Work Text:
Since Giorno was little, he’d been repeatedly told he was a failure, a disappointment, and an eyesore by his loving parents. And, as little children do, he believed every word. So, he never made any friends. In his mind, he was better off alone. Other people would be better off without him. Consequently, he never had anyone to tell him that he wasn’t all those things that he and his parents believed he was.
Giorno never had any, nor thought that he needed any friends. They were useless and would only serve as a distraction from his dream. When he was feeling down, he never had anyone to talk to; since talking was also useless. He just needed to pick himself up, work harder, do better. He didn’t need someone to tell him how proud they were of him, or that he’s been working too hard and that he deserved a break. Those were all useless.
He didn’t need anyone and no one needed him. Giorno never considered himself anything other than what he was told, he never had any reason to. The words that scarred him as a child would haunt him for the rest of his life. He’d always been alone. As far as he knew, he only ever hurt those that were close to him.
So, when Mista called him his “lucky boy”, he was so shocked he could barely process what that implied. That nickname given to him by this strange man he’d just met would mean that everything he’d known about himself - everything he’d been taught about who he was - was a lie. That couldn’t be true. 15 years of bringing misfortune to everyone around him couldn’t be wrong (although, admittedly, he never had many experiences with any other people that weren’t his abusive parents).
‘What a weird guy...’ was Giorno’s first impression of Mista. That was the only way to describe him: weird, not necessarily in a bad or good way. Mista was just weird; he’d contradicted everything Giorno had stood for.
Mista was a simple man, simply following orders from his higher-ups, doing what he had to in order to survive. He was honest and upfront. Everything you needed to know about him, you could see. Giorno was far more mysterious, hiding his years of trauma underneath a calm and collected façade. He had his underlying intentions and never fully exposed himself around anyone.
Giorno could never understand the strange man. He certainly wasn’t a lucky boy. It wasn’t luck that allowed him to survive, it was his own intuition, taking things he’d learnt and putting them to good use. It was his own skills that had lead him to where he was and would take him to even higher lengths. He knew he was capable of achieving that with his skills, not luck.
Giorno stopped in his tracks. This was a first for him; how did this single interaction with this man he barely knew got him to reconsider everything he’d done? It was true, though, Giorno had faith that his plan could work because he had faith in himself. He just never previously realized it. And it felt like all the work he’d put in to get himself this far was paying off like he was starting to reap the rewards of perseverance. In an instant, he could clearly see where he was going when it had previously felt like a daze. He supposed that he wasn’t entirely a failure if he’d made it this far. How is he suddenly coming to question everything that he thought he was?
As far as Giorno knew, he was the most unlucky boy on earth. Mista didn’t seem to see him that way. Even though they just met? What did he know? Mista was a simpleton who didn’t know anything about Giorno or his life.
Still, he’d appreciated the nickname. It felt nice to have someone call him something that wasn’t an insult.
________________________________________________________________
After Giorno had saved Abbaccio and Fugo from the Man in the Mirror and had returned safely to the gang, Mista had pestered Giorno for more detail because neither Abbaccio nor Fugo were much of the bragging-about-our-super-cool-epic-win type (and neither was Giorno, really).
“Gimme all the juicy stuff! This dude was tough to beat right?! So, why’re ya leavin’ all the cool parts out?!” He’d yelled.
Giorno had no idea what classified as “juicy”, so he’d simply given Mista a quick summary of the fight: how he’d turned that brick into a snake to find the enemy stand user, and how they eventually defeated him. Giorno only realized after he’d finished that he’d been talking for quite some time. Mista was enthusiastically nodding his head throughout the story, adding in some “wooooah!!” sound effects of his own here and there. Giorno blushed, he got too carried away.
“Man! You’re so cool, Giorno!! I’d never think to do that!” Mista said, with an almost glimmer in his gaze, he was looking at Giorno in a way that he couldn't recognize. Rather than hostility, he was feeling...admiration coming from the other man. He remembered a similar look coming from Bucciarati, but that was when he had beat him in a fight then. What did Giorno do to deserve this from Mista? He could almost believe that Mista actually meant what he said.
‘I’m not cool...’ Giorno thought, but when Mista was staring at him like that... Who was he to say no? He didn’t know how to respond, so he blushed and looked away. Maybe he could allow himself to think he was slightly cool in that moment, he certainly did feel... cool, if only just a little.
________________________________________________________________
The long road trip to retrieve their boss’s order from the statue that Giorno and Mista had gone into meant more time alone with Mista. For some reason, Giorno’s heart couldn’t seem to slow down. He decided it was from the paranoia of being attacked by another stand user. Since they’d started this mission, they’ve been relentlessly attacked by stand user after stand user, with barely any time to relax. That’s why his palms won’t stop sweating, and why there was a strange, tingling sensation in his stomach, and why his heart skipped a beat when Mista had called his name... Yeah, he’s just nervous about being attacked again.
Wait. Mista had called his name. He was talking to him.
“Right, Giorno?” He’d asked. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening, Mista,” Giorno replied.
“What are you overthinking now? There isn't another stand user for miles, we’ll be fine.” Mista kicked his legs up onto the dashboard, emphasizing his complete lack of anxiety. Giorno almost envied his ability to be so relaxed (although he knew Mista was always prepared for an attack, he never really let his guard down).
Considering how they’d had lots of time to kill in one cramped car, the pair had talked quite a bit, well, it was mostly Mista talking at Giorno. He liked it that way, though, Mista’s voice helped him unwind, and something about the way Mista’s lips moved as they talked made his stomach clench and his mouth dry.
Being with Mista, just the two of them, like this, it could almost convince Giorno to take a break and enjoy the little things in life, all things that Giorno had deemed ‘useless’. And yet, this philosophy that Giorno had held close to him as a protection mechanism was slowly falling apart. Rather, it was being undone. And Giorno didn’t know why, but he felt like a part of him was letting it happen, like, deep down, this is what he wanted: to sit back and be able to enjoy.
“Useless...” He muttered, under his breath, he was getting influenced by Mista. He couldn’t afford to relax. But Mista brought that side out in him and he didn’t know why. Giorno couldn’t help but feel slightly at ease with Mista beside him, and it felt nice not to have to keep his guard up around someone all the time. It felt nice to be able to rely on someone else.
________________________________________________________________
Mista somehow always found a way to get himself horribly injured during their stand fights. After the battle with Ghiaccio and his stupidly powerful White Album stand, and after he’d made sure Mista was fully healed, Giorno made sure to give the older man a thorough lecture about his actions during the battle.
“Getting yourself injured like that is useless, Mista. You shouldn’t do useless things like that. What would the team do if we didn’t have you? You should think about that too!” Giorno rambled, “your actions were dangerous, Mista, don’t do useless things like that again.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he replied, an embarrassed flush covering his cheeks, “I had the amazing Giorno to cover for me though, so I wasn’t that worried!” He finished with a wink towards the younger boy. And something in that made Giorno’s heart beat faster. Mista is alive, he’s still with him. A feeling of relief washed over Giorno, and he released the breath that he’d been holding in.
Giorno sighed, he could almost cry. Remembering the sight of Mista’s body filled with bullets and then seeing him here, laughing and joking like everything was fine. Giorno’s heart clenched. Without saying anything, Giorno laid his head on Mista’s shoulder, close to his heart, and listened to the sound of the blood flowing through his body. Mista was left wide-eyed but laid his hand on top of Giorno’s, who was clenching his fists. Soon as he did, Mista felt him relax against him.
They sat like that in silence for a few minutes, just breathing in each other’s presence. Mista was caught completely off guard by this, he didn’t know that his actions would affect Giorno like this. Perhaps they’d gotten closer than he’d thought in the short time span that they’d known each other.
“I meant what I said, though,” Mista whispered, “as long as I have you with me, I know everything will be just fine...”
________________________________________________________________
Staring at Abbaccio’s corpse, Mista waited for some sign of life from his comrade. Giorno couldn’t heal him... He was just... Gone. There was nothing they could do. Mista’s head was racing at a million miles an hour but none of his thoughts formed anything coherent.
How did this even happen? They were gone for a single minute. Why did this happen? With every blink, Mista expected to see Abbaccio in a different position than he was. But Abbaccio never moved. He didn’t even blink.
“WE’RE NOT JUST GONNA LEAVE HIM HERE, RIGHT?!” Narancia yelled. Mista wanted to agree with him. Watching Bucciarati walking away from their teammate - no, their friend - he understood Narancia’s anger. But he knew there was nothing they could do. Bucciarati was probably hurting more than any of them were.
Clenching his fists, he ripped his eyes off of Abbaccio’s corpse and followed Bucciarati. They all knew the risks of this mission. They had no choice but to continue.
Back inside the turtle, the gang continued on with their mission. It would take some time to get to Rome, so Bucciarati volunteered to keep watch outside the turtle while the rest of them got some rest. Inside, Narancia had passed out on in an uncomfortable position on the couch and Trish had curled up on the floor, eventually drifting to sleep.
Mista couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep. After seeing Abbaccio like that, he was wondering about his other comrades, he didn’t think he could keep his sanity if he had to see that again.
Mista was so lost in his thoughts he failed to notice that Giorno had placed himself next to him, “you shouldn’t think about useless things, Mista,” he said.
Slightly startled, his first instinct was to go on the defensive, “I’m not thinking about anything...!”
Giorno just stared at him blankly, although, Mista detected a faint hint of sympathy.
“Uh, well, I guess I am just overthinking...” He admitted. “I mean, Abbaccio died without anyone even noticing... So, I can’t help but think... That could have been any of us. If our enemy is that powerful... How many more of us are gonna die? Are we even... gonna be able to defeat him at all-”
“That’s useless, Mista,” Giorno stated firmly, “what you’re thinking about is useless. It’ll only distract you when we’re in battle.”
“Y-you’re right...” There was a slight twinge of shame inside Mista for having to be told off by someone younger than him for the second time now, “still, after everything we’ve been through, we all could have died so many times...” He adjusted his position slightly to face Giorno and then cupped both his hand inside his palms, “you amputated your own arms, for God’s sake, and... I almost died too! I just...” His tone was all over the place. Even now, he hadn’t fully grasped the concept of what it means to die. “I really don’t want to lose anyone else...” He said.
Giorno knew how hard this must be for him, he’d just lost one of his closest friends, they must’ve been like family, and with barely any time to properly grieve, they were going head-first into a much more dangerous battle. He didn’t know what to do or say. This is the first time he’d gotten this close to someone to consider them a friend and, frankly, he didn’t want to lose anyone either. After everything they’ve been through, Giorno felt a sense of fondness towards the gang members.
“We’re right here, Mista,” he decided was appropriate, and leaned in to touch his forehead to Mista, “I’m not going anywhere, either.”
Mista’s hold on Giorno’s hands tightened. The look in Giorno’s eyes was so tender and soft, something Mista hadn’t seen in such a long time. Something snapped inside Mista, and he could no longer hold back his tears. Giorno didn’t know what to do as Mista sobbed into his shoulder. He just let Mista let all his grief out; if he could help Mista in any way, he would. This is his way of showing Mista just how thankful he was for him. Thanks to Mista, Giorno felt so much less of a burden to himself and others, he realized that everything he’d thought he knew as a child about himself was so much farther than the truth.
Giorno’s chest ached to see Mista like this. He wished he could take his pain away, just as Mista had freed him from his. He let Mista cry into him as long as he needed.
Even after Mista had calmed down, he didn’t move from his position. The way Giorno was leaning forward had exposed his star-shaped birthmark. Mista stared at it for a while, admiring how it seemed to glimmer despite the darkness in the room. He wondered where they would be without Giorno. He would certainly be dead, they probably all would be; with how many fatal wounds he’d healed for all of them.
Mista couldn’t really face Giorno right now. He liked the position they were in particularly because Giorno couldn’t see Mista’s puffy nose or blood-shot eyes, nor the snot that threatened to drip out of his nose. He’d always showed himself as this strong and care-free guy; so breaking down in his teammate's arms like that felt almost humiliating - or at least, it would be if this was anyone else but Giorno. Still, he didn’t want Giorno to see him in this state. So, as a thank you, Mista had placed the lightest peck right onto Giorno’s star-shaped birthmark. Giorno physically tensed up, and he blushed all the way to his ears. Giorno, being who he was and having absolutely no social skills, he couldn’t understand why.
“M-Mista-” He’d began to protest. “This is how I’m saying thank you, dumbass,” Mista answered, and intertwined their fingers, just for emphasis. “Why...” Giorno asked, what was there to thank him for?
“Because you’re here.”
________________________________________________________________
Mista was the first one kiss Giorno’s hand after he’d taken over the organization. He experienced Giorno’s skill first-hand, there was no one better he could think to take over the organization. He was a simple man, he followed orders and was stupidly honest. That’s why he swore his loyalty to Giorno.
When the pair had finally gained some privacy, Mista immediately slumped his shoulders, no longer needing to impress his higher-ups or assert dominance to his subordinates. Though, he was still restless. He’d been like that all day, in fact. Being around all the other gang members, meeting new ones, and receiving hundreds of condolences from them, he, naturally, couldn’t stop thinking about finding his comrade’s corpses, the sight and smell of their blood...
Giorno merely stared at Mista as he paced around the room. No doubt he was stressed right now. Everything that he was used to was changing. Nothing was simple anymore.
But everything was over now. Things would get better... Right? Giorno wasn’t sure- No! He shouldn’t be thinking like this. Abbaccio, Narancia, and Bucciarati had sacrificed their lives for this. ‘Thinking like that is useless.’ He told himself.
He had no idea what was going through Mista’s head right now, and he wasn’t sure how to ask. Giorno had inhaled, preparing to say something before Mista approached him and grabbed both his hands, “Giorno!” He yelled, “you’re still here!”
Their faces were mere centimetres apart, Mista was blinking at him, like he was waiting for a response, “that’s right...”
“And you’re not going anywhere!”
“No, I’m not.”
Mista touched their foreheads together, just like they did back inside the turtle, and he smiled, “and as long as you’re with me... Everything’s gonna be alright!”
Giorno blinked. That’s what he said back then, too, and he didn’t exactly classify what had happened as ‘alright’. But, as he was being held by Mista, and seeing Mista’s unwavering smile, he just couldn’t bring himself to disagree.
“As long as I’m here,” Giorno started, lifting his hands from Mista’s grip to cup his face, “everything will be alright,” he whispered into the taller man’s mouth. Giorno also wanted to protect Mista with everything he had.
They were so close to each other... It seemed like they were slowly inching closer until the gap between them finally closed. All of their pent-up desire for each other, the feelings that Giorno had absolutely refused to acknowledge, they were all reaching their climax. They pulled away after a few seconds, before Mista swiftly closed the space between them again, and then proceeding to pull at Giorno’s bottom lip with his teeth, and placed his hands on Giorno’s hips to hold him closer.
Giorno gasped and grabbed onto Mista’s collar for support. His head seemed to be completely taken over by Mista. His scent, the way he tasted, the way his hands felt on his hips, Mista, Mista, Mista. All these new emotions he was feeling made his head spin in the most euphoric way.
Mista took advantage of Giorno’s open mouth and shoved his tongue inside Giorno's mouth, who wasn't at all expecting this to heat up so quickly, and he definitely wasn’t expecting to feel Mista’s tongue inside his mouth. Giorno was losing control of himself, he moaned into Mista’s mouth, completely overwhelmed by just making out with him.
Giorno was almost completely leaning on Mista for support, his legs were about to give way any second. When they pulled away for oxygen, Giorno let out a desperate, “M-Mis...ta..” His face was entirely coated with a glowing shade of red, his eyes heavy-lidded, with Mista’s name on his lips. Mista’s lower half twitched at the sight, already addicted to it.
He did have to admit, he felt slightly weird doing this so soon after his friends’ deaths, but with Giorno being the most important thing to him right now, he wanted to feel him in every way to convince himself he was still here. He needed to feel his heartbeat, feel the warmth of his breath, feel the movement of his tongue inside his mouth, feel him moaning into his mouth... He needed to be able to feel that Giorno was alive.
Mista hugged him tight, just taking in Giorno’s presence, “you’re still here...” He whispered into Giorno’s neck, who barely had it in him to point out how, of course, he’s still here, where else would he be? So, instead, he simply whispered a quiet, “I’m not going anywhere.”