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Giorno Giovanna was strange. Not necessarily strange in the way that Bucciarati was, licking people to “interrogate” them, nor in the way that Mista was, knowing a concerning amount about cannibalism, but… Strange. This was only highlighted in the many changes Giorno being the Don of Passione wrought, Pannacotta had admittedly not expected the one being proposed to him at that moment; enough so that he just had to repeat, dumbfounded:
“...Stand socialization sessions?”
Don Giovanna, reclining in his upholstered chair, golden hair in a neat braid and victory curls standing at attention atop his head, nodded. “Yes.”
Pannacotta sat across from Giorno’s desk, elbows on his knees. He was silent.
After a moment, Giorno realized that he would have to fill this silence with clarification: “You deserve to be doing missions in the field, Fugo. I know that you like research work—and your research is valuable, of course. But, for more hazardous missions, we need to make sure that the team is used to Haze’s presence. They know how brilliant you are. They just need to feel the same way about your stand. After all, Purple Haze is just as valuable to the team as Gold Experience.”
At the mention of its name, Giorno’s Stand—in his normal form—materialized, nuzzling his owner. The blond gave Gold a fond pat on the head before continuing. “The problem is, due to the nature of your Stand’s power, the other members of the team appear to be… How do I put this delicately…”
“—Scared shitless?” Images of past missions flashed before his eyes: Bruno’s eyes going wide as he stumbled against a wall. Leone, freaking the fuck out. Narancia, covering his face and running in the opposite direction. They were scared of him. Not just of him; his soul. (Not that he could blame them.)
Pannacotta scoffed. “...You don’t have to tell me.”
A flicker of anger licked at Fugo’s core, but was quickly tampered as Giorno responded. The young Don winced almost-imperceptibly. “...Sorry. What I mean to say is… Well, I know just how amazing Haze is.” He flashed Fugo a dazzling smile.
Fugo felt his cheeks burning.
There was a sort of mischief in the Don’s eyes as soon as he saw Fugo’s reaction.
Fugo may have been projecting, but he could have sworn that he noticed Giorno blushing too.
“Trish, too,” Giorno continued. “She mentioned to me that you were recently able to nullify the capsules on Haze’s knuckles with Spice Girl’s ability. Therefore, he is no longer an active danger. Now, granted, she’s out for the next couple of days with Bucciarati and Abbacchio—she called it a ‘father-daughter trip’—so until she gets back, let’s err on starting with me, since I’m immune to Haze’s virus.”
Of course Trish had blabbed to Giorno. He could picture her and Spice Girl’s expression. Of course.
Giorno ignored Pannacotta’s loud sigh. “Anyway, that is to say, I figure that it would be a good team bonding activity. Once Trish and Spice Girl return. Until then, we can swap.”
…That was rich, coming from the newest member of their group. Still, what could Fugo say? No way, that’s fucking stupid? Giorno was the Don. The last Boss had some schmucks from The Hitman Team turned into a freaking modern art exhibit for less.
“...Fine. When do we start?”
Giorno leaned over the front of his desk, while his Stand, which had his arms draped around his shoulders, catapulted forward, barrelling into Fugo, who fell backward in his chair with a loud exclamation.
Fugo found himself on the ground, his superior’s Stand sitting upright and using his stomach as a seat. He didn’t have to see Giorno’s face to know that the blond was flashing him a shit-eating grin. “Right now.”
The Stand Socialization session with Gold Experience had started… unnervingly, to say the least. Fugo was eventually able to get Gold to stop sitting on top of him and shuffle out of the Don’s office. He had also been able to let Haze out to be with Giorno, so this “Stand Socialization” effort had ended up being more of a “Stand Swap” than anything.
He could feel that Haze was out and about, touching something soft—a phantom feeling in his own fingers. Last Fugo had checked, Haze had been slobbering all over Giorno, clinging to the Don’s suit-coat. It was fucking pathetic. And yet, the young Don didn’t seem to mind. He relished the affection. It was as if he had been missing it his entire life; a sentiment that Pannacotta definitely didn’t have time to unpack or ask about, but which made him feel… Sad, honestly. Giorno was answering a call, and as he did so, he brought Haze’s face close and scratched the Stand’s chin.
This gesture tickled Fugo’s chin as well. His face went scarlet as he attempted to book it out of there before he could be spotted spying on his crush and his sad, pathetic excuse for a Stand.
On Pannacotta’s end, however, Gold was silent. Staring directly into his soul. Doing so, he could see for the first time in intimate detail the Stand’s uncanny, gilded carapace. Giorno liked ladybugs; that much was clear. It made sense that that passion had extended into the manifestation of his soul being somewhat-buglike as well.
Gold had no pupils in this form, nor could he coherently speak. The Requiem form, on the other hand, had. Haze, the Pistols, and Spice had pupils and something approaching sentience (whether their users liked it or not). Still, the ramifications of the newfound Stand form didn’t have time to be unpacked; as soon as he’d appeared to “take care” of Trish’s father, Requiem had disappeared, leaving behind the good ol’ Gold they’d come to know and… well, love was a strong word, but Fugo was quite fond of the Stand, if only for being the exact opposite of his own.
The team had realized in the aftermath of the Coliseum and Diavolo’s downfall that the Requiem form only really emerged when Giorno activated it with the Arrow. Otherwise, it took up too much energy. (They had found this out the hard way, when Giorno had collapsed during an important meeting after having activated Requiem for two weeks without any of them knowing.) So, in order not to bring Giorno to an early grave, Gold Experience was back to its original form, the same as ever—inscrutable, quiet, enigmatic, and absurdly clingy.
Shuffling around some books that Giorno had asked Pannacotta to comb in preparation for meeting a new syndicate in… where was it, New York City? Somewhere out of the country—Gold had decided to drape his arms around Pannacotta’s back, as if he were a feather boa the boy wore.
It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, frankly; warm, welcoming. Like a hug. Once, Narancia had mentioned something about weighted blankets helping him feel calm. Still, the silence was beginning to be… nerve-wracking. Maybe it was his anxiety, maybe it was what Fugo knew was a migraine coming on, but the boy was about to lose his goddamn mind. Maybe conversation would help distract him. “So. Have anything to say?”
“Muda?”
It would have been comical, had Pannacotta not had a fuse shorter than an inchworm on a good day. No—he couldn’t afford to lash out at Gold. It wasn’t like the Stand could help his lack of speech. “...I guess you’re like Sticky Fingers, huh. Stuck to one sound, and the rest of us have to parse it.”
The blond felt the spectral, featherlight form holding on to him nod; the same sensation as the sun brushing one’s cheek on a gentle Spring day.
“But you could talk when you were Requiem, right? Do you remember any of that?”
Gold Experience let out a noncommittal noise—the aural equivalent of a shrug— and let go of Fugo’s back, moving to face him as he levitated in the air like a magnet caught between two poles. “Muda. Muda muda muda muda, muda. Muda. Mu—”
The noise was beginning to be too much, needling him and causing him to inch closer and closer to the edge until finally, the boy snapped.
“Shut up!” Fugo grated his teeth together, what little bit of relaxation he had felt from Gold’s warm presence completely dissipated from a geyser of rage. He banged his fists against the bookshelf he’d been scouring, causing a couple of books to fall out. One hit his foot. He yelped, kicking it harder, causing more books to fall out. Thankfully, it was quite sturdy—one perk of the Don having a high budget and high-quality furniture.
The blond shouted as he cradled his foot, his gelled hair mussed up by the outburst. “What the fuck does ‘muda’ even mean?! Why can’t you just say a word, for fuck’s sake?! You did so when you were in the Requiem form—why can’t you do it now? You do realize that I can’t understand shit, right ??”
Gold didn’t move, staring at Fugo. Silence.
For some reason, that made Pannacotta angrier. “I’m too stupid to understand you—is that it?!”
The look in the Stand’s eyes clearly expressed, You aren’t. Or maybe Pannacotta was projecting. Yet… There was something about Gold’s predicament that made the boy feel so furious that he couldn’t just calm down.
Hot, furious tears pooled on the edge of Fugo’s eyes as he had a moment of clarity, realizing what was making him rage. He sat down in front of the huge pile of books that had fallen from the bookshelf, moving his legs to one side and wiping his eyes with his sleeve.
“Haze can’t talk,” He said. “You can, but it’s just… ' muda.' No one understands you. Well… Spice and Giorno can, I assume, but that’s all. Still… What’s the point of speaking if you can’t communicate?”
Gold drifted down to meet Pannacotta at eye level. There was sympathy in its gaze. It made Fugo sick.
Fugo sneered. “Haze wants to. God, he wants to so badly it hurts. ” He clenched his chest, where his heart was aching. “It’s a sick joke. You had that stripped away from you, and if you do have it, then it kills your user. I want to understand you, and Giorno. It’s not fair. It’s not fair!”
Fugo took a book that had fallen in his earlier outburst and threw it feebly against the bookshelf, causing a slight wobble.
He then felt a light touch against his cheek, wiping away his tears—Gold Experience, giving him a small smile. “Muda.”
“...Thanks.” He didn’t fully understand the Stand beside him, but the sentiment was clear, and that was good enough. He smiled back.
“Muda?” Gold pointed to the books on the floor, pantomiming putting them back on the shelf.
Fugo wiped his eyes. “Oh, uh, yeah. That’d be great, actually. Thank you.”
With a dutiful nod, Gold Experience began to pick up each of the fallen books. Fugo joined in, and the two silently worked until every book was back in their proper—or at least somewhat- proper—spot. Once they finished, Gold took Fugo’s hand and dragged him over to a page that had become torn during their cleaning efforts.
“Shit. Sorry…”
A glow followed, leading to a clematis. Gold handed it to him then remarked, determined: “Muda.”
While Fugo had no idea what that meant… Couldn’t argue with that.
“So. Stand socialization went well?” Gold Experience had, as soon as Giorno returned, clung to his user, nuzzling the Child Don. Fugo couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous…!
“Yeah,” he said. The two blonds were back to where they’d started, with Giorno at his desk, his papers and notes… covered in… something. Upon closer examination, Fugo realized that it was drool. His Stand’s drool. Ew.
Giorno didn’t seem to mind, though. At this point, Haze had retreated back into Fugo, appearing much happier than normal. Less wailing. More pleasant gurgling. It was progress.
Fugo held the clematis that Gold had made for him in his hand. Giorno, meanwhile, eyed it, then asked, “Was that Gold’s doing?”
Fugo nodded.
Giorno gestured for his teammate to hand it to him, eyeing the flower’s light-purple petals. “The clematis is a symbol of good luck, of fortune.”
“Really? Huh. That’s ironic, considering…”
“Considering what? You have been a vital part of the team… and my life, as well.” Giorno’s eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t sell yourself short.” Then, looking to his Stand, he remarked, “Still, this means that Gold Experience thinks highly of you.” A small laugh. “He won’t shut up about how much he enjoyed your Stand Socialization Session.”
Gold looked bashful, if that was even possible. Strange, how such a mask-like face could emote so much. The Stand let go of its user to float to the window, watching the courtyard below.
After a beat, Giorno looked up from the bloom, meeting Fugo’s eyes as a sort of tender quality entered his tone. “ I think quite highly of you.”
Giorno’s eyes glimmered, green like the sunlight trickling through leaves. Dazzling. Pannacotta was practically arrested by them. The Don stood up, tucking the flower behind the blond’s ear. His fingers touched Fugo’s cheeks, leaving a streak of blushing in their wake.
“It suits you, Pannacotta.” A smile, brilliant and true.
Before Fugo could even get out a single word in response to all of that, the Golden Boy then mused aloud, “...Ah, I have a phone meeting with another Don. Apologies, but...”
Gold Experience moved to Fugo, pulling him out of the chair.
“Thank you, Fugo. Let’s do this again sometime, yes?”
“Y-yeah. Uh, See y—!”
Gold pushed him to the door, which then shut unceremoniously behind him with a thunk.
Fugo didn’t know what to make of the Golden Boy, the Child Don. But. left blushing and with the imprint of his fingertips against his cheeks, standing in shock for a long moment, he knew one thing for certain: Giorno Giovanna really was strange.
Truthfully? Fugo loved that.