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Leone hated being injured. The last thing he wanted was for the Don of Passione to see him in a state where his muscles were aching so bad that he couldn’t even brush his hair. He’d tried.
Giorno ignored his teammate’s grumblings, insisting as Leone sat up on the bed and the teen Don flitted behind him: “You did the same for me, remember?
“You were conscious?”
“During the mission last week? Yeah.” The boy made a point not to pull too hard on his friend’s hair. “Still. Let me return the favor.”
…Abbacchio couldn’t argue with that.