Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Getting stabbed in the throat was not a pleasant experience. Of course it wasn’t. Giorno, like any rational person, was certain that it would kill him like the fatal injury it was. He knew that his distraction as he realized how Polpo’s Stand was moving through the shadows was about to kill him instead of save him. Because it was that distraction that had caused the arrow that was pressed into Gold Experience’s neck to continue its forward trajectory into his captive Stand’s throat. A horrifying, painful sensation that Giorno felt every single second of as his life flashed behind his eyes in terror tinged with regret. 

It should have killed him. He was prepared for it to kill him. Except, instead of death, his vision just vanished as blood dripped down his chest and nausea bubbled up in his gut. He couldn’t see or think or really process anything at all, so just collapsed onto the stairs beneath him as air was more or less punched from his lungs in harsh breaths. It hurt. Everything hurt. He would have been content to just lay there indefinitely as his whole perception of reality crashed around him if his name wasn’t suddenly being called out. He wasn’t sure if it was his name itself, or the annoyingly familiar, accented, voice that said it that had his eyes snapping open. 

He had only just barely forced his attention upwards in time to see Koichi be grabbed by Polpo’s terrifying Stand. Unwilling to risk the same miracle that had kept him alive happening twice, he urged Gold Experience to get rid of the shadows keeping Polpo’s Stand safe. He wasn’t at all expecting him to reach out and turn the entire stairwell’s railing into morning glories. Or, really, for him to be able to do so, especially after they’d literally just been impaled, but that was exactly what he did. And exactly what they needed. As soon as the shadows were gone, Polpo’s Stand let go of Koichi with a loud panicked scream. One that only grew louder and louder as he writhed and smoked until he was gone. 

As soon as he vanished, Giorno groaned and collapsed back onto the steps. Seconds later, gentle hands were on his shoulders and Koichi’s voice was practically shouting from right over him. 

“Giorno! You’re bleeding! Where did it get you?”

“Got Gold Experience in the throat.” He replied in a groan as his eyes flickered open to meet the other’s. “I thought I was done for.”

“I’ve never seen what happens when the arrow stabs a Stand…” he whispered absentmindedly and Giorno frowned. 

“You’ve seen that before?” he asked immediately, which had Koichi nodding in response. 

“Yeah. Ah, let's get you somewhere comfortable and I’ll explain.”

He shook his head, groaning again as he shifted to sit up while saying heavily, “The janitor. That Stand killed him.”

“There’s nothing you could have done.” the shorter guy said as he helped to steady him. “The arrow kills anyone not destined to have a Stand. I hate to say it, but it's best if we let someone else find him. It’ll just present as a heart attack or something and then we won't have to lie our way through questions.”

“He shouldn’t have died at all.” he said with an exhausted sigh, shooting the still flickering lighter in his hand a disgusted look. 

Koichi watched him for a moment and then said softly, “Let's get you to your room and we can both clear things up there. Can you stand?”

He nodded, turning the stair railing back to normal so he could use it to leverage himself to his feet. His whole body felt sore and moving was more effort than he wanted to admit, but eventually he managed to get himself and the lighter back into his room without the flame going out for a second time. Without having to lean on Koichi, even! As soon as he was in his room, though, he was collapsing heavily onto the bed with a barely repressed sigh.

“You don’t look so good.” Koichi told him, his expression turned down.

“ How rude .” he muttered in soft Japanese, forgetting that he was speaking to a Japanese tourist until he gasped.

“ Of course you speak Japanese!” he exclaimed in the same language. “I totally should have realized that!”

“What does that mean?” Giorno asked, once more in Italian, as he pushed himself up to stare at him with what he hoped was a harsh, unimpressed glare.

“Ah, well, see this might be a super weird coincidence, but I was actually sent here to find you.”

“Find me?” he demanded. “Why?”

“Uhm, something about your dad?”

“My dad?” he blinked, smashing down the hope that started to try and crawl itself up his throat as he asked, “Did he send you?”

“Oh. Uhm. No.” Koichi said awkwardly. “Ah, what do you know about your dad?”

“His name and what he looks like. Sort of.” Giorno admitted while biting back his disappointed sigh. “He either doesn’t know about me, or doesn’t care.”

“I, uhm, I wish I could tell you which one it was.”

“Was?” he asked immediately, the childish fantasy he had harbored of his father sweeping him away into a better life dying with that one, confidently uttered word.

“Shit.” Koichi muttered. “I’m sorry, Giorno. I’m, uhm, I’m not good at this. I really shouldn’t have been the one sent here.”

“Who did send you here?” 

“Ah, Jotaro-san did. Uhm, Dr Jotaro Kujo. He’s my friend?”

“You don’t sound certain about that.” Giorno pointed out and Koichi’s face turned red. 

“Jotaro-san is hard to read,” he admitted in a tone that was almost petulant.

“Why did he want you to find me?” 

“Umm…..” 

“I’m not going to be offended.” Giorno assured him. “And if you were here to kill me or something, you would have already done so.”

“Of course I’m not!” Koichi shouted. “Why would you even think that?”

Giorno shrugged, not at all feeling like admitting he’d already almost been killed three times that day and he wouldn’t be surprised to see it happen a fourth. Instead, he just forced himself to repeat his question. “So, what did he send you here for?”

“Well, uhm, basically to make sure you weren’t, ah, like your dad?”

He raised an eyebrow and said in what he knew came off as wearily exhausted, “I’m guessing he wasn’t a good person.”

“Ah. No.”

With a heavy sigh, he nodded. A large part of him was expecting that, but it didn’t mean the confirmation hurt any less. He wasn’t going to show it though, so he schooled his expression completely as he nodded. “Alright. And your assessment?”

“Uhmm.” Koichi looked awkward, like he was suddenly put on the spot and didn’t like it, and shifted in place. “Well, you did steal from me. But you also saved my life. And that seems much more important.”

“I am sorry I took your things. Money is just hard to come by when you aren’t old enough to work legally yet.”

Koichi blinked at him. “Your parents?”

“You know more about my dad than I do.” Giorno pointed out and then added with a huff, “And mom, well, the less said about her the better.”

“I see…” he said, though it didn’t really sound like he did. “I guess I can understand the theft then? I mean, if you’re not just doing it to be a prick.”

Giorno laughed humorlessly. “Italy is a different place than small town Japan, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.” he chuckled awkwardly. “Though, Stands seem to be a constant. Though I’m not sure if that's a good thing or not?”

“You were the first person I had ever met with one.” he admitted. “Though, after you I’ve seen two others today. I know you don’t know them, and one called them Stands too. Is it a universal term? I’ve had Gold Experience for a long while and never heard it before.”

“Stand? Well, with the Speedwagon Foundation, yeah. It's a term Mr. Joestar apparently came up with, and that's what the Foundation uses unanimously.”

“I don’t know what that is, but I can see how the guy I met would.” Passione, and Bucciarati in particular, seemed to have never ending connections, after all.

Koichi nodded. “When you’re feeling better, we should go find the user of the one that attacked us. That arrow being in a Stand is really concerning.”

“I’m afraid that's impossible.  He’s currently behind bars.” Giorno replied. “Did turning his Stand to ash not affect him?”

“No. Not an automatic long range one like that. He probably didn’t even know this happened.”

Giorno hummed and nodded, unsure if he was relieved or upset that Polpo didn’t end up smoking alongside his Stand. The horrifying man would deserve it, but he was certain it would affect his initiation into Passione and he couldn’t let that happen.

“Wait, Giorno, you know the person who attacked us?” Koichi asked suddenly, and he was nodding before he could fully consider the outcome. Which was stupid of him, because Koichi’s next question was, “Why did he attack?”

“Because the janitor relit this lighter.” he said softly, glaring at the offending object. “And we saw it happen.”

Koichi stared at the lighter for a moment and then said, “I’ve seen an arrow just like that one before.”

“You said something like that.”

Koichi nodded. “Guess I did. Two years ago, I was shot by it. It gave me my Stand, Echoes.”

“So, the arrow gives people Stands?” When Koichi nodded, Giorno let out a small puff of hair. “Of course it does.”

“I should really tell Jotaro-san about it.”

“Please don’t!” Giorno said quickly. “I don’t know what he would want to do, but please, Koichi, I can’t have you tell him.”

“Why not?” he demanded. “He should know about this guy making Stand users out of people! The whole Foundation should! They would do something about it!”

“It's not a guy Koichi. It's a whole organization. And your friend putting his nose into it would just put himself and other people in danger.”

“Jotaro can take care of himself!” 

“Koichi, please .” Giorno stressed. “I can handle this. Outside influence would just make it worse . Trust me.”

He stared at Giorno for a long while and then asked, “You’re certain?”

“Yeah.” he nodded. “I am.”

“Okay.” Koichi replied, letting out a heavy breath. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”

Giorno slumped slightly and gave another nod. “Thank you.”

“Uhm, no, no problem.” he replied awkwardly.

This time, it was Giorno’s turn to study him for a tense moment before remarking, “You said you didn’t know what happens when a Stand is stabbed by the arrow.”

“I don’t know if a Stand ever has been before.” Koichi said. “But yours did, right? Does he feel okay?”

“He’s fine.” Giorno replied immediately because he was . 

While Giorno himself felt like he had been wrung out, Gold Experience was practically vibrating with energy under his skin. Bright, brilliant and strong . He didn’t understand why, or how, but he was more than alright. He was thriving. 

“That's good. And, uh, how’re you?”

Giorno brought his hand up to his throat, his fingers coming away red and he wrinkled his nose. “I’m sticky. A little sore. But alright.”

“Good, good.” he replied with an unsure nod. After a brief second of hesitation he added, “I can leave contact information? So, if you ever want to, I can see if Jotaro-san knows what happens when a Stand is stabbed with the arrow?”

“He’s fine, Koichi.” Giorno said firmly, pulling Gold out as if to show the other just how fine he was but froze instead. Something may not be wrong with his Stand, but he was certainly different.

From head to toe, Gold Experience had changed. The dome of his head was indented in, almost like a heart, and on each side of it where ears should be were small wings like what had been on his shoulders. The shoulder ones no longer began on the upper arms, but had moved to the shoulder blades themselves and were much longer. Underneath where they attached to the Stand’s back was another set of arms, identical to those above it. The dark gold of his armored like parts covered nearly his entire body, the paler shining gold glittering through the ridges like gemstones. The belt and sash around his waist were much more of a bright purple, the sash longer and more flowing. The only thing that didn't seem to change at all were the lady bugs that adorned his chest. 

When he turned to look at him, Giorno actually gasped. His face was more angled, the silver design like artistically swirled tears that carried up into the heart like crown of his temple. The part that shocked him the most though was that underneath the rim of his ‘crown’ his bug-like eyes had expanded into one long, thin line of pitch black that was only broken up by two, glowing purple irises equal distance apart. 

“Uhm, Giorno?” Koichi asked after he had stared at his Stand for what was likely far too long. “Is everything okay?”

“Ah, Koichi, I think I will take that contact information after all.”

Chapter Text

Despite having accepted Koichi’s number, Giorno didn’t think he would use it. It was just a precaution in case he wasn’t able to figure out what was happening with Gold Experience. Or if anything more drastic then his appearance changed before he figured it out. 

His first source for information was Bucciarati, of course. Though, he had to wait until the morning after his second meeting with Polpo before he could see him in order to ask anything. Part of Giorno was frustrated that he needed to wait so long. But most of him, especially the part that needed to process that he had just arranged someone’s death no matter how deserved, was relieved. Giorno had a lot to process, after all. And he doubted he’d be able to get a chance to do so after officially joining Bucciarati’s team.

A lot had happened in the last couple days, after all. He had technically been responsible for Leaky Eye Luca’s death, but Giorno refused to blame himself for that one. He had warned the man, after all. And it wasn’t his decision to cut his life support, either. As far as he was concerned, Luca’s death was on the man himself and Passione. 

Fighting Bucciarati had been as enlightening as it was terrifying. For a brief moment, Giorno had truly feared for his life. The violent, heartless mafioso Bucciarati presented himself as was intimidating and stress inducing. From the moment he had licked Giorno’s face to the revelation that there was a real, aching heart hidden inside of him, he had been terrified of him. He really should ask himself why all it took was seeing a glimpse of the man behind the mafioso for him to trust him so wholeheartedly, but Giorno couldn’t bring himself to. He trusted Bucciarati now. Simple as that.

Polpo’s trial and Stand, however, was nothing short of a disaster. The kind janitor’s death still weighed heavily on him, and likely would for a long while. It was why he felt no regret in turning Polpo’s gun into a banana. The mafia was in control, but having that control at the expense of innocent people’s lives was abhorrent. Giorno wouldn’t feel sorry for the Capo’s death. By the man’s own philosophy, it was owed, after all. 

It wasn’t just mafia induced revelations and changes that were haunting him, though. Koichi’s news about his father was troubling him almost as much as everything else. Not only was he, without a doubt, dead but even had he been alive he wasn’t the savior of Giorno’s childhood fantasies. Koichi hadn’t said what he had done, but he had made it very clear that the man who had fathered him was not a good one. He was apparently evil enough that someone who knew him was afraid that evil was hereditary. A depressing, soul crushing thought to the boy who used to dream about being taken away by a heroic father who would love him for who he is. But one he knew he couldn’t dwell on. He had much more important things to worry about.

Like the changes to his Stand. Possibly the most concerning event of the last two days. Other than seeming to be stronger and brighter, and the visual changes, he was sure his Stand was still who he had used to be. Still Gold Experience. Still his . But it didn’t change the fact that he had changed, and Giorno didn’t understand why. 

Theories on what was happening to Gold plagued his thoughts and he knew he would never concentrate, or rest, until he had them all written out and in front of him. Not that it solved anything but he at least had his theories organized outside of his messy thoughts. Though, they all basically boiled down to some sort of weird Stand evolution. If the arrow gave Stands, maybe it evolved them too?

Obsessing over it though meant that Giorno got very little sleep before he met with Bucciarati, but he didn’t mind. He was used to the sleep deprivation, and he could tell that the mafioso couldn’t tell just how exhausted he was as he showed him the Passione badge. 

“Good.” he said with what Giorno thought was a proud nod. “I wasn’t expecting you to have an issue.”

Giorno gave him a nod in return and then asked without any preamble, “Polpo’s Stand. It's how you got yours, isn’t it?”

Bucciarati gave him a nod, the small smile growing faintly. “How did you know? I was unsure what would happen, as you already had yours. Did you get it in a similar way?”

“No.” he replied. “I’ve always had Gold, I think. I ask because of this.”

He summoned his Stand and watched as Bucciarati’s eyes went huge.

“That is not what he looked like before.”

“No. It isn't.” he agreed.  “Polpo’s Stand pulled him out of me and stabbed him before I could get away. Now he looks like this. Do you have any idea why?”

He shook his head incredibly slowly as he continued to stare at Gold. “No. I’ve never met anyone who hasn’t gotten their Stand from Black Sabbath. I didn’t even know that natural Stand users were possible before we met.”

Giorno resisted the urge to let his shoulders sag. “I see.”

“Did it hurt?” he asked, a worried frown forming between his brows that Giorno had no idea how to understand.

“It did.” he admitted, seeing no point in lying about it.

“Are you alright now?”

The worry increased to the point his words were dripping in it and Giorno was even more confused, but he just nodded. 

“I am. So is Gold. He just looks like this now.”

“Does he feel different?”

Giorno frowned slightly, unsure how to answer that. Unsure if he should answer at all. But. Well. He trusts Bucciarati. Trusts him enough to reveal why he wanted to join Passione, and that is by far more dangerous than this. So, he nodded.

“He feels, more . Just, I can feel him better. And I think that he may be stronger? I was able to turn most of a stairwell into morning glories with one small touch even while barely coherent. But that's all I’ve noticed so far.”

“I see.” he gave a small, barely there nod. “Please let me know if you feel anything negative or alarming. As far as I know, a Stand being stabbed by the arrow is unprecedented. But I am here to help however I can.”

“I will.” he assured him. “Thank you, Bucciarati.”

“Of course, Giorno. You are a member of my team now, and your wellbeing and safety are important to me.”

Giorno had no idea what to say to that, or even how much the other man truly meant it, so he just nodded his head. Bucciarati watched him for a painfully long moment before he gave a nod in return.

“Alright. Let's go meet the team.”

That was something he was more than happy to do, and followed after him. As they walked, he explained to Giorno exactly how Passione worked. The different teams and hierarchy. How hard it would be to find the Boss. And then finally a bit about his own crew. 

“Counting you, we are a well rounded unit of six. Aside from us, there is Leone Abbacchio, Guido Mista, Narancia Ghirga and Pannacotta Fugo. They’re an, ah, exciting bunch but they are the best team I could ask for.”

“And what will they think of me?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“I am sure that once they have gotten to know you, you will be fast friends. Especially with Mista and Narancia. Abbacchio and Fugo are a bit more reluctant to trust.”

“That is understandable. No one would live long in the mafia if they trusted easily.”

Bucciarati laughed. “You say that now, but you may change your mind after actually dealing with them.”

Giorno thought that may be an exaggeration, but then Abbacchio tried to make him drink piss. He was disgusted by the drink itself and the pettiness of the man who gave it to him, but he wasn’t about to back down. So, despite knowing the jellyfish wouldn’t be able to absorb all of it, he forced himself to throw the ‘tea’ back with zero hesitation.

The shock, awe and respect on the younger mafioso’s faces were surprising, and Giorno was happy to pay attention to them instead of the sour look on the pale haired man to his left. Abbacchio wanted to be hostile? Fine. That didn’t mean that Giorno had to stoop to his level, though. Nor did he have to make an absolutely futile effort in befriending him. Getting to know the other three was a much more worthwhile endeavor.

Especially Mista. The other teen was only a couple years Giorno’s senior, and for the first time he was finding himself feeling as if he had a real peer. After the nonsense with Zucchero, specifically Abbacchio’s blatant refusal to listen to or believe him, Mista’s faith and support of his plan to reach Capri felt far heavier than it probably was. It was significant to him, but he was sure that to Mista it was just him being himself.

Mista was kind, after all, and Giorno could already tell he was a good teammate. Which, unfortunately, meant that when he had been injured fighting Sale without Giorno, he was hit by what felt like a literal wave of guilt. One that crashed down on him relentlessly, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

He couldn’t even show it. Not while they, well Fugo, fixed the gunman up in the most crass way imaginable. Not when Bucciarati pulled a literal fortune out of a damn urinal of all things and handed it over to Capo Pericolo. Or when Bucciarati himself was made Capo and given the entirety of Napoli to oversee. Or even when they got back on the yacht to head towards the mainland once more. Not because he didn’t want to, not really. But because he didn’t know how. Or if Mista would be receptive to him if he did. 

Giorno couldn’t just stand there and watch him be in pain while saying nothing, though. So, he cautiously approached the older teen as he sat on the edge of the yacht, feet dangling over the water. 

“Mista?”

He looked up and smiled at him. “Oh, hey Giorno! Crazy first day, right? We did it though! Bucciarati is Capo now and things are gonna be sweet!”

“We did.” he agreed with a soft chuckle as he hesitatingly sat down beside him. “I would like to apologize, though.”

“The hell for?” Mista asked, brows furrowing over his impossibly dark eyes.

“Not getting to you fast enough. You were injured, and it might not have happened had I been there to assist you.”

“Oh, man, no! That's not your fault! You’d have to have had super speed to catch up to us. Besides, I’m the one who ran off on top of a truck without you. You got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Well,” he said slowly, shocked by Mista’s easy dismissal of his guilt, “I still am. And I wish there was something I could do to assist you.”

As soon as he had finished speaking, Gold Experience appeared at his side and Giorno turned to give him a confused, questioning look. He had not summoned him, what was he doing here?

Mista at his side gasped. “Woah! Holy shit dude, is that your Stand?”

“Yeah, that is Gold.” he frowned. “I have no idea what he is doing though.”

“He’s so cool!” Mista exclaimed, apparently not concerned that he had appeared without Giorno having called him. Though, his eyes did widen as he knelt down and brought a golden hand to Mista’s injured abdomen. 

“Uh, Giorno?”

“Gold Experience!” he shouted at him, trying to pull the Stand away but somehow it completely ignored him. Not only did he not move away, but his finger tips against Mista’s skin started to glow the bright light that Giorno associated with his powers.

“What the…?” Mista began before a shocked, pained gasp left him. 

Giorno tried again to pull him away, both mentally and physically, but was again ignored. All he could do was watch on in horror as Gold Experience did whatever it was he was doing to Mista’s wound.

Suddenly, though, he was grabbed by the back of his suit coat, the collar digging painfully into his throat as he was lifted off of his feet. The air was punched out of him roughly and his focus narrowed down to just trying to breathe. He didn’t even fully comprehend voices shouting around and at him. At least not until Mista’s voice broke through. 

“Abbacchio! He was healing me!”

The shouted sentence had everyone else’s voices grinding to a halt as they stared at him. Even Giorno, who could still hardly breathe, forced himself to look down and towards Mista’s completely healed stomach.

He barely had a chance to see it, though, before four arms were wrapping around him and forcibly pulling him away from the grip on his coat. The lower two immediately guided Giorno to lean against his Stand’s body as the upper two spread out on either side of him as if to keep the rest of the team at bay and away from him. Him and Mista.

Mista, who had climbed to his feet and was giving Giorno a concerned look. “Hey, are you okay?”

Giorno cleared his throat, ignoring the discomfort, and nodded. “I am just fine, Mista, thank you.”

“Muda.”

“What did he say?”

He sighed and shrugged himself out of his Stand’s arms to level him with an unimpressed, and slightly confused, look. Gold didn’t look bothered at all as his unblinking eyes just stared right back at him, so he huffed and turned to answer Mista.

“Useless, technically. But I think he was actually calling me a liar?”

Gold nodded and Giorno huffed. 

“Thank you for healing Mista. You can go now.”

His purple irises stared him down for another long moment before he was once more nodding. As soon as his head rose, he vanished. With him no longer there, Mista was turning to the side to face their audience.

“The hell was that, Abbacchio!” he shouted immediately, Giorno barely repressing the urge to flinch at his side at the sudden, angry, raise in volume.

“He was using his Stand on you!”

“Yeah, to heal me! Don’t you know how to read a fucking room?!”

“You shouted in pain!”

Mista opened his mouth to argue again, but Giorno shook his head. “Mista, it's alright.”

He immediately shook his head as well with a look of disbelief on his face. “No it isn't! Bucciarati, tell him it's not alright!”

“Giorno…” The Capo began but he was quickly cutting him off with a quick jerk of his head. (A motion he refused to acknowledge hurt his throat more than he was expecting.)

“It really is alright. It wasn’t immediately obvious what Gold was doing.”

“Yes, it was!” Mista, Fugo and Narancia all retorted together and he shook his head once more, this time much more slowly. 

“I am sure that it wasn’t, as I wasn’t even certain what he was doing. I’ve never used my powers that way before.”

“Then why did you?” Abbacchio hissed out.

“I didn’t. Gold did that on his own. I said I wished I could help Mista, and my Stand showed me that I could.”

“That is so sick!” Narancia shouted. “We have a real, actual healer! No more staples and duct tape!”

“How did you do it?” Fugo asked, expression open and intrigued.

“I, we, Gold Experience creates life. I guess it works at a cellular level? My best guess is he turned the staples in Mista’s stomach into flesh and blood. So, it was less healing and more replacing parts of him that had been lost.”

“Amazing.” Fugo breathed out and Mista nodded. 

“So amazing! I mean, it hurt like a son of a bitch, but now I’m totally fine! No pain or anything. Just a bit of lingering soreness, like I spent too much time in the gym.”

“As I said, it was less healing, more replacing that part of your body. I’m not surprised that it hurt. Or that it continues to be sore. I am sorry though that Gold took it upon himself to do that to you without asking. Or telling me what he was doing. Or stopping when I tried to make him.”

“Man, don’t be sorry for fixing me! Or for your Stand being a lil independent. Trust me, my Pistols do things without my permission all the time. And this was way more welcome than being shouted awake by six little pains in the ass cus they want food.”

From the bit that Giorno had seen of them, he could imagine that very easily. His Stand, though, has never done anything like this before. And he can’t help but think that it had something to do with whatever the arrow had done to him. He would be concerned, but if letting him heal his new teammates was what came from the ordeal with Black Sabbath, he’d accept it without complaint.  Be grateful, even. It gave him a real purpose within Passione, within Bucciarti’s team. What was there to be ungrateful for?

Chapter Text

The rest of the trip back to Napoli was uneventful. Which Giorno was more thankful for then he was willing to admit to even himself. His throat hurt, though he really didn’t want to show it. Due to both of those facts, speaking wasn’t at all something he wanted to do. He was, however, more than happy to spend the rest of their time on the water listening to Mista, Fugo and Narancia. They were fun and interesting and didn’t in any way expect Giorno to talk with the same level of excitement as they did. But, at the same time, they didn’t exclude him from the conversation. It felt nice. Feeling welcome and included in a group for his own merits was new, and Giorno couldn’t help but to silently bask in it as long as he could. 

Fugo, he could tell, still was a little wary and unsure about him but that was okay. Giorno expected it. Mista and Narancia though seemed to hold nothing but delighted interest towards him. Maybe even, though he was cautious to think it, actual enjoyment of his presence and input, little though it may be. It was almost painfully heartwarming. 

Despite getting closer with the younger members of his team, he hadn’t seen much of Bucciarati or Abbacchio since the debacle with Gold Experience. The former had stayed at the wheel of the yacht with a slightly pensive look on his face for a while until the former had disappeared into the cabin with something muttered about wanting to get out of the sun. 

A statement that had had Fugo scoffing and pointing out he was paler than Abbacchio even and that was clearly an excuse, but the goth had just ignored him and no one else questioned his decision. Though Bucciarati had quickly followed after him with a small frown on his face. Giorno figured he wanted privacy, or just distance from him (maybe even somewhere to complain, since Bucciarati had joined him), and he knew not to question it. The older man had injured him once already over a misunderstanding, Giorno didn’t want to chance it happening again. 

When they finally docked at Napoli, the sun was setting over the horizon and Bucciarati dismissed them all kindly, though with what Giorno was sure was an order to be at Libeccio the next morning. He said they would talk about what his new position meant for them then, and that they should all go home and rest from their long day. Narancia, Mista and Fugo practically jumped from the yacht in a flurry of shouted dinner suggestions that quickly derailed into an argument. Giorno made to step down as well, but Bucciarati softly calling his name stopped him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked when Giorno turned to face him, eyes flickering down to where his collar rested against his throat. 

“Perfectly fine, Bucciarati.” he assured immediately, internally wincing when his voice came out a bit more scratchy than he would have liked. “Thank you for asking.”

The older man’s lips turned down in a slight frown but he nodded before questioning, “Your Stand can’t fix it?”

“Ah, well. No.” he really didn’t want to have to explain again, but Bucciarati was his boss. And Giorno had no idea how much he was listening earlier, so he continued with, “I am unsure if you heard, but what Gold did to Mista was less ‘healing’ and more replacing damaged tissue with healthy tissue. There’s nothing for me to replace with a bruise, so there is nothing that I can do.”

“And this ability?” he asked gently, something like a cross between worry and intrigue in his blue eyes. “Do you think it came from your confrontation with Black Sabbath?”

“No.” he shook his head immediately. “He’s just doing what we’ve always been able to do; turn inanimate material into life. Him acting on his own though and knowing that he could do this when we never had before? That part is new.”

“Mista’s Stand acts on its own constantly, so I suppose we’ve gotten used to it and didn’t question if that was normal or not,” he remarked. “And I didn’t think to wonder if it was something different, either. I can imagine it was alarming for you, however, to have your Stand suddenly acting on his own impulses?”

“Just, different,” he admitted slowly. “I’m still learning Gold, after all. So, this is just another new thing to learn I suppose.”

“Alright. As long as you aren’t worried?”

“I am not, and you don’t need to be either, Bucciarati. I am alright with Gold and what he did, even if it was on his own volition.” he hesitated and then added pointedly, “and with everything else that happened today. As far as I am concerned, today was nothing but a resounding success. Speaking of, congratulations. I can tell that it is a well deserved promotion.”

“Oh. Well, thank you Giorno.” Bucciarati replied, genuine surprise replacing the worry lines on his face and in his eyes. “That is very kind of you to say.”

Taking advantage of the Capo seemingly slightly off kilter, he gave a quick nod and said, “Of course, it is just the truth after all. I will see you tomorrow.” 

Before Bucciarati could continue the conversation, he gave him a respectful bow of his head and shoulders and then departed the yacht quickly. Without looking back, he turned in the opposite direction his new teammates had gone and reluctantly began his trek back to his dorm room. 

The sun had completely vanished by the time he reached the dorms, and he was grateful to open the door and practically collapse onto the bed. Despite that, entering the incredibly bland, mediocre and annoyingly bare room he called home almost felt wrong after a day like he had had. Almost like crashing from a high to an extreme low that left him feeling nearly empty. 

Just like his stomach, Giorno realized suddenly. Though, he had no desire or intention to fill it. Or, really, he had no energy to look through whatever meager food options he had been too busy the last few days to replenish. Eating would just be a future Giorno problem. 

Right now, the only thing he cared about was trying to get answers out of his Stand, not that he had too many hopes of it working. To his relief, Gold did appear as soon as Giorno requested, purple irises meeting Giorno’s with what could only be called a soft expression, despite the solid wall of black that surrounded the color and complete lack of eyelids. 

“You are different now, aren’t you?” he whispered to him, voice sounding impossibly loud in the silence of his dorm. “Not just in appearance.”

Gold replied with a very quiet, “Muda.” But in Giorno’s mind he heard what the response meant loud and clear. 

“I am.”

“Because of the arrow?”

“I believe so, yes? Unfortunately, I know as much as you.”

“But, but you are still my Gold, right?” he couldn’t help asking, tone smaller than he wanted it to be. He couldn’t help it though. Gold Experience was his first real friend. The idea of losing him, of him being replaced with something, someone, else was heartbreaking. 

Both of Gold’s right hands lifted, one cupping his cheek as the other rested against the back of his neck. A very soft Muda left him, and the meaning that filled his head caused his eyes to grow unexpectedly wet with tears he would never let fall. 

“I will always be your Gold. Only now, I can truly show my affections as you have, in a way you can understand. We are two parts of one whole, Giorno. I will never leave you.”

He couldn’t cry, but he could let out a small, emotion filled whimper that had his Stand, his friend , guide him forward into a tight embrace. All four of his arms wrapped around him to gently, but firmly, hold him against him. It was a kind of comfort Giorno couldn’t ever remember receiving, and it took no time at all for him to fall into an exhausted sleep, curled safely in the embrace of the only being who, despite the potential friends he made that day, would ever truly know him. Truly see him.