today, making all my favourites and everything… It made me realize how I’ve come to rely on you. On your care. I didn’t realize it before, but all this time, I’ve been falling in love.”
“Don’t you think you wanna try the food before you say that?” Mista said with a chuckle. Honestly, he hadn’t expected things to go so easily, and it had thrown him off a little.
“I like everything you make, Mista.”
He could take a little pride in that. An easy smile spread across his face. “I dunno how I didn’t realize it ‘til now either.” Mista wasn’t gonna think too hard about it; what his Stand might mean about his soul’s deepest desires. But he already knew what he wanted with Giorno. He didn’t have to think about that at all. “I guess it just came natural to me. But one day I realized I wanna keep doing this forever. I wanna keep making you smile like that. Let’s make this thing we’ve got official. Let’s be together! If you feel the same, then it’s simple.”
Giorno gripped his hand, smiling. “I do.”
He hadn’t realized how much his words had sounded like a proposal until faced with Giorno’s acceptance.
“Feel the same, that is.” Giorno’s smile turned sly, like he wasn’t really saying no to that other meaning of I do either.
“We love you too, Giorno!” the Pistols chorused. Startled, the two looked over to see them holding six little chunks of octopus in their hands. “Now, can we eat?!”
Mista was just about to scold them for rushing things when Giorno squeezed his hand.
“Yes, let’s.”
As he served Giorno the salad he’d made just for him and listened to him chatting with the Pistols, lightness filled the kitchen. Yeah, it just felt natural. Maybe there was no need to save the best thing for last when they could have it right now.