Chapter Text
“Mista.”
“Jesus Christ –” The kitchen knife in Mista’s hand clatters onto the cutting board as he jumps and whips his head around, before he comes to his senses, taking a deep breath and crossing himself. “Fuck. Giorno. You gotta stop sneaking up on me like that.”
Undeterred, and perhaps standing a bit too close behind him for comfort, Giorno continues. “I need your help.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I bought presents for almost everyone, but I’m… having trouble with one.”
Mista turns around to face him, abandoning the vegetables on the cutting board. “Fugo, right?”
“How did you –”
“I’ve got experience. Trust me, dude, it’s always hardest to find a gift for your crush. Last Christmas, I was in music stores, like, every day trying to find the perfect CD for Narancia. I probably memorized the covers of every fuckin’ album Tupac’s ever been on. I don’t even like Tupac. But he does, so –”
Giorno cuts him off. “I think I get the point. I figured as much, and since you’re the only one who knows about my, um, predicament with Fugo, I need your advice. I considered making him a hercules beetle, but I’m not sure if that would be formal enough.”
“Giorno. Dude. You’ve gotta stop giving him bugs and shit. It was cute when it was, like, butterflies, but you’re not gonna seduce a guy by giving him beetles.” Mista pinches the bridge of his nose. “Actually, you might. Fugo’s weird. But we’re not doing giant horrible bugs for Christmas.”
“What would you recommend, then?”
Mista thinks for a moment. “I mean, it’s kinda up to you. It depends on your relationship with him, and what kinda things you bond over, and what kinda vibes you wanna go for, y’know? So I can’t really tell you what to get him. But…” Mista aims a finger gun at him. “I’ll go shopping with you. We can go to the mall, and I can help you pick something out. Sound good?”
After taking a second to ponder the idea, Giorno nods. “Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”
“Tomorrow’s… Saturday, right? Yeah, I should be.” Mista returns to the cutting board. “You owe me one, by the way.”
“I’ll pay for you to have dinner with Narancia at the new place on Via Marconi.”
“Deal.”
…
“Do you think Giorno would wear a necklace like this?” Fugo asks as he leans over a jewelry display case, pointing at a pendant on a gold chain.
Sheila looks up from the bracelets she’d been poring over for the past ten minutes. “You know him better than I do, but, eh, I don’t think so. It’s too simple, and he dresses super gaudy.”
“He’s not gaudy. He’s just… elegant,” he mumbles. “He’s a mafia boss, after all.”
“Whatever. Also, getting jewelry is a pretty overtly romantic thing. I know you’ve got the hots for him, but if you’re planning on keeping that under wraps… yeah. Don’t.”
Fugo flushes. “Point taken.”
After a quick exchange with the clerk, Sheila takes a silver bracelet, studded with a few pink jewels. “I’m getting this for Federica. Anything else you want to look at while we’re here?”
Fugo glances at the rest of the department store. “No, that’s fine. I only have Giorno’s gift left, and nothing’s really caught my eye here.”
“We’ve got the rest of the mall we can look at. I’m sure you’ll find something. Just don’t be a perfectionist about it, and you’ll be fine.”
“But it needs to be good, at least. This is his first holiday, Sheila. I don’t want to let him down.”
“It will be good, man. He’s your friend. Just chill out and quit overthinking it.”
“But – I – he –”
Sheila grabs his arm and drags him in the direction of the checkout line. “C’mon, we’re getting out of here before you drive yourself nuts.”
…
“What if I bought him jewelry?” Giorno asks, glancing towards the far corner of the busy department store.
Mista’s eyes light up. “Hey, that’d be cute! Maybe you could get him a necklace, and help him put it on. It’d be all romantic and shit, ‘cause when they do it in movies, it’s really just an excuse for the guy and lady to get close and have some physical contact, y’know? There’s this scene in Pretty Woman…” Noticing Giorno’s stopped walking, he turns around. “Hey, Earth to Giorno?”
“Oh. Um.” He blinks a few times, as if coming out of an intense daydream, his face slightly flushed. “Well. That’s not going to happen. I was thinking about earrings, actually.”
“Eh, not as romantic. We can make it work, though.”
“I don’t want it to be too romantic. I don’t exactly want him to… figure it out.”
Mista sighs. “Fine. You can get him some very platonic earrings, since you’re very platonic friends who stare longingly at each other in a very platonic way – ”
“Mista, I will not hesitate to turn your hat into a sea lamprey.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Gold Experience starts to phase from Giorno’s body.
“Okay, okay, I’ll shut up.”
When they reach the jewelry section, Giorno scans the rack of earrings on top of the display case, occasionally stealing glances at the necklaces below. “He wears a lot of red these days, so I’d imagine rubies would go with his aesthetic… but black fits him well, too, doesn’t it? And amethysts would bring out his eyes…”
Mista leans over the case and tries to amuse himself by reading the price tags. He has a feeling they’ll be here a while.
…
Fugo sits across from Sheila at a greasy food court table, picking at the salt on a soft pretzel. “Christmas shopping is way harder than it looks. I officially hate malls.”
“Did you never, like, go to malls with your parents as a kid?”
“You really think my parents were going to malls? Or taking us shopping with them in the first place?”
Sheila rips off a piece of her pretzel. “Ah. Right. The joys of being raised by hoity-hoity millionaire buzzkills, huh?”
“One of many.”
“You did pretty well for the others, though. It’s just Giorno you’re having a rough time with.” She leans back in her seat. “I think your biggest issue is that you’re just being all perfectionist-y about it, because you want to impress him.”
Fugo fiddles with the straw in his soda cup. “I know. You’ve told me that already. But I need to impress him.” He takes a sip, cringing at the aggressively artificial taste.
“Why? So he’ll be like, ‘oh, Panni, I know I already have a pet name for you and everything, but I didn’t realize how much I’m in love with you until you gave me this Christmas present! Let’s make out now!’ ”
“I – that’s – no. It’s not like that. I just need him to know that I value our relationship, and I’m willing to put in effort for him, and I care about him.”
Sheila points her last bit of pretzel at him. “Fugo. Dude. You’ve got fuckin’ scars on your face that show what you’re willing to do for him. I think you’ve proven yourself enough. And, you have those scars and not, like, a permanently unhinged jaw because Giorno cares about you. I think you know Giorno well enough to realize, deep down, he doesn’t give a shit about what you get him for Christmas. You could get him nothing, and, at the end of the day, he’s still your friend.”
Fugo absentmindedly runs a finger along the scars adorning his cheeks. Images flash in the corner of his mind, of Gold Experience cupping his face in its hands, the flesh returning where it’d been burned away, the look in Giorno’s eyes once the bloody bandages wrapped across his jaw fell away.
Maybe she’s right.
“Plus,” Sheila continues, “he’s totally gonna love whatever you get him, ‘cause it’s from you.”
He takes a bite of his pretzel, long since gone cold, trying in vain to force down the blush creeping onto his face. “I’m gonna get him a book. I’ve been looking at this one for a while, and I think he’d love it.”
Sheila smiles. “There we go.”
“And…” Fugo picks up his soda, takes a long sip, and slams it back down on the table. “Fuck it. I’m buying him jewelry. I know you said I shouldn’t –”
“Yeah, I kinda only said that because your taste in jewelry sucks. You wear little strawberry earrings, man. Where’d you even get those, Claire’s?”
He lets out an offended huff. “Giorno likes these earrings, for the record.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“He told me he does.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“I’m not lying, you asshole –”
Sheila bunches up a napkin and throws it at him. “If you flip over this table and break it, you’re paying for it.”
Defeated, Fugo settles for fuming in his chair, gnawing at his sad, cold pretzel.
…
“Should I have bought the necklace, too?” Giorno stares into the small paper bag in his hands, pondering the earring set wrapped in tissue paper.
Mista holds his shoulder, preventing him from walking into nearby pedestrians. “Nah. I like your idea with the book better. You said it’d be in here, right?” He points to a storefront, and Giorno finally looks up.
“I believe so. I’d figure that most bookstores would have it.”
They walk through the entrance, and Mista scans the rows upon rows of bookshelves. “Okay, so what section is it gonna be in? The guy’s a poet, right –”
He’s cut off by a forceful yank to his arm as Giorno pulls him between two sets of shelves.
“You good, dude?”
“He’s here,” Giorno whispers.
Mista peeks out, and, sure enough, he sees Fugo’s strawberry blond hair and burgundy clothes right near the poetry section, searching through a stack of books and chatting with Sheila E. as she juggles a number of shopping bags in her arms. “Shit. Knew they were going shopping today, but I didn’t think they were gonna come here.” He turns back to Giorno and shrugs. “Whatever. As long as everything’s in a bag, we’re not gonna get any gifts spoiled or anything, so…”
“But he’ll figure out that I’m here just to buy gifts for him, since I only have this one bag, and I had to ask you to help me, and he’ll know. He’ll know about the predicament. ”
“What the hell are you talking about? There’s literally no way he’s gonna know any of that unless you tell him.”
Giorno holds the bag close to his chest.
Mista leans against the bookshelf. “So you’re just gonna sit in the historical fiction section and hide from your crush like a fuckin’ high schooler?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I guess you are sorta high school age, but… dude. You’re the don of Passione. You kill people and shit. We’re talking about seeing the guy you like at the mall.” Mista sighs. “Okay. How about this: let’s go get food or something and come back when they’re gone. Sound good?”
Giorno nods, and, after a quick glance to make sure Fugo and Sheila aren’t looking, he and Mista dash out of the store.
…
“Ah, finally. Here it is,” Fugo says, taking a book from the shelf and flipping it over in his hands. “You’d think Carducci would be easier to find.”
“There’s five of that same book sitting in a row there. I seriously think you need to get your eyes checked.”
“For the last time, I don’t need glasses, Sheila. It’s not my fault that they make the text on these spines so small.”
“Yeah, but…” She starts counting on her fingers. “You hold books way too close to your face, and you lean over the piano whenever you’re looking at sheet music, and you told me you can’t read Narancia’s math worksheets sometimes, even though he’s got, like, the world’s biggest handwriting.”
“I can’t read Narancia’s worksheets because he has awful handwriting. My eyes are fine.” He tucks the book under his arm, takes his shopping bags back from Sheila, and heads to the checkout. “One more stop and we’re out of here. Thank god.”
Sheila decides not to tell him about the two figures she sees running out the door.
…
“Hey, uh, I got you a slice of pizza.” Mista prods the pile of golden curls laying on the table with the styrofoam plate. When it doesn’t move, he sets it down and sits in the adjacent chair. “You doin’ alright there?”
“Love is a curse, Mista. A disease that infects every echelon of mankind, remorseless and devastating,” the mass of hair grumbles.
“You’re gonna get infected with an actual disease if you don’t get your face off the table. These things are nasty, dude.”
Giorno’s face finally emerges, looking as if he’d been awoken from a long nap. “What’s happened to me? I’m acting like a child.”
Mista takes a bite of his own pizza and shrugs. “You’re acting your age.”
“ Exactly. That’s a problem. I was stronger than this. I used to be able to ignore these sorts of feelings, but ever since Pan – Fugo came back, I’ve been acting like a fool. I’ve been plagued with these… thoughts constantly.”
“What kinda thoughts?”
“Thoughts about… him. How pretty he is, and how no star in the galaxy could glow as beautifully as his eyes, and how I’ll hear him singing in the shower every now and then, and how his mind devises ideas I’d never even considered, and –”
Mista gags. “Okay. Never mind. Please stop.”
“– And how he can just feel things and still be so strong. I’ve never been able to do that, but he…” Giorno blinks, staring blankly at the pizza slice in front of him. “I apologize for rambling on like this, and for, well, acting so ridiculously earlier.”
After a moment of silence, Mista drops his pizza onto his plate and places his elbows on the table. “Giorno, can I tell you a story?”
“Sure.”
“Before I joined the gang, I did a lot of wandering around Italy, and I kinda dated a lot of girls. I thought I had the whole romance thing down. Like, y’know, most things, if you practice enough, you get really good at it, right?
And then I met Narancia, and all that ‘experience’ or whatever went out the fuckin’ window. I’d do the stupidest shit. I spent, like, a week straight playing the N64 all night ‘cause I wanted to get good at Smash Bros. and look cool in front of him. I almost passed out when he told me he liked me. Seriously. I actually blacked out for a second.
Wanna know what’s funny, though? He thought he was the one acting stupid. And, yeah, looking back, he’d make all these dumbass excuses to sit on my lap, and show off with Aerosmith whenever we had missions together, and all that junk. And he’d do the same thing to Trish, and Trish did the same thing to him.”
Giorno narrows his eyes at him. “What’s your point, exactly?”
“I’m gettin’ to that. Point is, that’s how love is. And that’s not a bad thing, because, honestly, it’s sweet and funny to look back on. You’re acting like an idiot over Fugo, yeah, but I bet Fugo thinks he’s being even more of an idiot over you.”
“What makes you so sure that my… feelings are reciprocated?”
Mista can think of at least a dozen specific reasons, but he decides to keep his mouth shut. “I guess I’m not totally sure. Let’s say it’s a hunch, though. And my hunches are usually pretty good.”
Some of the life returns to Giorno’s face, and he gives a slow nod.
“So, you think you’re ready to go get that book, or you wanna eat your pizza?”
Giorno takes a napkin, dabs the top of the cheese and pepperoni, and cringes when it’s soaked through with grease. “You can have it. I’ll steal the crust, though.”
“Sure thing.” Mista tears the crust from the rest of the slice and hands it over. “You got this, you know. Love’s tricky, but it’s kinda fun, too. Even if you’re crushing on a mega loser like Fugo.”
“He’s not a loser. On the contrary, he’s –”
“Ugh. Nope. Shouldn’t have said that.”
…
The day’s creeping into evening by the time Fugo gets home. It takes him a while to hide the gifts in a safe part of his room, away from prying eyes. Particularly Narancia’s. (“Aww, c’mon, you’re not even gonna let me see what you got everyone else? Just one thing? You don’t trust your bestie to keep his mouth shut?”)
Eventually, though, he’s finally able to sit down at the kitchen table and half-listen to whatever rant the others have gotten themselves into.
“What do you mean, you’ve never had stuffed animals?”
“Trish, babe, my dad was a piece of shit. He wouldn’t let me have anything like that.” Narancia crosses his arms and puts on the most dramatic deep voice he can manage. “‘That stuff’s for girls, Narancia . You need to be more manly, ‘cause you’re a man that’s gonna provide for a family someday, and being a man means no fuckin’ fun allowed.’”
Fugo chuckles. “Is employment in the mafia ‘manly’ enough for him?”
“Honestly, he’d probably be more pissed about me wearing skirts and dating dudes than, y’know, all the crimes I do.”
Trish still looks horrified. “Fugo, please tell me you had stuffed animals as a kid.”
He shakes his head. “I’m in the same boat as Narancia. My nonna tried giving me a stuffed rabbit once, and my parents took it away. They said it was ‘beneath me.’”
“Bucciarati? Abbacchio?”
“I didn’t,” Bucciarati replies. “Especially after my mom left, we didn’t have the money for those sorts of things.”
Abbacchio shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t know. Don’t think I ever had one, either.”
Trish runs her hands through her hair, letting out a deep breath. “There’s no way. That’s…”
Her state of distress is interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.
“Mista. Giorno. Important question,” Trish calls as soon as they shut the door behind them. “Actually, wait. Did you go gift shopping, Giorno? I thought you went last week.”
There’s two bags clutched in his hands, but Giorno quickly hides them behind his back. “Yes. We went shopping. For gifts.”
(Wait, is he glancing in Fugo’s direction?)
“Okay, then. Anyhow –”
Before she can finish the question, Giorno turns on his heel and flees upstairs with all the grace of a drunken giraffe.
Between tuning into snippets of Mista’s answer, something along the lines of “I was raised by nuns, so the only toys I had were, like, little Jesus figurines,” Fugo fights the urge to go running after Giorno.
He must be fine. All he did was go gift shopping. Maybe he forgot someone’s present the first time around.
Or, maybe, he spent a long time stressing over one specific person’s gift, just like he did?
No, that can’t be. It may be his first Christmas, but he wouldn’t do something like that. Right?