A/N: Ok, so this is the story of Primo and his right hand man, told by the many firsts they shared in their time. NO PAIRINGS (can you believe that?), only friendship, trust and loyalty bordering with obsession. These started as random drabbles about a few random firsts, but then they grew into a full out summery of what I think happened to them, and so here you have it. You can read it as random drabbles, if you prefer, though xD

Just to mention, I never read the Simon ark in the manga, so this little collection overlooks it at the most parts, but I have a good enough idea to know what's going on in it to keep in mind and not stray too far.

The first are chronologically ordered and after a ideas kept appearing one after the other, I decided I'd honor the tri-ni-sette and make them 21. Here's your first 7 parts x) They're all concentrated around G and Giotto with mentions and short appearances of the other Guardians from time to time. I initially intended to make them concentrate equally on both of them, but as things happened G took control of almost all of them and I realized I still don't know Giotto enough to write him well.

Oh, well, here you go, and please review!

First game

"What are you doing?"

His eyes fell on the boy and were met with a smile as wide as the sky, eyes glistering with the orange glow of a summer sunset.

"I'm playing, what does it look like?" It looked wet and dirty and cold in the falling rain but with his drenched hair sticking to his face the boy still jumped all around and twirled in the never ending downpour and G couldn't help but think it looked fun. "Want to join?"

Red eyes widened at the words because no one ever invited or wanted him to play, because that was what it was like to be the son of the boss. He clenched his fists in annoyance but then he saw that free smile again and he nodded and he threw away his jacked and jumped into the rain and mud and laughter and Giotto and he wondered how he could have missed this for the last eight years of his life.

First choice

He ran and ran and ran as fast as his feet could carry him and then faster still. And it hurt and it hurt and it hurt so much that he couldn't keep his tears at bay and he scrubbed at his face to dry them but they had been sucked into the bandages already and there was nothing he could do about it.

And it was hard and cold and unfair and he was only ten years old and he didn't want this.

So he ran and didn't stop, because even if he abandoned the Famiglia that had caused him this, there was still that one place he could go. And he stopped running and he crashed into the door and he hit it again and again and again until it opened and then he threw himself into the other boy and cried.

"I don't want this! I don't want this anymore!"

And Giotto held him tightly, embraced him with his weak hands and just stood there and watched him break under the heavy expectations and the burden that wasn't fit to be carried by the small frame. And he stood there and waited until the tears dried away and G kept whispering "It hurts. It hurts." like a never ending mantra and Giotto could only guess it referred to the bandages on his face and neck and feared what would lay beneath.

And then he tightened his hold around the other boy and he said with determination burning in his eyes: "You don't have to go back there!"

And G looked at his face and kept looking for the longest while and then he nodded and that damned Famiglia never got the heir they wanted so much.

First dream

They had both been young and stupid and idealistic, well at least one of them had been, when they sat down that night, back to back and spoke about fleeting nightmares and dreams and a happily ever after that the world would never allow them, but they'd still struggle towards. And then Giotto would push against his back just a little bit more and he'd drop his head until it rested on his bowed one and he'd laugh loud and clear and beautiful and the sound would scatter around him like broken glass and leave scars in his heart and soul and he'd never again forget the hope shared that night.

First mistake

It was a common mistake, really, at least concerning the people he was acquainted with. It was the mistake of looking into those sky deep eyes and letting the enthusiasm swallow you, it was the mistake of raking your eyes over that bright smile and letting it tear you apart piece by piece and put you back in any way it wanted.

Well, the actual mistake wasn't that, it was the fact that no one could say no to that face, to those sparkling eyes and that maddening smile. And he found himself unable to say no just like that.

"Let's form a vigilante group."

Yes, sure, of course, whatever you say.

And he agreed, even when he knew they were digging their own grave. And it was going to be a hard, long, painful process and it was going to be more of a tomb than a grave, high and beautiful and majestic, but it was still going to hold their cold dead bodies in a vice grip and lock them within for all eternity.

First scar

It was bleeding. His shirt was covered in the blood, the white fabric painted a dark crimson-black and dripping on the ground with every step. It isn't half as bad as it looks, though, he kept repeating, as he pressed a hand against his throbbing side and tried not to flinch at the pain.

And Giotto couldn't help but look away from his friend and feel the guilt build in his chest even as G kept repeating those words.

How it isn't as bad as it looks, despite the fact that he was pale as a sheet. How it isn't something that Knuckle bastard can't heal easily, even though his breaths were coming in short shallow gasps. How it is nothing but a scratch, even though he didn't have the strength to lift the lighted cigar to his lips anymore.

And maybe it wasn't that bad and maybe it wasn't life threatening, but Giotto still flinched at the memory of how deep the knife had dug into his friend's side and couldn't help but think.

Even if it wasn't that bad, it would still leave a nasty scar.

First kill

The shot rang in the room and suddenly all was silent safe for the body crumbling to the ground. And just as G was about to say something, to stop him from doing it, Giotto turned. He twirled around so fast that his mantle waved behind him and then suddenly froze in place, stunned, terrified.

The moment he had pulled the trigger, G had been prepared, but Giotto never was. And he saw the shock and the denial and the horror flashing through his friend's face and he knew that the gruesome sight wasn't one meant for him.

So he moved, swift and soundless like he'd learned he had to in order to survive in this world, and he slipped one hand over those pain filled orange eyes and obscured the blood and the gore from his view. And he felt a shaking hand reach up to cup his fingers and saw the tears that slipped through them, yet he said nothing, standing as silent support for his friend.

First flame

He didn't waste a moment, turning this way and that, bullets flying like birds with a will of their own, taking down one enemy after the other and in the mids of it all there was not time to take a breath, no time to even think about being tired, no time to consider resting and mending the damage to his own body.

And then in the darkness of death that hanged around them a single flame flicked to life and stopped the struggle and stopped time itself as it burned with fierce determination and excruciating resolve. And as G stood there, frozen in place by the beauty and power and glory of the orange flame burning on his friend's forehead he felt like he had never seen anything as damned beautiful as it.

And G let it illuminate his way as he sprung back into action, any thought of weariness washed away from his body and burned in that lively flame, and he pushed and shoved and shot and killed and struggled forward with the sole determination to live long enough to see that flame time and time again.