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Another day at the saloon, another day looking for golden hair riding in with the wind. Listening for a melodic laugh that ain’t supposed to exist in these parts no more.
Leone slugs his way home, hitching his horse and taking a moment to watch as the sun begins its final dip on the horizon. He heads up his porch with a sigh. He doesn’t dare bring his eyes to the window that peers into his kitchen, he knows there’s no new yellow flowers to greet him, nor is there a yellow haired boy with a winning smile waiting at his table. Leone had told him a long time ago, forever and a day now, to not come back. That should he show his face, his soft beautiful face, he’d have to shoot him on the spot. A bounty from the encroaching government didn’t leave a sheriff much room.
He goes to unlock his door startled to find it’s already slightly ajar. Pistol in hand, Leone slowly opens the door. The intruder doesn’t seem to notice him, rummaging through the drawers of his desk with his back to the front door. The intruder huffs before opening another drawer and continuing their search. Cocking his pistol, Leone aims it at the intruder's head.
“Hands up, turn ‘round slow. You got a lot of nerve to break into a sheriff’s home.”
The intruder is silent as he turns, but even Leone can see the sight tremble in his hands as he raises them. He’s ready to shoot when the intruder takes off his hat to reveal yellow hair, tumbling down in loose curls that lights up his drab little home. The intruder pulls down his bandanna and smiles at the bewildered man in front of him.
“Heya, Sheriff Abbacchio. Fancy seeing you here.”
Leone can’t believe his eyes. He has to be drunker than he thought. Or maybe he’s finally kicked the bucket, probably got shot in the saloon for talking out of his ass and someone finally put him out of his misery. However, what misery he had in life could be worse than seeing the visage of his long gone lover, standing plainly his home the way he used to be?
“Leone?”
“You ain’t real,” Leone holsters his gun and closes the door. Beautiful spirit of his love be damned, this is definitely the wake up call he needs to stop drinking his life away. Giorno will never come back to him and that’s that.
“Now why would you say I’m not real when I’m standing here in the flesh. Leone, have you been drinking?”
It’s a rhetorical question. Leone knows the spector can see the state of his home: bottles strewn about, mud and plates everywhere. It’s a pig’s sty, an appropriate place for him to live.
“Leone,” the visage of Giorno comes close to him and, before he can back up, a hand is brought to his face, warm and solid. Real. It takes everything in him not to double over and cry. Big blue eyes look into his own, shining with tears that will never be shed.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came looking for you. I wasn’t sure if you still live out here though but I thought I might find a clue.” Giorno gives him a soft smile. Leone feels as if the clouds have parted and Heaven itself has found him worthy.
“No, what are you doing out here! I thought I told you to never come back here.” Leone chides, struggling to hold his emotion in his throat. He feel like he’s losing air, impossible when his very reason for breathing laughs lightly before replying:
“When have I given you the idea that I listen to anyone?”
There’s a moment of silence between them as Giorno takes in the house. There’s a layer of dust that wasn’t there before and,Most notably, the vase he’d gotten the older man so long ago still held the last stems of dying marigolds. His last goodbye.
“Move out west with me.” It’s not a request, and Leone looks at Giorno as if he’s asked him to rob a bank.
“I ain’t seen you in years. I ain’t goin’ anywhere with you. You’re still a very much wanted criminal” Leone pulls away from him and goes to sit at the kitchen table. The creaking floorboards cause the vase to shake, sending a few dead petals to disrupt the dust on the table.
“Don’t be like that Leo. You know just as well as I that it’s all useless shit. Ain’t a jail in the west that can hold me.” Giorno follows him, ever haunting him.
“Where did you go?”
“Wasn’t anywhere else to go. If my bounty was high and I’d been laying low, I knew my kid brothers needed me”
I needed you too, Leone thinks. “They ain’t kids.” he says instead. A family of gangsters as far back as their father’s father’s father, moved somewhere from England. Every one of them wanted throughout the territories joining up with the United States government.
Giorno huffs. Leone thinks about how he’s gotten taller, filled out a little yet still puffs his cheeks when he’s being thwarted. It’s still as cute as the first time he saw him do it years ago. “Not anymore, no. Things change and time moves on.”
“I’ve moved on,” it’s a lie he says before he even thinks about it.
“No, you haven’t.” Giorno takes a knee in front of him, taking Leone’s clenched hand in his.
“Haven’t you?”
I let you go and you didn’t put up a fight. You left and went god knows where to be with god knows who.
“Never.” Giorno replies solemnly. His eyes looking up at Leone’s as watery and clear as ever. The ache in Leone’s chest finally breaks and he feels himself crumple only to be caught by Giorno’s waiting arms. They stay there, Leone openly sobbing and Giorno doing his best to quell his own trembling body. The last beams of sunlight settle on them. It’s really despicable, a sheriff in the arms of a criminal— mourning the time they lost apart, loving the feeling of being together again. When Leone finally pulls himself together he takes Giorno’s face in his hands, the younger man leaning into his touch.
“How far west are we talking?”
Giorno’s brilliant smile in response brings life back into Leone’s heart.