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Giorno Giovanna had a dream. Or used to. He wasn‘t so sure anymore if his dream had been worth achieving- not when every time he closed his eyes to get some rest, he was plagued by nightmares instead. Sleep had never been his friend, but these were different.
They were so very clear. He could smell the petrichor, hear the way the small rain droplets hit the giant stone structure of the Colosseum. It would have been a calming image if it wasn‘t for the warm, sticky feeling of blood on his hands.
With a gasp, Giorno shot up in bed. The silken pajamas he wore were drenched in sweat and suddenly, the warm breeze from the open balcony door felt more akin to an Arctic storm to him. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a second. But as soon as he saw vivid purple behind his closed lids, they snapped back open.
It wasn‘t an easy weight to carry to lose ones friends. Much less when carrying it alone.
Slowly moving his slender legs over the edge of the bed, he set his hands down at his sides. He idled, as if he wasn‘t sure whether he‘d truly be able to stand up, before rising. Sleep only served to make him more drained these days.
Giorno briefly looked outside and took in the way the moon reflected on the pearl white sand of the coast, then drew the curtains close. Since his night terrors had started, it was hard to even enjoy the sea and beaches anymore that he had once loved so dearly.
It was like everything had a bitter aftertaste, no matter what he did.
The way his wet hair stuck to the back of his neck was uncomfortable and he took a seat at the vanity in front of his bed. Giorno didn‘t like looking at himself in the mirror. Not anymore. Trish had told him that with his hair down, he looked like a cherub. But when he looked in the mirror, he only saw sin. Maybe he was more like Cain, drenched in the blood of his brothers. The intention didn‘t matter anymore when he started thinking.
He hadn‘t noticed he was trembling until his fingers struggled to hold onto the brush he had picked up. „Useless.“, he muttered to himself quietly, though the word came out of his dry throat rather broken. His golden locks were tangled from a night of tossing and turning, the slowly drying sweat only seemed to glue them together more.
With every time the brush got stuck, he grew more impatient. All the feelings he held back as soon as he stepped out of his bedroom every morning were bubbling up. In his position, Giorno couldn‘t allow himself to appear vulnerable to others. Now more than ever. The shock that had stunted his feelings throughout the chase of Diavolo had subsided, leaving him no choice but to face all of them only when he was alone at night.
A gust of wind blew the sheer curtains open again and through one of the angled side mirrors of the vanity, he could see the beach just outside the balcony.
Again, his brush got stuck. Giorno yanked the handle, though nothing happened except for tears burning up in his eyes. There was no way of telling what pain had caused it. This time he grabbed it with both hands. His head jerked forward with the brush and within one split second, all the weight on his shoulders came crashing down on him like a tidal wave.
The ocean outside and his own heartbeat became far too loud, the sharp pain at his scalp and his aching heart became too much. Overwhelmed with the sensation, he threw the brush out of his hand with a swift motion of his wrist. Giorno didn‘t flinch when the large mirror in front of him shattered. He merely stared ahead of himself for a couple of seconds.
Only when he heard heavy footsteps approaching quickly, he snapped out of his trance. The door slammed open and he had to squint a little from the bright lights in his peripheral vision.
„Giorno! Are you alright-“
„Everything is fine, Mista.“
The blonds voice was calm and even. He didn‘t need to turn his head to know Mista had his gun drawn and aimed. Ever since they had returned, he was more on edge. Even more trigger-happy than before and keen on protecting Giorno. It was hard not to be paranoid given his new position, not to mention the hell they had been through
„I‘m sorry for scaring you.“, Giorno said, tilting his head a little bit as he looked at the pile of shards. Some smaller ones had fallen onto his lap and between the large ones on his desk, the picture of his father laid hidden. It had been tucked between the vanity‘s frame. His fingers hovered over it. „Everything is fine.“
One more time, he scanned the room for any signs of intrusion before Mista finally let his gun disappear within his pants again. There was silence before the gunman stepped away from the doorframe, closing the door behind himself and chewing on his chapped bottom lip.
Unsure of what to do, Mista remained where he stood as his eyes adjusted to the comparatively dim moonlight. In a way, he wished that there had actually been danger ahead. Then he would‘ve let himself be led by instinct instead of slowly starting to overthink how he‘d approach Giorno now.
Shortly after their lives had regained some sense of normalcy, they had started dating; finding silent comfort in each other. They both knew what they had been through. But it was hard to talk about it. On the outside, Giorno handled it well. But Mista knew better than that.
It had been a little over a month now, yet Giorno still refused to share a bedroom with him. And as he watched over his door at night, he realised there was no ill intent behind it.
The first few days were awful.
Mista would hear broken sobs through the wall, muffled so quietly by a pillow that he wouldn‘t have heard them if he hadn‘t grown to be so attentive. As days passed, the sobs would eventually disappear and instead be replaced by restless pacing.
He understood. The memory of his lost friends haunted him all the same. But when Giorno left his room in the morning, all traces of his nightly terrors were gone. ‚Everything is fine.‘ had become more of a useless mantra than a real sentence to his ears. It was clear that the Don did not long to talk about his feelings.
„Giorno.“, Mista then repeated, a little more softly, to try and get him to look his way. No words about the broken mirror were spoken. This time, there was no hiding his distress.
„I‘m fine, really.“ The blond‘s slender fingers dove between the shards of thin glass to retrieve the photo, not bothering to push them aside and seemingly unbothered by the sharp edges leaving superficial cuts at his fingertips.
In disbelief, Mista watched him try to tuck the photo back into the empty mirror frame. Blood was pearling on his skin and it was obvious he tried to suppress his trembling, his hands giving occasional twitches. „Shit- man, you‘re out of it.“, he noted maladroitly. Silence again. Mista didn‘t notice he was holding his breath until he spoke again.
„I.. have bandaids with me.“, he spoke carefully as if not to frighten a feral animal. The black-haired boy was well aware Giorno could take care of the wounds within seconds, but it was more an attempt at offering comfort than anything else.
Giorno froze, weighing his options. Was there really any use in hiding it now? He tried to blink away the wetness in his eyes as he watched the picture float back on top of the broken mirror as soon as he let go of it again. Sometimes he wondered if things would have been different, had his father been around. Perhaps then comfort wouldn‘t be such a foreign concept to him. But he didn‘t like to ponder on it too much.
„Okay.“
As Mista stepped closer, some of the smaller fragments of glass audibly crushed under his boots and he flashed a crooked smile at Giorno when he finally turned his head to look at him. More shards fell to the ground as he stood up.
„Be careful, wait-“ Using his foot, Mista cleared a small path for him and offered his hand to him. An attempt at testing the waters, seeing how Giorno would react to physical contact; he slowly nodded, his half brushed hair bouncing just a little, before taking his hand with his own, uninjured one.
In comparison to the other, his footsteps were barely audible as he stepped out of the mess. Giorno sat down on the edge of the bed and when his boyfriend pulled his hand away, he held on for just a little too long to disguise that he really needed the comfort right now.
But he didn‘t say anything, just watched Mista lean over so he could take his hat off without spilling its contents before sitting down next to him again. In a way, Giorno felt relieved. Seeing Mista without his ridiculous hat was a rare sight, the sight of his messy black hair made him feel like he wasn‘t the only one openly vulnerable anymore.
Bullets clinked against each other as Mista fished three crumpled band-aids out of his hat. He laid them on his lap, moving to put it on again as he felt Giorno‘s hand on his forearm.
„Can you keep it off?“
„If I didn‘t know any better, I‘d think you‘re tryin‘ to flirt with me.“, Mista teased, hoping to get rid of the grim expression on his boyfriends face. And for just a moment he succeeded, relishing in the way Giorno rolled his blue eyes as the ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
„No need to deny it. I‘m a pretty good catch, I understand.“, he continued as he took ahold of the blondes hand again, carefully applying one band-aid after another. It felt weird to treat such a minuscule wound. Suddenly, Mista wasn‘t sure anymore if the action would really bring Giorno comfort and he shut himself up.
It made a weird feeling bubble in his gut. The last injury he could remember that could‘ve been treated by a band-aid only had been on Narancia‘s cheek, after the unpleasant fork encounter. This had been just before Giorno joined them. After that, he couldn‘t remember a situation where a band-aid could‘ve been sufficient.
Mista was overthinking again. He needed to stop. This wasn‘t about him. Through his lashes, he quickly glanced at Giorno.
But he was too busy staring at Mista‘s exposed midriff to notice. The countless scars of bullet holes might have been healed by him, but they likely also wouldn‘t have existed without him. The only one that had healed by itself was the wound that had been treated by Fugo. The small dots of where the staples had been were hypnotizing to Giorno. Mista didn‘t even have clarity about the remains of his last surviving friend.
In the short span of time he had been with Bucciarati‘s squad, Giorno felt for the first time like he had a family. They were all dear to his heart. But he felt like he had no right to be this distraught about it. Not when he was sitting right here with Mista, who had known them all for so much longer than he had.
„All done.“, Mista broke the silence again, lowering Giorno‘s hand down. His fingers gently stroked over the freshly placed band-aids and he smiled reassuringly.
„I took all of your friends away from you. They‘re all dead because of me. You almost died because of me. Why aren‘t you mad at me?“, Giorno then blurted out, voice suddenly loud again, but far from its usual steady tone „Why are you here with me? I don‘t get it. You're better off without me.“
There was just enough time for him to watch Mista‘s eyes widen before he felt both his hands on either side of his face, squeezing just a little too tight.
„Holy shit, shut up, never say anythin‘ like that again. Fuck, man. Shut up.“, Mista sounded aghast and even as he finished speaking, his mouth stayed slightly open. He was too overwhelmed to know what to say right away.
Giorno knew there was no malicious intent behind it, could see the mix of concerned and hurt emotions in Mista‘s stare. But maybe exactly that was what made it harder. He didn‘t want to see that. He shouldn‘t be felt sorry for. The blond squeezed his eyes shut and suddenly his emotions won over him again. The tears finally were burning too hard to hold back, running down his cheeks and highlighting the dark circles around his eyes in the pale moonlight, only to be stopped by Mista‘s palms pressed against his skin.
Seeing Giorno cry certainly didn‘t help Mista‘s loss of words either. Instead, he just released his cheeks from his grip and pulled him close to hold him tight. Slowly he could feel the fabric of his sweater dampen up from where Giorno hid his face in the crook of his neck. He could feel the others heart beating hard against his chest and with the sudden radio silence, he could swear that he was hearing it as well.
Mista rested his chin atop his head as he struggled to try and formulate what to say. It would be a lie if he said he didn‘t wonder what would happen had they never met. The same way that he kept thinking back at the Rolling Stones incident. Had he made things worse for them all by trying to overcome Bucciarati‘s fate? But all thinking in the world wouldn‘t bring them back, and neither would trying to blame anyone.
„It‘s not your fault, Giogio.“ One of his hands moved to gently comb through the tangled strands of blond hair. „You hear me? Bucciarati would beat your ass for talking about yourself like that.“
With that, Giorno‘s sobbing was no longer silent. Instead, his facade finally crumbled and he wept like a child. And in a bitter way, Mista thought about how appropriate it was. After all, they were both just a couple of kids that shouldn‘t have to carry such heavy weight by themselves, not at this point in their lives. He blinked once, twice, and when they shut for the third time, he felt tears forcing their way between his lids.
„It ain‘t ever gonna be your fault. They were your friends too. We lost them together.“ The black-haired boy was a bit taken aback by the way his own voice wavered from crying. His fingers came to a halt at a particularly matted lock near his neck. „I‘m not gonna leave you over somethin‘ nobody of us could control.“
As he readjusted his position to hide his face in Giorno‘s hair, Mista felt the others arms snake between his own to curl around his shoulders and hold onto them; reciprocating comfort at last. With their chests pressing against one another, he now felt like he was fully one with Giorno‘s heartbeat and there was something strangely soothing to Mista about the way his fingertips dug into his shoulders. They felt close. He felt less lonely.
„I miss him. I miss them all. I‘m sorry.“
Giorno‘s voice was still muffled against his sweater and he exhaled heavily after speaking up; he couldn‘t remember ever having had his feelings explode like that. It was exhausting and in a moment of faux clarity, he wondered if it was selfish of him to lay his worries onto Mista in such a brash manner. Or at all. He‘d gotten too greedy, in the end his resolve had been what drove them that far. He knew he was the catalysator in all of this.
„I miss them too, so fuckin‘ much. But you don‘t have anything to feel sorry for. We all followed you because we believed in it ourselves. We ain‘t sheep. They‘d be proud of you. I‘m proud of you, Giogio.“ Mista kissed his head, face still hidden. „And I mean it. I love you.“
They both tensed, the grief subsiding briefly as the last spoken sentence hung heavy in the air. It was the first time one of them had declared their love and internally, Mista cursed himself for letting it slip at a moment like this- he didn‘t dare move as they remained frozen for a couple of minutes. The blond‘s grip lightened before he pulled away eventually, his face still flushed from crying.
And now that Mista saw him like that, vulnerable and genuine, he suddenly didn‘t regret saying it anymore. Dishelved from crying with red cheeks, Mista somehow found Trish‘s comparison to a cherub so much more fitting. Still, he swallowed. Giorno‘s stare caught him off guard. One of his hands hesitantly moved back up and hovered in place for a second, then gently wiped his thumb over the glistening tear trails on his soft skin.
He could see the way his bottom lip trembled slightly, anticipating Giorno to say literally anything. Instead, he leaned in to gently kiss Mista. It was pure, gentle, something they both needed to not get lost in their spiral abyss of mourning and blame. When they broke apart, there was a soft smirk on his lips.
„‘Oh wow Mista, I love you too‘.“
„Don‘t ruin it.“ There was no venom in Giorno‘s instruction- his expression softening into something more relaxed again spoke for itself. So did the sparkle in his eyes; it expressed all the adoration he felt yet didn‘t know how to put into words. He wished his childhood hadn‘t left him emotionally stunted, wished he could properly put into words how safe Mista made him feel again. „I‘m grateful for you and that you‘re still here with me, Guido.“
The corner of Mista‘s mouth moved up further, his smirk now crooked as he gazed down at him. He understood the importance behind the formal sounding declaration of feelings. „You‘re not gettin‘ rid of me that easily.“ Then, after a pause „You‘re not alone. I‘ll be by your side, always.“
Calling it sweet nothings would be a lie, Giorno knew that. But those promises made him relax a little more, leaning his face against the hand still cupping his cheek. He moved his own hands to hold onto Mista‘s wrist as he did. But in a way, he knew that the words were too good to be true. They would never know how long their always would be.
„Do you promise?“
„Until the end. I promise.“
Giorno chewed on his bottom lip slightly as he looked up at Mista. Right now, he wished that they would never have to leave his bedroom. Or rather this moment, where they were safe and no one was coming for them. Where ‚the end‘ wasn‘t something he had to be concerned about. But their positions had painted large red targets above their head, even larger than the ones they all had whilst tracking down Diavolo.
Doubt washed over him again, pulling him out of the illusion of the moment. He had just been crying because of the guilt he felt over his friends passing away. Who was to say the same wouldn‘t happen with Mista? There had already been way too many close calls. But he couldn‘t help how attached he felt, couldn‘t stay away from him. They were each others safe haven.
„You‘re overthinkin‘ things right now. Can tell that from your eyebrows. Stop it.“
Mista‘s free hand moved to gently tuck Giorno‘s hair behind his ear, then he placed a kiss on his exposed forehead. It was nice to see him with his hair down, though he would much prefer the furrow of his brows to be gone. He looked so tired. And Mista was well aware that the other was tired in more than just one way.
„We‘re here right now, that‘s what matters. Together, I mean, and not the room. Tomorrow‘s tomorrow.“ For a second he paused, eyes briefly moving up to the ceiling before refocusing on the blond. „And yesterday‘s yesterday. Pretty poetic, eh?“
„Yeah.“ Giorno‘s fingers were still curled around the others wrist, fingertips gently stroking over thin hair. He found comfort in the heat radiating off Mista. Slowly he felt his heartbeat calming down again and drowsiness return, which had previously gotten overruled by his inner hysteria. „Very much so.“
„But that ain‘t mean you can‘t be sad. I know I‘ll be too. I wanna be there for you when you‘re sad.“
His dark eyes still were brimmed with tears too small to roll down his face, and Giorno was sure the night sky outside was jealous of the way they glistened much brighter than any of its stars as Mista spoke. There was a sharp twinge of guilt in his chest once more, though a different kind. Now he could see that by putting up a wall between his emotions and his boyfriend, he had only alienated them in a way.
Letting go of his boyfriend, he moved his hands up to his head and tangled his fingers into black locks at the back of his head. „Okay.“
What had he been so afraid of? Giorno wasn‘t sure. For the first time, his night terrors didn‘t leave him scared of breathing. They both suffered from the same pain- they both cried the same tears. He didn‘t feel ashamed of crying in front of him anymore. Mista soothed the dark thoughts tearing at his heart, and while he knew they would return, now Giorno knew that he wouldn‘t have to endure them himself anymore.
Slowly his arms lowered again, resting on Mista‘s shoulder before Giorno dropped his head to hide it in the crook of his neck again. „I‘m tired, Mista. I wanna go to bed.“
„I know, Giogio.“ The gunslinger could hear the tiredness in Giorno‘s voice more present than ever and briefly lent his head against the others. For another moment he allowed himself to enjoy the intimacy before gently leaning over until Giorno was laying down on his back again. Reaching up, he removed the blonds arms from himself. Truth was, he didn‘t want to let go of him. But he didn‘t want to overstay his welcome.
Mista leaned forward a little more so he could get the sheets from the other side of the bed and covered Giorno with them. Smiling down at him, he picked up his hat as well and moved to put it back on his head. Before he could, Giorno held onto his wrist again. He froze, eyebrows raising a little bit in surprise.
„Can you stay tonight?“
Chapped lips moved into a wide smile and within seconds, he kicked off his boots which fell onto the ground with a heavy thud, and discarded his hat right with them. He didn‘t need to be told twice.
There was that small smile on Giorno‘s lips again and he scooted over a little rolling onto his side and curling up on himself. He couldn‘t help but flinch a little in surprise as Mista let himself fall onto the pillow right next to him. Just a bit closer, and they would‘ve knocked their heads. Stretching out his arm, Giorno pulled his blanket over both of them.
When he thought that he had finally fallen back asleep, Mista opened his eyes again to look at Giorno. He could get used to the sight- the way Giorno‘s gold hair was fanning out on the pillow and framing his face in a gentle caress. In a way, he looked at peace for once. As Mista stared at him so fondly, his urge to watch over him only strengthened. And then, as his eyelids were finally too heavy to be kept open anymore, he heard a soft, quiet,
„I love you too.“