Work Text:
A visitor stood outside his door. Not a visitor but rather a guest he knew well, all too well. They had once shared in both triumph and despair, learned how to say goodbye, and went their own separate ways.
“You may enter,” Giorno said.
A single red heel stood by the now open door. Giorno watched intently as the figure entered his quarters. The silk of a velvet-red dress ran up to their collarbone, which itself was wrapped in a long white boa. Their luxurious clothing did little to leave an impression, however, as their striking emerald-green eyes could pierce through time itself.
Hesitation made his lungs still. The Don of Passione had to steady himself. “So it is you,” he breathed.
Trish Una stood there, dignified yet nervous like a rose standing in the wind. She eyed him cautiously. Her lips were pursed into a fine line. With an exhale, she, at last, spoke:
“Don Giorno,” she said as she gave a customary bow.
He hated formalities but knew what she meant by it. Indulging her, Giorno extended his hand and waited for her plush lips to caress his skin. When she suddenly stood up he could not help the smirk that crossed his face.
“I see you have not changed, Giorno.” Trish stared deeply into his seafoam-green eyes and smiled for the first time. Her eyes drew invisible lines across his seated form, the light brown of his shoes, his striking black suit with bronze trim, and of course his ladybug brooches.
He slowly rose from his seat, a good head taller than her. “But you have, Trish.”
Eight years had shaped her into the picture of grace with pink hair cascading down to her shoulder blades and a lithe figure to compliment. “Hardly,” she answered, burying her fingers into her white boa. “But eight years have felt like forever… At least since I last saw you.”
Giorno noticed the distraught in her shifting gaze. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and was wordless. Courage possessed him for a moment as he rubbed there thoughtfully. He felt the tension leave her body.
“Thank you, Giorno,” she whispered. Trish eased herself next to him. Despite the years that separated them, the action felt as natural as breathing to her. After everything they had been through this was only natural, she rationalized to herself. It did not quell the burning in her gut, however.
“You don’t have to thank me for anything, Trish.”
She jolted at that. “What are you talking about?” she urged, spinning on her heel so that she may face him. “I have everything to thank you for! You’ve done everything to protect me.”
He stiffened, his hand only reaching for the air now. Regaining his composure, Giorno crossed his arms, elegant and cat-like. “It’s what Bucciarati would’ve wanted,” he stated plainly.
Trish felt one of her brows twitch. She sighed wistfully in resignation. “Bucciarati has been dead for almost ten years, Giorno.”
“I know,” His expression did not change.
Trish crossed her arms against her chest, mirroring him. She could not look Giorno in the eyes.
He stepped away from her, walking towards his chair. “Why are you here, Trish?”
She did not move a muscle. It was almost like she had forgotten how to breathe. Her silence felt eternal but courage decided to possess her, too. “I have nowhere else to go.”
Giorno shook his head. “You have the whole world out there, waiting for you, Trish. It wants you out there. Not here. Anywhere but here.” His heart skipped a beat when he heard her chuckle. He spun around to see Trish covering her mouth with a pale hand.
“The only thing that matters is what I want and desire, Don Giorno.” she declared with playful snark. “That’s something the greatest gangstar should know himself.”
Giorno went speechless in admission. He could not contend with her. Even as she sobered up, Trish waited patiently for him to respond. In an act he did not think himself capable of, Giorno closed his eyes and stretched his right arm out to her.
This Don did not give out an order. “Take my hand,” he pleaded.
Trish answered in kind, wrapping her hand around his with a delicate smile.
“I did not mean to insult you, Trish. I hardly know what I want anymore.”
“Then perhaps I’m here for a reason, my dear Don.”
At daybreak, they dined on the finest breakfast in all of Italy, at least in Trish's eyes. Giorno had asked her the night before about the kind of breakfast she grew up with. Her mother prepared her a cup of tea and cocoa milk along with a tray of bread and jam. On special occasions, she would wake earlier to bake fresh cornettos filled with crema pasticcera and apricot jam. Those mornings shined the brightest in Trish’s memories.
Now they seemed to shine with an enchantment she did not know was possible. Giorno sat in front of her with loose golden locks swaying with the gentle morning breeze. He still had his trademark trio of curls resting on his forehead but the sight had Trish utterly bewitched.
“It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Giorno threw her an easy grin, tipping his cup of tea.
Trish clumsily adverted her eyes from him. She brought her own cup to her lips. “It is,” she mumbled. The light laughter she heard from him made her pupils widen.
“I can’t remember one so peaceful. I hardly get any sleep as it is, so I never have time to simply indulge in a sunrise,” admitted Giorno. He spread an earnest helping of apricot jam on his bread, courteously biting and swallowing before he resumed. “And with you, no less.”
Trish felt her thumb twitch. “I can say the same, Giorno.”
“We’ve had our responsibilities to tend to.” he offered. Despite the neutrality of his tone, Trish could detect a hint of dejection. Her gaze on him softened.
“I’ve had my share of fun on my tours.” Trish’s smile was faint. “But nothing compares to this.”
Giorno seemed to have lost his appetite. He couldn’t even take a drink of his tea. He felt as though his body was pulled taut. Trish grew uneasy at the sight of him.
“Do you wish it could last?”
“Huh?”
“Something like this… Do you wish it could last?”
Perplexed, Trish felt her heartbeat go erratic. “Giorno, I’m not sure what exactly it is that you’re asking.”
His face twisted into a grimace as though to curse himself. Giorno remained silent, leaving Trish to stare aimlessly. After a precious, fleeting moment, one where the air became hauntingly still, Giorno was able to answer.
“When you’re with me, Trish, do you feel happy?”
She did not suppress her gasp. “Of course I do. The happiest that I can be, even.”
Her words left him breathless. Trish could see his eyes glimmering with something close to… Oh, no, it could not be…
Hope made his eyes shine as brilliantly as daybreak. “Then, can you stay with me, Trish?”
That was her breaking point. Trish shot up from her seat, turning her back to him. She left the balcony with hurried steps. Her hands clutched her shoulders so that she may steady herself.
His footsteps soon followed her. Giorno felt his accursed heart beating wildly against his chest. He reasoned that this was punishment for his selfishness, asking that question to her in the midst of such peace. With the way she appeared goddess-like in the sunlight, how could he quell the sputtering flame in his gut? Now she has scurried off and away from him. What fitting punishment.
“You know I can’t answer your question, Giorno...” she professed, voice wavering. “At least in the way you want. Didn’t you tell me last night that the world didn’t want me here?”
He approached her but kept his distance. Giorno bitterly swallowed. “But I am not the world, Trish.”
“Aren’t you?” she retorted, turning to at last face him. Budding tears gave her green eyes an ethereal glow that Giorno could not look away from. They kept him captive. “Don Giorno of Passione, guardian of the arrow. You’re the king of kings.”
Giorno vehemently shook his head. He brought a hand to his chest, pressing it there to beg his very soul for strength. “No, Trish… Who do you really see?”
“I—I don’t—” She struggled to speak. Her lungs were betraying her, labored breaths giving each and every word a piercing edge. “I see you, Giorno Giovanna. I see the one who gave me the courage to fight back, the one who let me finally see Spice Girl. I see a person I’d trust with my life, completely… I see you, Giorno.”
He took a single step; yet, it felt that he had crossed a thousand miles just to reach her. Giorno did not open his arms, but Trish stumbled toward him all the same.
Closing his eyes, Giorno thought of nothing but her and this dreamy, reality-bending passage of time. Never had he realized how desperate he was to hear those words. After sacrificing everything… his youth, comrades, and any version of himself that knew the word normal…
“Through you, I see a friend, a kindred spirit.” Giorno continued to hold her close and protective. His fingers threaded her soft pink hair. “And the years that have separated us have not changed what I see.”
Trish clung tighter to him. “I want to stay with you, Giorno.”
Want. It struck through his being like an arrowhead. He did not let go of her.
“For however long I can have you here with me, by my side, Trish… I want you.”
Sunlight poured into his quarters, engulfing them in dawn’s dazzling colors.
She rustled out of his embrace and threw her arms around his neck. Her sudden touch made him shiver against her. Trish relished in it and let the feeling take her to heights that she never knew she could soar toward. On her toes, she reached up to press her lips to his in a chaste kiss.
The simple melding of their lips, a touch so feather-light yet fiercely intoxicating, sent Giorno’s head spinning. His hands hung uselessly to the side until finding satisfaction on the small of her back. She was like porcelain in his hands, a delicate treasure irrevocably his.
When they parted, Trish smiled wide and jovial. Giorno matched her albeit with a deep shade of crimson painting his face.
“Am I your first kiss, Don Giorno?” she teased. He welcomed her snark, but it only served to worsen his flushed complexion.
“I’m afraid so,” he confessed.
Trish let a hand run along his jaw, bringing him forward. “The first of many,” she said before kissing him once more.
Unspoken words and vows passed along their joined lips and limbs. They held each other in the throes of daybreak until time caught up to them.
A visitor had stood outside his door. Not a visitor but rather a companion he cherished, so dearly cherished. They shared in both love and want, learned how to hold one another, and went hand-in-hand to a new, beautiful reality.