Work Text:
Giorno was no stranger to pain. Becoming the Don of the Passione had been a grueling test of endurance that only his resolve had barely gotten him through. It had been more than simply painful. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known pain prior to that, his childhood hadn’t been the typical sort. His mother had done everything in her power to neglect him as a young child, and when his step father had come around and did give him attention it was anything but positive. Even after he was under protection, and the beatings stopped, he still never expirienced a warm home. These were simple facts. He hadn’t spoken to either of them in so long, he almost wondered if they were even still alive.
As the Don of Passione he had every ability to check; he never did. There was no loss in it.
Not that Giorno couldn’t handle loss, he’d had his fair share. He tried not to dwell much on it, but he often wondered what would have been had he not lost the others in his rise to the top. Would they be as close to him as family? He hadn’t had them long enough to know.
The only people he trusted were the two that remained-- who had survived. Trish was uninvolved with the business, but she was a close friend and confidant to Giorno. She supported him while he kept her a safe distance from anything that could truly put her in danger. They took care of each other in an odd way.
Mista was an entirely different story. He’d never had anything with anyone that compared to his relationship with Mista. His second in command, to put it simply, was whatever he needed him to be. Mista had scarcely left his side since, or after the events of his takeover. They grieved together; though Giorno knew he would never understand the depth of Mista’s sorrow, but they had lost the team together, and more importantly they had walked away alive. They carried that weight together, as they did everything else.
It was strange to have people close to him. Sometimes he found himself trying to keep them at arm's length, to put up barriers, but that could be hard to do when Mista barreled past them, seemingly unaware that they were there to begin with.
Mista with his casual touches, his nicknames, and jokes that were reserved almost exclusively for Giorno, made him wonder about things he’d never even begun to consider before. Though he often ignored any inkling of something more than friendship with Mista, there had been before Mista, when romance hadn’t even been a speck in his line of vision. He’d maybe even thought himself incapable of those sorts of feelings. Then again, he’d never even had a proper friend before he joined Passione, and he’d thought himself a bit incapable of anything beyond keeping acquaintances.
It was strange what people caring about you did to a person. Giorno’s life had been so devoid of any level of love or intimacy, it only made sense he’d thought himself unable to receive or give those types of connections.
The first time he’d ever even heard someone tell them they loved him, if he remembered correctly, was Trish. Actually she was the only person who had ever said that to him. She likely was the only one who ever would.
They had been sitting in her apartment, talking about her life, and vaguely about Giorno’s, sipping on a very expensive wine. One way or another the conversation had shifted into Trish, misty eyed, missing her life with her mother.
“You’re the closest thing I have to family anymore, Giogio,” She’d told him as the tears fully formed and spilled down her cheeks. “I love you so much, I’m so glad we have each other.”
She’d hugged him fiercely, and he somewhat stiffly hugged her back, and expressed that he felt the same way. It had also been the first time Giorno had ever said he loved someone, even in a familial sense.
He’d told her as much, as a way of explanation to his stiffness. She’d been utterly shocked, but she didn’t press Giorno to elaborate. She never did. She said she loved him everytime they said goodbye after that, though.
He loved how easy things were with Trish.
Mista was complicated. Not himself, he was actually a rather simple man, but Giorno’s feelings for him were anything but. He knew he had deep feelings for Mista, though he was unsure of what the nature of them were. He mostly suspected that they were romantic, but he didn’t really let himself indulge in that train of thought. It would never happen, and that was for the best.
It couldn’t ever happen. There were too many unpredictable variables, too many risks. First and foremost he didn’t think Mista had the same type of feelings for him, he knew Mista cared about him, but he had no way of knowing how deep those feelings ran, and Mista not returning his feelings if he acknowledged them could lead to tension or strain between them. An unacceptable outcome. On the other hand, if somehow Mista did return his feelings, there was still too much risk in a change to their dynamic.
Giorno was not a fan of change, unless it was for a necessary cause. His change to Passione had been imperative. For the greater good. If things changed with Mista it could threaten to change things that were good as they were.
Giorno often thought about it, staring at Mista when he should have been pouring over his work. Mista seemed oblivious.
But there were moments, when Mista would place his hand on the small of Giorno’s back as they moved past something, or the way he sat so close they touched when they were on the couch in his office, or from time to time his room in the home they shared.
It was a funny notion. That they shared a home. But the home Giorno had taken with his ascension was enormous. More room than any one person would ever need. He’d offered half of it to Mista. It made business simpler. And it kept Mista close by.
“Giorno, you have to relax ,” Mista would often tell him. “You’ll die of stress if you don’t slow down. You can’t do what you’re meant to if you’re dead, can you?”
And Giorno supposed he was right, from time to time, he had to breathe.
Which is what had led them to sitting on the couch in the room in their house with a TV, watching one of Mista’s favorite movies.
As Mista shoved the tape into the VCR, he laughed, almost sounding nervous. “You can’t make fun of me for this movie, okay? It’s kinda…chick-flick-y. One of my exes made me watch it with her. But it’s good I promise!” He hurried to the couch, sitting next to Giorno, taking up as much room as possible, apparently, with his thigh touching Giorno’s and his arm resting on the back of the couch behind Giorno.
Casual.
Mista had never mentioned having an ex, let alone multiple. It wasn’t that he didn’t know Mista liked women, he was well aware, but hearing that he had been with one he’d consider an ex-girlfriend, if not many, made him feel a strange twinge in his stomach. He shifted on the couch, trying to ignore the feeling.
The movie began, and Giorno found himself paying attention. It was a sweet movie. Giorno had never been much for romance, due to his complex relationship with it, but he still found the story compelling, the characters likable, and the acting was good. It was cute.
He spared glances at Mista through the movie. He was engrossed, making somewhat subtle faces, almost reflecting the mood set onscreen. He was cute, too.
Giorno ever so subtly shifted closer to Mista’s side. If Mista noticed he didn’t show it. Giorno silently wondered how normal this was for friends to do. He knew that Trish wasn’t shy about touch, but this felt different. This didn’t feel like he’d use the word friendly. But then again, who was Giorno to know the difference? He felt comfortable, nearly tucked into Mista’s side.
As the movie came to a close, Mista looked at him expectantly. Giorno gave him a small smile, leaning slightly away from his place pressed into Mista’s side.
“It was a good movie, you were right,” He told him.
“Right? I’m glad you liked it. Thanks for watching it with me,” Mista beamed.
“Thank you for taking the time to make me take a moment to slow down for something other than sleeping,” Giorno said, standing up from the couch. He watched Mista’s reaction carefully. He looked like the gears in his head were turning slowly. Like he was weighing the options of whatever he wanted to say.
Finally he said, “Like I said, you deserve time to slow down. I’m happy to help.” He wasn’t meeting Giorno’s eye anymore.
There was a beat of almost awkward silence, something unsaid hanging in the air. Giorno cleared his throat. “Of course, I’ll see you tomorrow Mista.”
Mista suddenly stood, taking a step towards Giorno before stopping. He looked very uncertain. Once again gears turning behind his eyes.
“Look, Giorno,” He let out a heavy sigh, “I don’t want to…I don’t want to overstep anything, but…What are we doing here?”
Giorno blinked, stopping in his tracks, not quite understanding the implications. “What do you mean?” Giorno asked.
Mista stared at Giorno for a moment, looking like he was trying to read Giorno’s mind. “I mean…do you-- Are we, like, a thing?”
Giorno stared blankly.
Mista looked on the brink of panic. “You know, never mind, forget I asked!” He said, seeming to scramble. “I’m always just reading too much into things you do, you know? I thought maybe…you wanted me back, that this was like a date,” he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just…I don’t know, forget it.” Mista waved a hand in the air, like he was trying to clear away his awkwardness.
Giorno’s mind was reeling, and as Mista started to flee he grabbed his wrist, stopping him. Mista looked at him a little wide eyed.
“You…” Giorno took a deep breath, “You want me? You thought this was a date?”
Mista looked like he was trying very hard not to show his shame, but it was evident in the way he wouldn’t meet Giorno’s eye. He looked like a kicked puppy. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know. Sometimes the way you look at me, or the way you seem more comfortable with me than other people…I guess I thought maybe it wasn’t just wishful thinking. That maybe you wanted me back.”
Giorno stepped closer to Mista, not dropping his wrist. “It wasn’t wishful thinking,” Giorno said quietly.
Mista’s eyes snapped up to meet Giorno’s. He looked hopeful with those huge brown eyes. He took a step closer, nearly closing all the distance between them. He was hesitant, slowly bringing a hand up to cup Giorno’s cheek.
Giorno felt like his heart was going to break out of his chest as the gap between them closed in a kiss. Giorno felt his face grow warmer and warmer, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling something like the way his stomach was doing somersaults.
When they broke apart, Mista was looking at him, eyes soft with a grin. Giorno felt dazed, his eyes half lidded as he looked back up at the other man.
Mista looked downright giddy, pulling Giorno into a tight embrace that he easily melted into. It felt so nice, unfamiliar maybe, but the intimacy felt like a good buzz from a nice wine.
Eventually they pulled apart, if only just enough to look at eachother again.
“So then, we’re boyfriends, yeah?” Mista asked, his eyes bright.
Giorno couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him. “I suppose so,” he said.
“I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” Mista laughed.
“I’ve never…well frankly I’ve never had romantic feelings for anyone, Mista. This is all very new to me,” Giorno admitted after a moment of hesitation.
Mista’s eyebrows shot up, and he blinked. “You…I’m the first person you’ve ever been into? Seriously?” He sounded bewildered.
Giorno let out a small huff, trying not to take that personally. “Yes,” he said shortly.
“Wow,” Mista ran a hand through his hair nervously, “I mean…that's really flattering and all, and I’m over the moon that you like me back, because I like you so much Giorno. But why me?” Mista asked.
Giorno felt his face flush. “I’m not sure how to put it into words. I just…care about you a lot. You make me feel comfortable, and I trust you. I don’t trust many people, and I want you by my side, always. I suppose my feelings are all just an extension of that.”
And then Mista was kissing Giorno again, this time more heated, grabbing him by the waist to pull their bodies flush. Giorno wrapped his arms around Mista in return, finding the feeling intoxicating.
When they parted again, Mista let out a breathy laugh. “I’m such a lucky bastard.”
Giorno smiled, feeling very lucky himself.