Archive of Our Own

The line went dead.

     He tossed his flip phone onto the bed before stretching, his bare feet sinking into the plush crimson carpet beneath him. Returning home had been a relief unlike any other. Monaco had been breathtaking, but nothing compared to his apartment. He loved the quiet elegance of his West Village home: the privacy, the street view, the warm glow cat by the chandeliers, the gold accents, and the carefully curated collection of Italian art adorning nearly every wall. Walking through his room after weeks abroad always felt like breathing again. Unfortunately, home would have to wait. Tonight's obligation was a rock inspired fashion showcase somewhere in Lower Manhattan. Tribeca, he thought. Or nearby. His gaze drifted toward the outfit waiting for him.

A distressed black t-shirt riddled with holes. Dark wash bootcut jeans. A studded leather belt. He nearly yawned. Compared to the tailoring and artisanal craftsmanship he adored, it felt painfully uninspired. Naturally, he ignored it. So instead, he reached into his wardrobe and pulled out an Alexander McQueen masterpiece. An ivory suede blouson adorned with brushed gold hardware. He fastened only the upper buckles, leaving the zipper open just enough to expose a tasteful glimpse of his chest before the jacket ended neatly at his midriff. He paired it with matching low rise suede trousers in a similar ivory tone, deliberately cut low enough to reveal the sharp lines of his hips. Around his waist sat a black and gold belt, with black fringed suede shoes completed the look.

Much better.

His hair still hung loose over his shoulders. He dabbed cologne lightly onto his wrists, neck, and, as was his peculiar habit, through the middle lengths of his hair before weaving the blond strands into his signature loose braid. Perfect. Glancing at the clock, then at the notifications lighting up his buzzing BlackBerry, Giorno finally stepped outside under the escort of his bodyguard, Leone. As he exited the building, he offered an apologetic smile to the doormen.

"Sorry in advance."

     They already knew what was coming. The moment he appeared on the sidewalk, the block erupted into controlled chaos. Camera flashes burst like lightning as paparazzi crowded behind barricades, shouting his name over one another. Yet he expected it. Instead of shining away from it, his posture straightened. He lifted his chin. A warm, practiced smile spread across his face as he waved to the crowd, giving every photographer the clean angles they wanted. If the Getty Images photographs were going to circulate by morning, they might as well be damn good. He really hoped tonight would be fulfilling.

      Giorno found himself dropped off at a well maintained apartment complex, the address was the penthouse. All the way at the tip top, he could see light flashing above, the doormen of this building promptly welcomed him. "Thank you." He nodded politely while being thoughtfully escorted inside, soon pushing his way to the elevator, making his way up with his body guard. That guy being Leone Abacchio. He wasn't the warmest, but Giorno didn't mind his presence. He knew at heart he was a good man and even better, an especially meticulous guard considering his time as an officer. Giorno stood with one hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers while Leone occupied his usual position a respectful distance behind him, his sharp eyes following the changing floor numbers.

"Penthouse," the digital display chimed.

     The doors parted to reveal a flood of music, conversation, and flashing lights. The spacious loft had been transformed into an exhibition of organized chaos. Industrial concrete pillars disappeared beneath dramatic lighting installations while arrangements of black roses and orchids framed the entrance. Models drifted effortlessly through the crowd in exaggerated silhouettes, photographers darted between guests in search of the perfect candids, and servers carrying silver trays moved through clusters of celebrities, editors, and buyers.
"Giorno!" He barely had time to step forward before Bruno appeared, looking every bit as exhausted as he had sounded over the phone. His tailored navy suit was immaculate, though the slight crease between his brows suggested the evening had already tested his patience. "You actually came."
"I said I would."
"I was only about sixty percent sure."
Bruno's eyes swept over Giorno's outfit, lingering for a second before an amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"..You ignored the look they sent you."
"No, I improved it."
"I expected nothing less."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting a sigh escape his mouth.

     "They're going to pretend to be offended for about five minutes before realizing every photographer here is going to spend the rest of the night taking pictures of you." Giorno smiled at that. "As long as they're happy."
"Come on. There are a few introductions you need to make before everyone gets too distracted." As they crossed the room, conversations seemed to pause for a split second. Familiar faces turned toward him, some offering polite smiles, others subtly elbowing companions while whispering behind champagne glasses. Giorno acknowledged each glance with the same effortless composure, returning greetings with a nod or a brief handshake. Bruno eventually stopped beside a small gathering near one of the displays.

"Giorno, I'd like you to meet the creative team."

     The lead designer stepped forward first, dressed head to toe in distressed denim layered beneath an oversized leather coat. Their handshake was firm, enthusiasm radiating from every word. "It's such an honor. We've admired your work for years."
"The feeling is mutual," Giorno replied smoothly. "Your presentation is certainly memorable."

"I noticed you.. erm..interpreted! Our styling suggestion."
Bruno quietly looked away.
"I felt inspired," Giorno answered without missing a beat.
For a brief moment the designer stared at him before laughing.
"Y'know I can't even argue with that. You somehow made it look expensive."
"It already was." Another round of laughter followed, instantly dissolving any lingering awkwardness.

     The introductions continued. Stylists eager to explain their latest collections. Magazine editors hoping to secure an interview.  A handful of actors and musicians drifted over simply to exchange formality. Giorno navigated each conversation with practiced ease, listening attentively, complimenting where appropriate, and politely declining every invitation that threatened to extend beyond the evening. Leone remained only a few steps behind throughout it all, quietly observing the room while keeping an eye on anyone who lingered a little too long. Bruno leaned closer once the latest conversation had concluded. "You've survived the networking portion."
"Wonderful."
"The runway starts in fifteen minutes."
"And after that?"
"You smile for a few more photographs."
"I can endure that."
"And then you're free."
A genuine smile finally crossed Giorno's face.
"Now that," he said, accepting a glass of sparkling water from a passing server, "is the best thing I've heard all day."

     With those words the night flowed ever so seamlessly. Before Giorno knew it, he was free to go out. He'd said his goodbyes, laughed at some shitty jokes, talked about the Grand Prix with someone he'd never even mentioned his Monaco trip to, and kept his complete composure. Walking out of the building, he could feel Leone right behind him. "You know how I like to end the nights." He said. "I know." Leone said quite flat. They finally reached the pavement of outside, Giorno pulled out his wallet slipping 4 50's through his fingers, passing them to his bodyguard. Leone looked at the money for a moment before accepting it with a sigh that suggested this had become something of a tradition.

     "Thank you for covering for me," Giorno said with an easy smile. "It gives me a chance to enjoy myself without worrying about dragging you along."
"You pay me enough to tolerate it."
"I was hoping you'd say you enjoy my company."
"I didn't."
Giorno laughed quietly. "I know."
"Just get home safe, kid."
"I always do."
"If that changes, call me. Just saying, I'll be smoking around the block."
"I will."

Leone gave a single nod.

      Giorno now walking away, feeling the crisp breeze against his exposed skin. Seriously, he needed a drink in his system after such a boring night. Right around the corner of the street he can see a glow of yellow on the sidewalk coming from whatever sign above. Luckily no pedestrians were about to disturb his small stroll over to the light source. He stared at the cursive writing on the window, "Six Shots Bar & Lounge." The sign read. From the view of outside, he could see easily that the bar was upscale. Exactly his taste. And only people seemed to be inside, even better. He let down his hair from its usual back braid in attempt to roughen his appearance, he pushed open the door, inviting the scent of oranges and blackberries. The lighting was dim and warm, with lovely leather seating, the bar gorgeously marveled. The walls hued warm as well with what seemed to be a tiger strip print on them. Giorno could feel some stares, from those seated in the lounge area, yet then again he can care less.

Let's Get It Started by Black Eyed Peas echoed through. How pleasant. The bar though, was empty.

     All except the bartender on the other side, whose back was turnt to Giorno. He seemed to be cleaning something. From the back all Giorno could make out was a navy blue fisherman beanie and the mans white sweater. Giorno sat right in front of the man. That caused him to turn showing, everything.
"Hey there- woah. Aren't you a pretty thing?" Said the guy with a raised eyebrow. Tan skin and dark, thick eyebrows, bits of short and dark curls stuck out from under the beanie, and a heavily exposed midriff, with washboard abs. His pants sat comfortably on his hips, dark washed jeans with a red Apple Bottoms belt. His sweater sleeves were rolled up, showing off quite strong forearms. "You're a new face. A real looker too." 

     Giorno paused for a fraction of a second at the remark. That was unusual. Most people had heard of him. If not by face, then by reputation. Recognition was almost expected wherever he went. Yet the bartender looked at him with nothing more than casual curiosity, as though Giorno were just another late night customer. "First time." Giorno leaned in. This was way better than being known. Finally, a clean slate with someone. "Thought I'd see what this place had to offer." He said evenly. The bartender grinned, revealing his dimples. "Well lucky me." The bartender sat down the glass he was polishing under the counter. "And you are-"

"Giorno."

Silence followed. "..Just, Giorno?"
"Just Giorno." The model smiled.

      "Huh." The bartender leaned back on the shelf, unfazed. "Cute name." Earning him the raise of the blond's eyebrow. Giorno was taken aback again. Had he seriously never seen him? Even so- as a model, he was used to striking, refined,  alluring, beautiful- never just, cute. "I'll take that as a compliment." 
"You should." The bartender laughed warmly. "Well thank you."
"Mista. Guido though if your face gets regular enough here." They softly smiled at one another, Mista's more of a smirk. "So, Giorno, what can I get you? Something strong? Sweet? You strike me as someone who orders expensive liquor just because the bottle looks pretty." Giorno glanced at his hands. "I strike you that quickly?"

"Well I make a living reading people."
"And?"
"And..." The bartender studied him for another moment. "You're either incredibly rich or incredibly dangerous."
"...Interesting." 
"Was I close?" Giorno only smiled again, weirdly enjoying this company.

     "I'm gonna be taking that as a yes." He watched as Mista poured a glass of Disaronno Riserva. "Amaretto and apricot to your fancy?"
Giorno could feel his ears pricking up with warmth. That was a quite spot on guess. "Yes, it is. Do you know me personally or something?" The bartender only laughed again.
"All I know is you walked in like you own my place." Mista huffed. "Not in the loud way snobby rich people usually do. More like someone who's used to everyone else moving first." Giorno's eyes met spot on with the others.

      "Your suit's expensive, but that's not what gave it away. You don't fidget. You don't look at the prices. You picked the seat with the best view of every exit without even thinking about it." He shrugged. "People don't notice what feels natural to them. You're unnatural or something." Giorno took a slow sip. Sweet almond gave way to dried apricot, exactly as expected. "So you think I'm like, dangerous or?" The bartender smiled. "More like trained." He watched as the guy, bartender, owner, manager? Whatever he was, pour himself his own glass. "You sound awfully certain."
"Because if I was wrong, you'd have walked out by now."

Giorno hummed, swirling the amber liquor in his glass.
"Instead?"
The bartender's grin was infuriatingly relaxed.
"Instead you're still here, asking me questions." He was quite right about that. Giorno glanced down at his glass before looking back up. "You seem pleased with yourself."
"Shouldn't I be?"
"You tell me." Mista smiled into his drink.
"Most people spend the first ten minutes trying to impress me."
"And me?"
"You're trying to figure out whether I'm worth impressing."

Giorno's lips tugged into the faintest smile. "...Am I that obvious?"

"Only if you're looking for someone who's paying attention." Mista winked.

      Giorno couldn't help the small smile that followed. Oh, he is good. He thought. The easy confidence, the casual way he leaned in, the way he seemed completely comfortable making a stranger feel like they were already familiar, it was all very practiced. A flirt. Definitely. Probably the type who knew exactly how charming he was and enjoyed seeing how far he could get with it. Giorno should have been more skeptical. Instead, he found himself curious. There was something entertaining about watching someone who was so effortlessly forward. Most people tried too hard to impress him. Mista, somehow, just acted like he already had his attention. And annoyingly, he did.
"You do this often?" Giorno asked.
Mista raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"
"Make people feel like you've known them longer than you actually have. I mean, I just walked in." Giorno played with the rim of his halfway empty glass.

     The bartender's smile turned softer, less smug. "Only for people worth noticing." Giorno raised an eyebrow. "That so?"
"Yeah." Mista let his gaze linger for a moment, entirely unapologetic. "Most people walk in here and I forget them the second they leave." A pause. "You, though?" His grin returned.
"Hard to forget." With that, Giorno couldn't bear to hide any of his amusement. "You're a real charmer." Mista looked up and down at Giorno. "Can you blame me?" And really, with a body and face like his own, Giorno couldn't blame the man. He knew he was a delight. Physically, mentally, socially, emotionally, monetarily, he was a real sweet experience.

"I couldn't."