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Restaurants could sometimes be overwhelming. Everything was so loud and so muffled at the same time. Waitstaff buzzed around the crowded tables in the low light, making it difficult to tell if the movement that Mista saw out of the corner of his eye was sinister or mundane. Everything felt claustrophobic. He would have rather sat outside, but he knew it was safer inside. There was only one entrance and they were seated in one of the far corners of the room. If they were out front they would be far more exposed.
Sipping on his wine, Mista looked across the table at Trish. She seemed so calm and relaxed. He was glad, but in some ways a little envious. She’d been able to disappear for the most part. She was no longer a person of interest and therefore didn’t have to worry about going out in public. Sometimes Mista missed the early days when no one really knew who any of them were, but he didn’t regret staying with Giorno, not for a second.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Mista blinked, “Huh? I wasn’t-”
“You know if any other man stared at me as long as you just did I’d hit him."
“Oh?” Mista smirked, “And what makes me different from other men?”
“Because I know you’re not interested in me.”
Mista was a little taken back by the confidence in her voice, “What makes you so sure.” he said playfully.
She rolled her eyes at him and for a second Mista could have sworn he saw her glance at Giorno, “Oh please, it’s pretty obvious.”
A warmth started to creep up Mista’s neck as she stared at him, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“So have you found a place to settle down yet?” Giorno asked, ignoring their staring contest.
Trish broke eye contact and turned to Giorno, “No, not yet. I kind of like traveling around. I probably should think about it though.”
“There’s no hurry Trish, we’ll support you, whatever your choice is.” He smiled reassuringly at her.
She looked down at her plate, “You know you don’t have to do that.”
Giorno reached over and touched her hand lightly, “Trish, you never chose any of this and you’re our friend, so we’re always going to do whatever we can to help you.”
A rush of fresh air blew through the restaurant as a couple stepped in. Mista’s head snapped in their direction. They were an elderly couple, maybe in their late 70s, dressed nicely, they didn’t seem to have a reservation as they looked to be negotiating with the host. They probably weren’t going to be any trouble.
Mista turned back to the conversation.
“Well I’m really happy that I got to see you guys.” Trish was saying, “I’m going to be here for a few days, do you think I’ll be able to see Fugo too?”
“I don’t think he’s too busy and even if he is, I’m sure he’ll find the time to see you.”
Trish’s face seemed to glow a bit as she smiled, “I’d like that.”
Mista glanced over at Giorno’s full glass of wine and casually grabbed it. Giorno made a small sound of protest and Mista chuckled at him, “What? You’re not going to drink it, there’s no use wasting it.”
Giorno opened his mouth as if to say something, but decided against it. He sighed, shaking his head, but he couldn’t hide his smile. Trish looked between the two of them before looking away as she attempted to suppress her own grin.
Mista looked at her suspiciously, “What?”
“Oh nothing.” She said innocently, staring him down again.
A minute passed before Giorno broke the silence, “Would you excuse me?” He started to scoot out of the booth, towards Mista who stood to let him out.
As Giorno stood Mista subtly grabbed his hand in a silent question. Giorno gave his hand a slight squeeze in reply before letting him go and heading toward the restroom. They had talked about things like this before. While Giorno appreciated all that Mista did for him, he could still handle himself, he didn’t need Mista to go everywhere with him, though Mista would prefer it. He’d always been the one to keep an eye out, even with Bucciarati, whether he knew it or not. Mista didn’t like to think about it, but nothing scared him more than the thought of anything happening to Giorno, especially if he could have prevented it. He couldn’t lose anyone else, especially not him.
Mista stared at the spot where Giorno disappeared for a long moment before he was pulled back to the table by the waiter.
“Can I interest you in dessert?”
“Oh no, I’m fine.” Trish dismissed him.
“I’m okay,” Mista said. “But he’ll have the budino al cioccolato.” he gestured to Giorno’s empty seat.
The waiter nodded and hurried away. Trish watched Mista, raising an eyebrow at him.
“So,” She said slowly. “When are you going to tell him?”
Mista knit his eyebrows at her, “What?”
“Giorno. When are you going to tell him that you’re in love with him?”
Mista felt as if his stomach had jumped into his throat as the edges of his vision seemed to glow. A cold sweat washed over him and he could feel the warmth from earlier creeping up his face. “What?” he said nervously, forcing a laugh.
“Mista, I’m not stupid. Do you remember when we first met? You want to know something? You used to irritate the hell out of me with the way you used to stare at me when you thought I wasn’t looking, but then something changed and you stopped. You started looking at Giorno like that, but it was different when you looked at him. And you want to know something else? I just had to sit through a whole dinner with you staring at him like he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. It’s obvious that you have feelings for him.”
“I- It’s not-” Mista looked away from her, staring at Giorno’s empty seat, “It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“What?”
“Giorno already has enough he has to deal with, he doesn’t need to deal with the fact that I’m an idiot on top of everything.”
“What do you mean?”
Mista was silent for a long moment and Trish understood.
“You are an idiot.”
He looked at her and she was a bit surprised by how hurt he looked, “Gee thanks Trish.”
“No,” She sighed, “That’s not what I meant. I mean that you’re stupid because for some reason you think that he doesn’t feel the same way.”
Mista opened his mouth to speak but Giorno appeared again, heading for the table. Mista hastily stood up. His head still felt light and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Giorno slid back into the booth and settled himself. He glanced over at Mista as he sat back down.
“Are you feeling okay?” Giorno reached a hand up to lightly touch Mista’s burning cheek in concern.
Mista gently grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from his face, “I’m fine, just feeling a little warm is all.” Mista locked eyes with Trish for a second, but he looked away quickly.
“We can leave if you’re not feeling well.”
Mista sighed and looked back at Giorno, “I’m fine, really.”
Just then the waiter dropped off Giorno’s dessert. Giorno smiled at his pudding before looking up at Mista who was preoccupying himself by scanning the restaurant again.
Was he really that obvious? If Trish had noticed then who else had? Mista felt a bit sick to his stomach. He took a slow breath, trying to steady himself. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement. It was out of place.
A familiar feeling gripped him as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He put his hand on his pistol under the table and slowly pulled back the hammer, the constant din of the chattering crowd masking the sound of it clicking into place. Mista looked down at the table, taking deep steady breaths. He could feel them. They were somewhere behind them to the left, but he couldn’t let them know that he was aware of them.
He let out a long breath and everything felt as if it happened in slow motion. On the edge of his vision Mista saw two men stand up suddenly from their table. He didn’t have to see them raise their guns to know they were there. He grabbed Giorno’s arm and yanked him to the ground as he kicked over the table to give them cover. Mista didn’t hear the shots, just the panicked screams of the other guests. Without hesitation he peaked around the corner of the overturned table and fired two shots.
He heard the Pistols screaming over the crowd, “We got them! Mista we got them!”
Some of the tension left Mista’s body for a moment. He gripped Giorno’s arm tightly and Giorno looked at him, “You okay?” Giorno nodded. “Trish-”
“I’m okay.” Her voice was a little shaky and Mista realized this was probably the first time she’d probably been in any serious danger since Rome. He reached a hand toward her and she took it, squeezing it tightly.
“Miiiiisssssstttttaaaaa!” Number Two’s voice cut through the noise. “Mista! There’s another one.”
Mista dropped Trish’s hand and popped his head over the top of the table. His eyes locked onto the third man and he fired, but not before the man threw something in their direction.
You’ve got to be kidding.
He reached back, blindly grabbing Giorno again, “Go!” He yelled hoping Trish would understand. He led Giorno out from behind the table as he fired his last three shots in the direction of the man to cover them. He tried to pull Giorno closer toward him to shield him, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. In the last second he caught a glimpse of Trish punching the table with Spice Girl.
There was a flash and suddenly everything went silent. They were all pushed back violently. Mista felt Giorno’s hand ripped from his in the blast as debris skidded off him, leaving deep cuts in their wake. Trish’s trick with the table had helped control the brunt of the explosion, but that didn’t change the fact that they had only been feet away from a grenade blast.
Mista’s ears were ringing. It felt as if his whole head was vibrating as he tried to push himself off the ground. He opened his eyes but they weren’t much help. The room was spinning.
“Giorno!” He knew he had called out but he couldn’t even hear his own voice, he could only feel Giorno’s name in his throat.
He managed to push himself onto his hands and knees and crawled desperately in the direction he thought Giorno had flown. Slowly Giorno’s hand came into focus a few feet away from him. He was laying on his back, blood blossoming on his shirt.
No.
Suddenly he had Giorno’s head in his lap, but it wasn’t his lap. It wasn’t his hands holding Giorno’s head, it was Trish’s. He looked up to see Naracia leaning over Giorno, but when he looked into Narancia's eyes he didn’t see him there. The smell of rain and blood filled the air around him. No. He couldn’t be here. Not again. He couldn’t feel this pain again. He couldn’t stand to be ripped apart like that. To see Giorno’s body lifeless and bloody, to know that Narancia had been taken from them so violently.
His body trembled as he sucked in shallow breaths, tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t be here. He wasn’t here. Then why did it feel so real? His chest ached so much he felt as if his heart was going to burst. He wanted to leave. He couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Mista.”
He heard his name faintly in the distance, but he couldn’t pull himself back. Something was holding him here.
“Mista!”
Giorno was pulling him off the restaurant floor. His shirt was still soaked in blood, but he was standing. Mista’s breathing was loud in his ears and his knees buckled under him. Giorno caught him and dragged him back to his feet again.
“Mista! We have to go.” He pulled him toward the door but Mista’s feet rolled under his weight and Giorno stumbled. “Trish!” He called somewhere ahead of them, “Get to the car!”
Mista slid through Giorno’s arms and his knees hit the ground. But he didn’t land on the carpeted floor of the restaurant, instead he was kneeling in the mud at the Coliseum. His hands were gripping tightly to Bucciarati’s jacket. He couldn’t look at his face. Anger, pain, and confusion tore through him at an alarming rate. He hadn’t known that he was capable of feeling so many emotions at once. He didn’t want to. It all hurt too bad. He felt empty. Hollow. But full to bursting all at the same time. His scream felt like it shredded his vocal cords. He sucked in a breath and choked on it.
He couldn’t be here either.
Not now.
“Mista.”
Not here.
Anywhere but here.
“Mista.”
Please.
“Mista!” Giorno’s face came into focus for a second. “Mista! Can you hear me?”
He couldn’t speak, his throat was too tight. Giorno bent down and grabbed Mista around the waist before standing and slinging him over his shoulder. Mista was only vaguely aware of Giorno carrying him to the car. He was trapped in time. Sliding in and out of the present.
Giorno threw open the back door of the car and laid Mista down on the seat. He watched his eyes for a moment. He wasn’t there. He’d slipped away again. Giorno didn’t know where he’d gone, but he knew it was hurting him. He closed the door and hurried to the driver’s seat. Trish glanced back at Mista and then looked at him. There was terror in her eyes, but Giorno pretended not to notice as he started the car, pulling quickly out onto the street. He checked his mirrors as he drove to make sure they weren’t being followed. He could feel Trish continuing to look back at Mista.
“We have to find somewhere to stop.” She said in a shaky voice.
“We’re going back to the apartment, then we’ll call Fugo and-”
“Giorno, you have to help him!”
“I can’t!” His voice broke and a deafening silence fell between them.
Giorno gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles going white. His jaw clenched as his eyes began to sting. He hated feeling helpless.
“What do you mean?” Trish said quietly after a moment.
“There-there’s nothing wrong with him…physically.” Giorno’s voice felt strangled.
“What do we do then?”
“I don’t know.” He whispered. He was quiet a minute before taking a deep breath to steady his voice.“We’re just going to go home and call Fugo and figure it out.”
In the back seat Mista cried out. Giorno flinched but didn’t look away from the road. He could feel Trish watching him now. He really wished she wouldn’t. She pulled one of her knees up to her chest as she finally looked away from him, staring through the dashboard in front of her. She was quite a long while.
“Has this happened before?” her voice wasn’t shaking anymore.
Giorno let the silence settle again. He felt a bit conflicted. Trish was their friend, both of them trusted her, but it didn’t feel like it was his place to say. He was pretty sure that Fugo didn’t even know. He glanced at Trish out of the corner of his eye. She was their friend.
“It’s happened a few times.” his voice was hollow, “Every time it’s only been for a moment and we’ve always been home. It’s never happened when it mattered.”
Giorno found his mind wandering back to the day he’d come down from his office to find Mista sitting on the kitchen floor, glass from his shattered plate scattered on the ground around him. They sat there together for what felt like forever as he had silently wrapped up Mista’s bleeding hand. He didn’t ask him any questions. He just held him as he cried. That had been the day they both learned how to properly plaster a whole in the wall and they found out that paint fades over time so you can’t just repaint one spot, you have to do the whole wall.
Giorno turned off the car and wordlessly went to the back seat. Mista had gone quiet for the last few minutes of the drive and Giorno guessed he’d fallen unconscious. He carefully climbed over him where he lay across the seat. Giorno touched his face lightly.
“Mista?” he said quietly. He gave him a gentle shake. “Mista?” Giorno sighed and turned back to Trish who was waiting anxiously outside the car, “Could you help me by getting the doors?”
Trish nodded and Giorno pulled Mista out of the car. This time he almost cradled him as he carried him. This way was a little harder, he had to support his full weight on his arms rather than over his shoulder and it limited his movement quite a bit, but Giorno wanted to make sure he was comfortable.
Mista’s head slumped against Giorno’s shoulder as they got into the elevator and Giorno leaned against the back wall. He closed his eyes for a moment and let his head rest against the wall as well, letting out a sigh.
They stepped silently into the apartment and Trish locked the door behind them. Giorno paused for a moment in the darkness. “Can you do me one more favor?” he asked her.
“Of course.”
“Can you just call Fugo for me? Tell him I need him here.”
Giorno caught Trish’s nod on the edge of his vision and he nodded back in thanks before continuing down the dark hall.
He laid Mista down gently on his bed, watching him for a long moment. His face looked peaceful, his breathing deep and rhythmic. Giorno lightly brushed his hand against his cheek before leaning down slowly and pressing his lips to Mista’s forehead. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of him.
“You’re safe now.” He whispered.
He then slowly took off Mista’s shoes and tucked him under the blanket. He stopped in the doorway and glanced back at Mista one more time before slipping back into the hallway and heading for the living room.
Trish must have found the lights as the living room and kitchen were now bright. Giorno almost wished she’d kept them off, it all felt like noise to him. She was sitting at one end of the table clutching a cup of tea. A second cup sat at one of the empty seats to the left of her. Giorno sat down, but he didn’t look at her. He stared at some point in front of him on the table. After a long minute he leaned forward and put his head in his hands, taking a deep breath before folding his hands and resting his chin on them, staring at the wall across from him. His body shivered and he felt his throat tighten.
“Fugo’s on his way.” Trish said quietly, breaking the silence.
“Thank you.” he managed and suddenly his eyes started to sting again.
Giorno blinked and looked away for a moment. He started tapping on the table anxiously. He glanced around for something to fidget with and grabbed a little origami frog that had been on the table for weeks. Mista had made it. It was nowhere near perfect, but he’d driven himself crazy trying to learn how to do it. He had been so proud of himself.
Giorno stared at it and felt himself smile weakly. For a second he thought about turning it into something as was his habit when he was overly anxious, but he liked the little guy. He set the frog down in front of him and stared at it a long while before finally taking a sip of his tea.
Trish looked around the apartment. She’d visited them a few times, but every time there was something different. It looked more lived in. Felt more homey. She glanced at the windows in the living room that were crammed with potted plants.
“I see you guys got more plants.”
Giorno glanced behind himself to follow her gaze. “Oh…yeah, that’s my fault. Mista keeps putting them in pots though. I honestly hadn’t noticed how many we had.” he paused for a minute as he considered something. “You know, I have no idea how he’s managed to keep them all alive.”
He smiled to himself. Trish took it as a good sign. Giorno wasn’t someone that she’d ever been good at reading. He kept a lot of his emotions close. That’s why it had been so jarring for her to see him upset like that. It was rare and unsettling.
“You guys repainted the kitchen too.”
Giorno’s face fell. It was almost imperceptible, but Trish saw it. She wished she hadn’t.
“Yeah.” His voice sounded hollow again.
“I like the color.” she said quickly.
“Mista picked it.” Giorno took a sip of his tea, looking away from the kitchen. “That’s why it doesn’t match the rest of the apartment.”
Trish looked at him. There was a hint of a smile returning to his lips. “Well I think it looks good. It gives the place personality.” She offered him a small smile of her own.
Giorno glanced at the clock. He fidgeted in his seat, tapping his foot. The anxiety was back. Where was Fugo anyway? “I uh-” he struggled for a moment, “I think I’m going to go check on him.”
He stood up quickly, his chair scraping the floor, and placed what looked like a honeysuckle flower on the table in front of the origami frog. Trish hadn’t even seen what it was that he’d used to make it.
·༻❀༺·
Everything felt foggy. Thinking was like moving through something thick and dense. Mista was vaguely aware of his body, but he felt oddly detached from it. His hand felt warm. It was a familiar sensation, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Something brushed his face, but it felt a million miles away. He could almost hear a soft voice. It was a cadence, he knew. A familiar sound. It made him feel safe. He had to come back to himself. He couldn’t stay like this. Floating just out of reach.
Then all at once it felt as if he’d breached the surface, coming up for some much needed air. He closed his fingers around the hand that was holding his and let that touch ground him.
“Mista?” Giorno leaned in over him as he opened his eyes.
Giorno’s face slowly came into focus. His hair still looked a bit windswept and there was dried blood on his face from the cut that ran along his jaw. Mista jolted upright and his vision swam.
“You’re okay.” Giorno said quickly, “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Mista looked around and for the first time realized that he was in his room. His head pounded, “What…” Everything felt so jumbled.
He had been at the restaurant with Giorno and Trish. Then they were attacked. Then…He flinched. It was like feedback in his head. It had happened again. But it was worse this time. So much worse. Worse than ever before. An image flashed: Giorno lying bloody on the restaurant floor. Without thinking, Mista reached up and touched Giorno’s chest.
“You- are you- I-”
“I’m okay.” The blood on his clothes had browned now. “I healed myself right after it happened. I’m fine.”
Mista let his hand drop. He could feel Giorno watching him as an overwhelming feeling of shame washed over him.
Giorno touched his face lightly, “I’m going to get you some tea, okay?”
Mista nodded mutely and Giorno stood to leave, letting his fingertips trail along Mista’s face as he walked away leaving a tingling sensation on his skin.
Giorno left the door cracked and Mista stared at the gap. He was supposed to protect Giorno. That was the one responsibility he had that really mattered. And he’d failed. A gloominess seemed to settle over him. It wouldn’t be the first time. But this time had been one of the worst times in a long while. He looked down at his hands. He had been useless. In fact he’d probably put them in more danger. What was wrong with him?
Mista threw off the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing suddenly. He swayed for a moment, his knees feeling like jelly, but he willed himself to keep it together, heading for the door. Making his way down the hall he could hear voices. He paused to listen.
“Giorno, can you please take this seriously for once? Why did you even call me if you’re going to act like it’s no big deal?”
“I am taking it seriously. What I’m saying is that you’re missing the point. It’s not the fact that they tried to kill me- that happens every other week, I’m used to it by now- I just want to know who is trying to kill me.”
“Okay, I get that, but what I’m saying is that they shouldn’t have even been able to get in. We pay De Luca to-”
“Fugo.” Giorno’s voice changed. It was subtle, but it was clear he was getting irritated. “Listen to me, because I don’t want to have to explain this again. I don’t care about De Luca unless you think he’s on someone else’s payroll, which you better hope he’s not. What I care about is knowing who ordered that hit. I want to know who thought that they were so under our radar that they could try to kill me in the middle of a restaurant that everyone knows is loyal to us. And I want to know why we didn’t know about them.”
“Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?” Fugo was getting angry. If he knew what was good for him he’d check himself. “I’m not the reason why your dinner was ruined! That would be Mista!”
“Fugo-” Trish interjected, but Fugo ran right over her.
“Or did you forget that he’s the one who was supposed to be keeping an eye out? Maybe if he had actually been doing his job then-”
Trish yelped and Mista heard the sound of a cup shattering violently.
“Don’t you…” Giorno’s voice was harsh and menacing. A tension permeated through the whole apartment. Everything went quiet for a long moment. “Get out.” Giorno said dangerously.
“What?” there was still an obvious anger in Fugo’s voice.
“Get out!”
Mista jumped in surprise. Giorno never yelled. In fact, most of the time when Fugo got like this he ignored it, but it was clear Fugo had made a misstep somewhere, he’d actually gotten under Giorno’s skin.
Mista stepped into the room. Giorno was standing in the kitchen staring at Fugo in the living room with an intensity that Mista had never seen before. He’d seen Giorno get mad, but something about this was different. Trish was sitting at the table looking between the two of them, terrified. The tension was palpable.
“Come on Gio, you can’t throw him out, Trish said she wanted to see him, even if he can be insufferable sometimes.”
It was as if a spell broke. The three of them turned to look at him. Trish jumped up and rushed towards him.
“Mista!” She threw her arms around him and squeezed him a little too tight. “Thank you.” she whispered in his ear.
“Who’s out here breaking stuff anyway?” He looked over at Fugo who just blinked at him. He looked a little pale. Mista’s eyes drifted to a spot a few feet behind him on the living room floor where a mug lay shattered in a puddle of tea. He raised an eyebrow and turned to Giorno who was avoiding his eyes, a little pink around the ears.
“How are you feeling?” Giorno asked quietly, looking up at him.
“I’m fine.” Mista said dismissively, “Was that one of the blue ones?” He gestured in the direction of the mug, walking over to Giorno.
“Sorry.” He murmured.
“It’s fine.” Mista said lightly, walking past him and over to the cabinet that they kept all the mugs in. He opened it, grabbed one of the blue mugs and proceeded to drop it on the floor.
Giorno quickly turned away from him and stifled a laugh as Fugo and Trish stared at them in shock.
“What?” Mista shrugged, “It was a set of five.”
·༻❀༺·
Trish and Fugo stayed later than either of them had meant to. Mista had opened a bottle of wine, completely forgetting about the tea and they all sat in the living room together playing cards until Fugo realized that Mista had been cheating the whole time. Mista argued it didn’t matter because Giorno won every round anyways, but Fugo insisted it was the principle. They only stopped arguing when Trish, red faced and a little teary-eyed from laughing, spilt her wine all over the coffee table.
“I’m so sorry.” She’d managed between giggles.
After that she and Fugo called it a night and he drove her back to her place. It was well past two in the morning when Mista and Giorno had finished cleaning up, but Mista’s mind was still buzzing. He was glad that they’d all been able to relax after everything, but there was a persistent little voice tugging at him from the back of his mind, beckoning him back into the darkness. Most of his life he’d spent pushing that part of him down, pretending it wasn’t there. If he didn’t think about it then it wasn’t real. Right?
“You should go to bed.”
Mista jumped at Giorno’s voice. He had been absentmindedly rearranging the movies. He looked up at him. Giorno was dressed for bed, his hair still a little damp from the shower.
“I’m not tired.” Mista shrugged, turning back to the movie cabinet.
Giorno sat down on the couch and was silent for a long moment, “Mista…”
Mista felt his heart sink. He should have known better than to think he could fool Giorno. Unfortunately, he knew him too well. Mista looked at the VHS in his hand a moment before returning it to the cabinet and resignedly joining Giorno on the couch. He didn’t look at him, but could feel his eyes searching him for something.
Giorno touched his face lightly and he met his eyes. “I need you to take care of yourself.”
Mista pressed his lips together.
“Do you know what happened?”
Mista felt a small wave of panic was over him as he thought about it again. “I thought-” He struggled for the words, “You-” His throat felt tight and he wished Giorno would break their eye contact. “You scared me.”
Giorno’s eyebrows knit in confusion and Mista finally looked away, he couldn’t stand his gaze anymore. He was looking at him with so much pain and concern. Mista hated knowing that he’d caused that. A part of him was telling him to leave the conversation there, but he knew he couldn’t. He owed Giorno an explanation. He wanted to let him in, he just wasn’t sure if he could open himself up like that. It hurt so much. He’d never said any of it out loud before and he was scared what would happen if he did. He looked back up at Giorno and found something calming in his eyes. He was safe.
“I thought I’d lost you.” He tried to take a breath in, but it caught in his throat, “And I can’t- I-” He finally managed to suck in some air, but now his breathing was coming too fast, “I need you to stay here. Please. I-”
It felt as if the words were being ripped from his chest. He could feel a part of himself slipping away, wanting desperately to dissociate from the whole situation, but he pulled himself back.
“I can’t lose anyone else after- especially not-” tears were streaming down his face as he forced himself to get the words out, “Especially not you. I’m sorry. I just need you to stay with me. Please don’t- don’t- I-” he gasped for air between words.
Giorno pulled him into a tight hug as he started to hyperventilate. He let out a pained sound into Giorno’s chest, choking violently on his inhale.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Giorno whispered. “I promise.”
His words broke Mista and he completely surrendered himself to his emotions, but somehow, in Giorno’s arms it didn’t scare him. He was in pain, but he felt safe. He buried his face in Giono’s chest and cried loudly, clutching desperately to him. He wasn’t really sure how long they sat there together, but eventually his breathing started to even out. For a minute he thought he might be sick, but the feeling passed as Giorno ran his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes and Giorno re-positioned himself to allow Mista to lay on top of him.
Mista’s breathing shifted into deep steady breaths and Giorno felt his full weight on him as he drifted off to sleep. He continued to run his fingers through Mista’s hair, playing with his curls. Giorno felt a swelling in his chest and he gripped Mista’s shirt tightly in his other hand. He had never felt so close to someone. Most of his life he’d spent keeping a safe distance from other people. When he’d joined Bucciarati and the others for the first time he’d felt like he actually belonged somewhere. He cared for all of them and it was clear that they had cared for him too. It had been such a strange new feeling and with Mista it had always felt so easy. He felt like he could be more himself around him. When Giorno thought about it, Mista knew more about him than anyone ever had. He’d never let anyone get that close. But it never felt bad. It felt warm and safe. Giorno had been thinking about it for a while, but now he was sure of it: He loved Mista.
So why did his heart hurt like this?
Giorno closed his eyes and focused on the rhythm of Mista’s breathing. He tried to match it, his body relaxing as he slowly fell asleep.
·༻❀༺·
Mista felt disoriented as he stared at his bedroom wall. The last thing he remembered was lying on the couch with Giorno, listening to the steady sound of his heart beating in his chest. He didn’t remember ever going to his room last night, yet here he was.
His whole body hurt. His face was swollen from crying and his eyes felt like sandpaper. He rolled over and was surprised to see the blanket on the other side of the bed was pulled down. He sat up and touched the pillow next to him. Had Giorno stayed with him? Mista looked around the room as if he was going to find the answer there somewhere.
He climbed out of bed and opened the door only to be met with familiar music. Was Giorno playing his CDs? A fuzzy feeling started in Mista’s chest and he couldn’t help but smile.
Giorno was too involved in the kitchen to notice Mista emerging from the hall. He was clearly packing up food for something. He reached absently across the counter for something and accidentally knocked over his cup of coffee. He froze and watched it drip down the edge of the counter as he considered how to deal with the mess. Mista pressed his lips together, suppressing a laugh. It was cute how clumsy Giorno was in the kitchen considering how meticulous he was with just about everything else. After a moment, Giorno set down the jar of jam he had picked up and turned to grab a dish towel, finally noticing Mista.
“What are you doing?”
“Making lunch.” It sounded more like a question than an answer. “I, um, I wanted to go out. I thought that we could meet Fugo and Trish.” Giorno seemed a little nervous as if he wasn’t telling Mista something.
Mista looked over the kitchen. It was a mess considering that Giorno hadn’t really cooked anything. “Were you thinking of having a picnic?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
Giorno offered no more explanation and Mista didn’t bother asking. He got dressed and helped Giorno finish packing the rest of the food. When it was just the two of them, Mista usually drove, but since it was obvious that Giorno wasn’t going to tell him where they were going he handed him the keys. They drove in silence, Mista trying not to stare at Giorno as Karen Carpenter’s voice floated quietly from the stereo.
Giorno parked the car on the street, “We’ll have to walk.”
Mista carried the basket as they made their way down the sidewalk. The area looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place it. They rounded the corner and the wall that had been to their left turned into an ornate iron fence. Mista stopped walking. Now he knew why he recognized this street. Giorno walked a few more steps before he noticed Mista was no longer beside him.
He turned to look at Mista, he looked nervous. “I thought that we all could have lunch together.” he said quietly after a minute. “We can go home if you want.”
Mista met his eyes and sighed, smiling at him kindly as he walked over and took his hand, “No, I think it’s a good idea. Come on.”
Trish and Fugo were waiting for them at the cemetery gate. Trish, having checked the directory beforehand, led them all through the headstones. None of them spoke as they laid down the blanket and started setting up. Mista had only been here once before when they’d buried Bucciarati and Narancia. That day had been painful. Giorno had made sure that they had a good sized plot even though ground burials weren’t common in Italy. He’d looked for a nice cemetery too. One that had plenty of trees and grass. It almost felt like a garden. They had buried Bucciarati and Narancia next to each other and Giorno had made a point to have a gravestone made for Abbacchio as well, though there was no body in his plot. They had chosen to leave him on the beach in Sardinia.
It took them all a while, but eventually they relaxed and it was as if they were just some friends getting together for a picnic in a park. It felt nice, though Mista couldn’t help but feel a little guilty when he realized it had been two years. He’d thought about visiting, but he always talked himself out of it. The thought of coming here alone hurt too much, but with everyone else it was fine. He didn’t feel happy, but he wasn’t sad either, just a little melancholy.
The longer they sat there the more Giorno’s vines bloomed, until all three of the gravestones were covered in white roses. Giorno leaned against Mista as they listened to Trish tell them all about her recent travels. He laid his hand on top of Mista’s and intertwined their fingers. Mista gave his fingers a squeeze and swore he saw him smile.
As they all cleaned up they set aside some food to leave behind. Fugo grabbed a portion and looked at Giorno, “Um, can I?”
Giorno nodded and he knelt down in front of Narancia’s grave, placing the food there gently. He stared at the inscription for a long moment as Giorno placed some of the food at Abbacchio’s grave. Fugo rejoined Trish and Mista at Bucciarati’s plot. His eyes looked a little wet and tinged pink around the edges. Mista looked away from him as Giorno appeared next to him.
Trish stepped forward with the last of the food and knelt down, placing it for Bucciarati before standing and rejoining the three of them. She quietly took Fugo’s hand and then Mista’s, giving them both a comforting squeeze. On Mista’s other side, Giorno slid his hand into his.
After a minute, Trish rested her head on Mista’s shoulder, “I love you guys.” she said quietly.
She looked up at Mista and he smiled weakly at her as she slipped her arm around his waist, pulling him into a hug. At the same time she managed to yank Fugo into their embrace and Giorno joined them.
“We love you too, Trish.” Mista laughed as tears ran down his face.
When they finally all broke apart Trish was sniffling, her nose a bright pink. Fugo turned away from them all and Mista couldn’t help but suspect it was to hide his own tears. He cleared his throat suspiciously as Mista wiped his cheeks with his sleeve.
“We should really get going.” Fugo said with his back to them.
Trish took his arm, “Okay.” She said gently, smiling at him before steering him to the exit, Mista and Giorno following close behind.