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Fresh air spread around the hotel room while Giorno watched the full moon, illuminating the waters of the river around the buildings.
Golden Experience Requiem was a mystery to Giorno Giovanna. The young man, head of Italy's largest criminal organization, had a lot of power since the beginning of his reign, but the crucial factor for his achievement, his stand, was still an enigma to him. He used the stand’s power a few times, barely facing any immediate danger ahead of him – his right hand in the organization and his subordinates took care of that kind of thing. He remembered, however, a conversation he had with Polnareff about the enormous possibilities his Requiem might have. It always reminded him of a past conversation about his abilities, with the scenery in his mind somewhat tattered, but that voice was alive, hauntingly full of all that even now he could not reach.
It all began on a typical day – an encounter with one of the prominent mobsters from another region who, it seems, was a possible traitor. In retrospect, Giorno knew the posing himself in front of a man of power like this could be dangerous, but the feelings of fear or dread had gradually vanished from his being – he couldn't identify them inside himself. Even so, the enemy's direct attack, at the front of everyone, at one of the organization's parties, took place much closer than any danger had happened before – he deftly activated his Golden Experience Requiem, reversing a bullet aimed perfectly at his heart and returning the action to nothing, like all foolish men who dared to defy his truth.
Thinking back now, Giorno wondered whether had been just a whim of fate or the most perfect sentence for a man with the power he had.
Golden Experience Requiem's action occurred as it had the few times he had activated it, but there was something different – Giorno saw, as a double vision, the man sitting in the same chair, talking to other men. The day was sunny, which had not happened in weeks in that area, and the scene unfolded as if he was watching a movie, a mere spectator of the machinations of other more capos that discussed his fall.
Golden Experience Requiem deactivated his power and the man in front of him, shocked by the bullet that had been directed at the Passione’s boss in front of him turned to his chest. Mista and Fugo quickly approached, ensuring the safety of their boss.
Giorno was a man driven by his intuitions, and even though that scene seemed strange, he asked his men to investigate those other capos he recognized at the time of his stand’s action. As he thought, the men's meeting was confirmed a month before the event in the same space and with easiness, confessions were withdrawn from the traitors.
After everything was over, Giorno had a conversation with Polnareff. The man lived in a more open area of the garden of Giorno's mansion, saying that it was pleasant to see so many flowers and plants, considering that this was probably was related to the nature of the turtle he inhabited. Hearing the Passione boss’ report, the man remained silent for a few minutes.
“We will never know the actual extent of a stand in Requiem mode. Maybe it will develop more skills over time? There is no way to know.”
Giorno nodded, letting the man retreat into his own thoughts. Another thing he simply had to accept. And he did, as he had done so many times before.
Giorno didn't think much about his new ability for a long time – he had an organization to manage, enemies to eliminate, power to take. That information left his memory, the days going by with the daily life he had gotten used to for a few years.
Until one day. The sun was hot on his skin, but the breeze was refreshing. He had forgotten how pleasant Naples could be.
It was one of the so many events he had to attend. There was an exhibition at the Neapolitan museum and as the blond had been financially involved in expanding the place, he was especially invited. It was so puzzling, Giorno thought, how everyone smiled and greeted him – a meeting with the man who truly controlled the country, he thought, with so much blood to be shed and a certain harshness in his actions, was so admired. He just smiled, greeting everyone – his mask, ingrained in him in a way he knew he could not take it off, was shown to everyone.
A noise was heard and soon Mista stood beside him, Sex Pistols in his hands until he heard another noise coming from his side and instinctively Giorno activated his stand, waiting for the threat in from of him.
Right now, at present, looking at the lights that painted the whole city, Giorno sighed – the real Giorno Giovanna showing himself to nobody. Coincidences, fate…?
His chest hurt, making him tremble.
Golden Experience Requiem was activated and in addition to seeing a bullet in his direction, he witnessed that same incident like that day, but –
But.
For a long time, Giorno thought he could not feel many human emotions. He smiled, worried about his friends: Mista and, even if still uncertainly, Fugo. He always stayed in contact with Trish when he could and he even laughed at her stories about the music industry, happy for her.
But that... That was worse than any blow he had received before.
Looking at a painting from the museum, he soon recognized that man even from his back, who seemed to appreciate the painter's work. He turned around, quiet expression, as if looking at him.
Those eyes, so serious but so serene, tenacious. That look that made all the blood in his veins stop running, worse than any death.
That feeling was cut short when he saw a well-known figure approach the other man, bored look at his face.
“Buccellati, how can you like these things? The colors are so dark…”
“Mista.” The voice was melodious, piercingly perfect. "It would be good if you appreciated the art of our painters. You're Neapolitan like me, aren't you?”
Feeling too much, Giorno deactivated his ability, with Mista being able to shoot the other man seconds later, with the other enemy lying on the ground, struck by the stand of the Passione's boss. The event planners were trying to calm down the guests and Giorno could see Sheila E. and Fugo making sure he was safe. However, Giorno kept his expression neutral, unresponsive to the words of others.
For many times Giorno, in the silence of his imposing office, would let some unimportant thoughts come to his mind. He had so much to do, his golden dream to give its first results… To think of anything other than the organization he commanded was complicated, with so much time it occupied him, but when he did, he wondered what dish he could choose of the high renowned restaurants in town, the plants he would create in his garden, a new suit modeled by an exclusive designer who was attentive to his whims with pleasure – things like that.
Never about him.
It was not deliberated – Giorno thought – the organization had new faces, new allies, countless names to remember, to feign content with the lengthy meetings, the negotiations he always orchestrated for the best benefit of Passione and the people on his wings. With so much on his mind, how could he think of anything else?
It wasn't like he was mentioned very often, either. Mista never mentioned him, and after Fugo's return into the organization, he didn't, either — Giorno knew they had different reasons, but, perhaps, similar feelings. Trish, however – Trish spoke of her visits to his grave, of the new flowers that always appeared with each new visit of the busy Italian celebrity to the place. Giorno nodded and smiled softly, but didn't say much.
What was there to say, anyway?
And the time went by – as it always did and not thinking about him was becoming his usual nature. He was no longer the fifteen-year-old with a dream, not even the one who had defeated Diavolo. People change, whether by experiences or by decisions. It was something Giorno considered organic.
Until that visit in the museum.
This time he said nothing to Polnareff or to the others. Mista looked at him with worry about his lack of response but he quickly returned to his usual self, reassuring those around him. Then, in the silence of his room, in the darkness of it, closed windows, curtains covering any illumination, Giorno shivered, remembering what had happened.
Only an illusion? Something inside him told him it was not it and he needed to confirm this. Remembering a detail of the scene he had seen, a plaque with the name of the painting and his painter, Giorno searched on his computer to see if any events in that museum had that piece – and it had.
November, 2000.
Giorno hurriedly turned off the computer, heading for his bed. He lay down in it, trying to control his breathing – without success. He did not know how, but in the midst of this whirlwind of feelings, he had slept without dreams.
In the next morning he had showed himself to his subordinates as usual, firm control and calmness in his countenance, certainty in his words.
His mask was the most perfect – no one could unravel it.
In the following days everything went as usual and the routine took over everyone. More papers, more deals, connections with prominent politicians, meetings with the Italian’s elite. It was as usual.
But there was an itch in Giorno. A restlessness, in an organ that he only recognized as a way to pump the blood for the rest of his body.
Being a don had its advantages as well as its disadvantages. His privacy was almost nonexistent, always with someone beside him to protecting him. However, Giorno was smart as a sneak person and often he could, as he wished, to have his moments. Go to the movies alone, watch a play...
Naples was not near his base in Rome, but he was Giorno Giovanna. What challenges could stand against him?
With the required discretion, Libeccio was his alone when he wanted to. He ran his hands along the walls of the well-known restaurant, coming to a table that, even he had seen only once, had been burned in his memory. He sat down and, for a moment, thought about nothing in particular. Closing his eyes minutes later, he activated his stand and, as he imagined, a scene began to unfold before his eyes.
"You know, Buccellati, I think you should ask the chef for more types of fish." Giorno smiled a lot more honestly than in years, hearing that familiar voice. The dark-haired young man played with a potato on his plate, with Fugo beside him jotting something down.
“Stop asking for more food, Narancia. You just joined the team!”
“Oh, Fugo, you’re so boring!”
Green eyes met those so familiar blues ones, who lit up with everything that happened.
"I can ask for more, Narancia." The brunet said in a centered tone, but Giorno recognized the affection in the other's features. "But you have to do the lesson Fugo told you about."
“Oh, even you, Buccellati…”
The scene slowly faded and Giorno blinked slowly, absorbing what he had witnessed. As mysterious as his stand, so was that ability. What triggered that? Giorno thought he would never know for sure, but that was enough for him.
Getting into a routine of escapades was simple enough – Mista and Fugo didn't seem to mind his increasingly visits to Naples, making no comments about it.
Was it better? Giorno didn't know.
On another of his visits to Libeccio he strolled around the restaurant, climbing up the stairs. He had never explored that part of the restaurant, being guided by his curiosity down the corridor. He opened one of the doors, finding a clean room, unused for any person in years. Giorno sat on the bed, running a hand through the sheets, activating his stand once more.
In front of him, a man slept in the bed, a serene expression that he knew few had been privileged to see. He slept peacefully and Giorno slowly turned around, lying on the bed next to him.
It seemed so real – like it was the present. Giorno felt the other man’s breath against his skin, hair undone from his usual braid and hairpins and instinctively he touched the man’s face. In vain, as in so many previous attempts. Giorno withdrew his hand, placing it on his thundered chest. Seconds later, he brought his face closer to the other man. Every detail marked and ached deep inside his being. He didn't know how, but the image was not as real as in his mind, which slowly showed him that he had never forgotten, even if he didn't think of the man in front of him for a long time. The wrinkled line on the man’s forehead that showed his expressions of concern. His eyebrows, relaxed, dark as his hair. The eyelashes, which framed a face that now seemed softer than in the days of war against Diavolo, so countless battles.
The mouth, slightly open, with that slight pink tone. Soft lips that even the scene could not translate as his memories, engraved on his soul.
Giorno had not thought much of those days of the past in a long time. However, he saw, now, like a punch in his stomach, that it was as alive in his mind as no event before or after that. And that was...
For a while, Giorno stopped his visits to Naples and, as usual, was not questioned by his two closest men. He tried to return to his daily routine and his mask was perfect, no doubt about the strength and accuracy of don Giovanna.
However, it was perfect only for others and Giorno– Giorno hated that. In the silence of his room, memories that had been shoved into a hidden part of his being were revealed, unerring. Also, he had no more relief in his dreams, which were gradually filled with scenes much more real than those made by Golden Experience Requiem. Giorno woke up, cold sweat in his body, burned by a voice, an action. That look, which was more vivid than what he saw in his daily life, more concrete and solid than anything in the real world.
To relive all those days, all that – Giorno shuddered, shaking nonstop. No escape, no end. That was Golden Experience Requiem's ability, wasn't it?
With subtlety and mastery – his mask worked after all – he arranged a small vacation for himself, and as usual, no one questioned him. It had been seven years in power, and his friends had even being happy about it, saying he deserved it – a little peace for his so busy and tiring days.
What would they think, the blond thought, if they knew those next few days would be the most tortuous of his life?
Giorno was not a masochist – taking pleasure in pain? Useless, useless. But something compelled him to follow the same journey as that in April, 2001, to walk the same steps as that path full of hurdles.
The first stop was at Capri. The island had a beauty that Giorno had not noticed at that first time he visited it, admiring the vast sea before him, the beautiful blue of the waters. When he arrived at the place, he recalled his climb up at that same road, distracted by the breeze passing through the windows of the car that took him to the top. Arriving at the desired destination, Giorno sat on the patio, laughing to himself as he saw the bathroom door and remembered Mista’s and Narancia's comments. Once again, he activated Golden Experience Requiem.
Like magic, he found himself sitting in front of him and he smiled, seeing the boy he was, so imposing and righteous. Beside him, that same man, who invaded his dreams, marked his flesh the following mornings, even if it was not physically possible.
"It was good that Polpo trusted you, Buccellati." Giorno recognized his own voice, which was not as harsh as it was now. Light, bright – Giorno smiled, feeling soften himself. “This will make our plans easier.
“I think this will be critical for it.” The brunet nodded seriously, looking at the Giorno of the scene. "Lucky for us that Polpo died and his mission was forwarded to me..."
That exchange of looks. Giorno laughed, remembering that this would be one of the first of many others. Even now he did not recognize what was going on between them. It was so intense, but so unreadable. The remembering brought back that old feeling in his chest.
The don went on his way back to Naples. The caretaker of that old house nodded slightly at him as he entered. The house had become part of the organization a few years ago and through the windows of one of the bedrooms, Giorno could see that the green fields were still as beautiful as before.
He turned back, activating his ability. He saw the two familiar figures and sat on a chair, watching the scene unfold.
"I really don't think it was necessary for you to take care of my hand, Buccellati." He listened to himself, realizing that the uncertainty he thought he had carefully concealed came out anyway.
“Giorno, you are a member of my team, so your physical condition is important.” The brunet’s serious and commanding tone made Giorno smile, seeing himself unable to react. The man’s blue eyes went to that Giorno and Giorno found himself breathing with some difficulty, but imperceptible to the other man’s eyes. "I'm glad you care so much about your subordinates, but it's important to take care of yourself."
The scene's Giorno squirmed, running his free hand through his hair. The hand that was cared for by the capo was massaged with a product and Giorno smiled, remembering how his heart gave a minimal but important leap at that moment.
“Thanks for caring, Buccellati.” The Giorno in the scene said, and Giorno was amazed, hearing the honesty in his voice, so distant from himself of the present.
The dark-haired’s hand covered the blond's bruised one from the scene and Giorno couldn't help but feel trapped in that beautiful look.
"You are important, Giorno."
The scene faded and Giorno ran a hand over his chest, enjoying the beats on it. It was so plain in anyone's eyes, but Giorno recognized that the first feelings of love for the other man had awakened that night, with the light of the half-moon as today.
Giorno continued on his path, and even though the request had been somewhat extravagant, the train stopped where Giorno wished, halfway through the destination, and Giorno thanked the confused driver, following the rest of the way on foot.
The parking lot was no longer the same as Giorno's memory, being bigger than in the past. Leaning against a part of the walls he recognized from his memory, he activated his ability once again.
There was the Giorno of the scene, restless in all of his features. Glancing behind him, he could see the rest of the group rummaging through the hood of a car. He also saw the same dark-haired man of so many other scenes approach the blond in front of him.
“Giorno.” The voice was composed as usual, but there was a subtlety, a tender feeling… Giorno shuddered, as he had that night. “You don’t have to worry, everything went well."
"I know, Buccellati, but..." The blond in the scene glanced down, biting his lips. “If it wasn't for my new ability, you and Trish–”
“We are fine.” The dark-haired man said with confidence, getting closer to the Giorno of the scene. Giorno saw himself raising his head and his heart was tore apart, envying his past self, hands of Passione's capo touching the blond's face. “I am fine.”
“Buccellati, I–”
A gesture. Measly, common to so many other people. His lips burned, as if remembering the other man’s lips, who had touched him for the first time that day.
"I know it’s not the time for it, but–". The brunet exhaled with a struggle, capturing the gaze full of different emotions of the Giorno of the scene. “But–”
“Buccellati...”
Another touch, one more cut in his soul. Giorno wondered how that was possible… But it simply was. Lips so sweet, as if they were made for that moment with him. It was such a beautiful feeling as it was so heartbreaking…
The scene faded and Giorno breathed with difficulty, holding his visibly shaking wrist. A few minutes were needed but he gathered himself, moving on.
The route deviated from the original path, but Giorno found it necessary, his heart still too heavy in his chest. It was paradoxical, but there he was in Rome at the coliseum. His visit was allowed without much trouble – if he wanted to, he could secure weeks just for him in that place, but the historical heritage caused him reactions even today. He lowered himself to the floor, watching another scene materialize again.
It seemed strange but Giorno felt that this was one of the least complicated scenes for him. He watched himself look the dead man's body, seeing one of his hands run through his hair, his face. The feeling of those touches was something Giorno had gotten used to on that almost suicidal mission. Cold as ice. Lifeless. Watching himself touch the brunet’s dead body with affection, Giorno thought that was one of the last times he had felt anything but that hollowness inside him, still in him even today. It was weak, indistinguishable – his mind was already analyzing the road to follow, the organization they had fought so hard to build. The brunet’s face was peaceful and he reached Giorno's hand in the scene, feeling the hollow in his being widen even more. His face in that scene, emotionless, as it would be in the days and years to come.
With that feeling still in his chest, Giorno returned to that city, as hateful as it was so loved. Venice seemed untouched by time, too beautiful for someone who finally recognized the emptiness that had filled his body, his soul. He headed for the plain hotel, one of the few who accepted guests as early as that morning in the past. Entering the place, he activated his ability, hearing familiar voices excited by a future that would not come.
“We can only rest for a while.” The leader said, with him from the past at his side. “Trish, you will have a room for yourself, the rest of the team will split into the rest of the rooms.”
"We could drink a little to celebrate, couldn’t we? We’re so close to complete the mission!”
“Please, Mista.” The tone was as grumpy as he remembered and Giorno found himself missing the other man. “Let's get some rest and that’s it, okay?”
"For Abbacchio to refuse drinking it’s a serious stuff!" A noise of complaint was heard from the young brunet. “Oh, Abbacchio, I'm just kidding.”
“Serves you right, Narancia.” Fugo said and Giorno could see the brightness in the other blond, extinguished nowadays.
“Can we at least share those cookies?"
“All right, all right.” The blond said, being hugged by the young brunet. A smile appeared on the young Fugo's lips and Giorno felt wistful for a moment.
“Giorno.” The long-haired man's voice was heard and Giorno laughed at what would come next. “Make sure you don’t disturb Buccellati, okay?”
Giorno saw the two men exchanging looks at each other, small smiles on their lips. “Of course, Abbacchio.”
The scene faded and Giorno climbed the stairs to the previously chosen room. The simple old man, owner of that establishment, guided him with much reverence, thanking the Passione’s don for the sterling payment for such a simple place like that one. Giorno simply nodded, entering the room when the other man had left.
The doorknob burned in his hand and he swallowed hard, closing the door behind him.
His short vacation was ending and Giorno laid down in the bed, watching on his cell phone the messages that began to increase. Closing his eyes for a moment, the weariness taking over his body, not only physically but much more mentally, he fell asleep without dreams.
And there he was now, admiring the view from the balcony. The place might not be very fancy, but it had a privileged view of the city’s waters. The lights of the city danced over the waters below with the faint silver of the moon touching them as well. And Giorno turned, unknowingly, once in all of his lifetime, if he would have the courage to do what he had in mind.
The room was scanty as he remembered, but every detail, from the old carpet on the floor to the burgundy bedside table, to the checkerboard that ran from the bedroom wallpaper to the ceiling--
Giorno sighed harshly, running a hand over his face. Who would recognize him now in the state he was in? Fingers shaking, chest shuddering with his troubled breathing and on his face–
The scene started even without Giorno calling his stand. It seemed that, once again, Golden Experience Requiem maneuvered what was so ingrained in him.
He saw himself leaning against the bedroom wall while the dark-haired man was beside him, admiring the same view as him.
"We're so close, aren't we?" The Giorno of the scene said, getting closer to the brunet. The dark-haired man looked back at him, his expression fixated on his face. "Maybe we can get information about the boss and–” The blond's voice stopped with the outstretched hand of the other man. Giorno saw how the Giorno of that past, uncertain but full of emotion, took the brunet’s hand. The smile that blossomed in the dark-haired man’s face was one of the most beautiful he had been pleased to witness.
“We’ll achieve everything we want, Giorno.” The capo said, slowly pulling the blond from the scene closer to him, leaning his head gently on the blond's shoulder. “And so, maybe...”
“Buccellati.” The blond in the scene said, and Giorno felt suffocated like that day, but a thousand times worse. “We don't have to wait. We have now.”
Giorno remembered perfectly the state of his mind at that time. The fear he was trying to erase was alive in his chest after hearing the other man report of how he had nearly died the day before on the train. Of all kinds of fears in the world, it was the only one who touched him, the rush of adrenaline of the hunting of the last member of the squadra esecuzioni still in his heart. They were so close that, for a moment, the totally self-controlled Giorno Giovanna feared the future, what could happen from then on.
“Giorno..." The dark-haired man got closer and the blond on the scene took his lips to himself and Giorno remembered the flutter he felt not only in his lips, but in his whole body at that moment. The arms of the love of his life tightly entwined around him, and Giorno suffered, missing him more than ever. The two men separated and the brunet touched the other man’s face and Giorno suffered more and more. “What can I do to reassure you?”
Torture, the worst of all. The scene unfolded without pause, rekindling everything he had buried. That feeling of hope, of certainty, of the deepest love–
“Are you sure about that?” The dark-haired one whispered softly, uncertainty rare in his own voice. The Giorno of the scene caressed the other man’s face, running his hands through the man’s black hair that touched the pillow on the bed.
“I love you so much, Buccellati.” To hear it aloud after so many years was the worst pain, heart-rending. “I wish I could imprint this moment in my mind, in my heart – in me, forever.”
“I love you too, Giorno Giovanna.” The brunet said, full of love and Giorno felt his face get wet for the first time in his life. “My life, my existence…”
“Shh.” The blond of the scene said, kissing the lips of the man as in his dreams, touch more complete and torturous that defeated him every following morning, having to deal with reality. “Please, just…”
The morning rays touched his skin, empty bed as his reality. Giorno ran his hands down his cheeks, wet with tears, feeling and not feeling, alive only because his body biologically did so. And he wondered, feeling miserable, why Golden Experience Requiem had that wretched ability.
Why? Why? Relive those feelings, that person–
Giorno felt himself slowly fall to the floor, weeping freely, sobbing aloud in the silence of that room, as of his life. Why remember all this? Why feel everything again, a thousand times worse than any inconceivable suffering?
“Bruno, why?” He said aloud, feeling again like that abandoned boy in the darkness of an empty house, shaking in his crib without answer. “Why?” He murmured, feeling again like that battered and ignored boy, mistreated beyond his skin. “Why?” He said with anguish, remembering the casket that was lowered, surrounded by such beautiful flowers, but meant nothing compared to that pain he couldn't process. “Why aren't you here?”
Pain. Pain as he had never allowed himself to feel. Suffering, which he had often felt, but disguised with his smiles, his ability to be. And love, unsettled, relived only to show how dead he was inside.
The return to his mansion was uneventful. Mista, Fugo, and Sheila E. welcomed him and Giorno smiled, as he always did. They talked about their trip and the organization, having lunch in a lively conversation with Trish, who took some of her time to meet with the group. Everyone smiled, telling funny and amusing stories, and Giorno smiled as usual.
After an eventful afternoon of games, which Sheila E. funnily didn't understand, the group had dinner, listening to an exclusive performance by the chanteuse of the moment. Giorno laughed as Mista began to dance and Fugo sighed with slightly annoyance. Farewells were given and Giorno retired to his room, smile still on his lips.
As he entered his room, he turned on the lights, looking around. Everything was in perfect order, as he had left. The blond went to his bedroom desk, opening one of the drawers and removing a photograph from the false bottom, staring at it silently.
Giorno exhaled the air, running a finger over one of the figures in the picture and smiled, letting a lonely tear run down his face.
Giorno Giovanna didn't quite understand his Golden Experience Requiem – he was so mysterious, so seemingly without reasoning. But, as told by a dark-haired man – who had marked his life forever, that man that could not be erased for anything in the existence – the stands reflected much of the user's soul.
“Bruno.” Giorno whispered, kissing the photo gently. “I will always love you. Always.”
The whim of fate or the perfect sentence for a man who built his ideal world on the foundation of blood and so many irreparable losses? Giorno didn’t know for sure and he thought he would never have an answer to that. But he was grateful that the serendipity of the things had made it happen, making him remember and secure it in the pivotal part of his mind, of his heart, that feeling. To have meet Bruno Buccellati, to have loved him and lost him…
Pain and love always painted him, but only now he did let these colors show over his skin, over his being.