One of my additions to the RWCW jjba discord Trope Bingo Challenge. I got a single column bingo with this one with the tropes: whump, fluff, hand-holding, 5+1, and found family
Hope you enjoy!
Touch
A JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Fanfic
It was something Giorno started noticing after the team got settled in after their defeat of Diavolo. It was…well, it wasn't odd, just slightly surprising to him, how comfortable everyone seemed to be in each other's space. The friendly jostling, a tired lean against someone else, arms thrown over shoulders simply for the sake of being there, not for support due to injury. Bucciarati's tendency to give out reassuring or pleased squeezes to everyone's shoulders. And even when the touches were accidental, no one got mad. They were either ignored, or playfully shoved away.
Giorno began to realize that all of this was normal. It was just he who had never had the chance to experience what it meant to be…well…family. Or, really, what it meant to be touched by someone else for any reason other than necessity or the intention to hurt.
He found that he began to cherish the small moments when the others would treat him the same. Even if they were smashed in the back of a car, it wasn't unpleasant. Everyone was comfortable with each other and so was Giorno, even if it still felt a bit awkward to him. The times Bucciarati would rub his back or shoulder in praise meant more than even his kind words. Each little touch, even the accidental ones, were a constant comfort to him. One that he hadn't even realized he was missing and craved more of.
But he didn't know how to…instigate these moments. It looked easy, everyone else made it look easy, but Giorno always felt too awkward to sit less than a foot away from someone on the couch, let alone initiate a hug. He often wished he was more like Narancia or Trish. Unafraid to offer or receive hugs at any given time of day. Narancia was constantly hanging off of someone, never afraid to curl up under a blanket with Trish during movie nights, or throw his legs over Mista's lap, constantly encroaching on everyone's personal space and being totally unapologetic about it. Even Fugo who Giorno knew didn't particularly like to be touched would allow Narancia near him, and he himself wouldn't hesitate to press his head to Bucciarati or Abbacchio's shoulder when he was exhausted or overwhelmed. And Abbacchio, despite the grumpy mask he put on, was always there to offer or receive hugs from 'the kids'.
No, Giorno was the outlier. Craving the same attention, but too awkward and emotionally repressed to ask for it. Because of that, it seemed like the others got it into their heads that he didn't like the physical contact that much and were more careful around him, respecting his space. It wasn't unexpected, but a deep, secret, part of Giorno wished they hadn't noticed.
But after all, it was probably better this way. As the Don, he couldn't really go around asking for hugs. He had to be professional, had to let the others know he could stand on his own. That he wasn't just a child craving the kind of comfort he had never had growing up, or even really considered an option.
But if Giorno didn't need that close intimate contact with a person he cared about to survive (and he knew that was true, because he had lived for 15 years without it) then why did it sometimes feel like he did?
1.
Giorno hadn't meant to get sick. Just because he felt awful wasn't an excuse for him to call out on a mission he had spent the last week meticulouslyplanning. It didn't matter that his head was spinning—and his stomach for that matter—that he was suppressing coughs that were making his chest ache. That he might have a fever…He would get through it. He could sleep that night when the mission was over. Until then, he would try his best to hide just how bad he felt.
"Are you sure you're feeling okay, Giorno?" Mista asked him as they were getting out of the car, ready for the mission. "Because you look pretty pale."
"I'm fine," Giorno said tightly. "I feel a lot better this morning." Which was a blatant lie. He felt about ten times worse than he had the day before after the few hours of terrible sleep he had gotten. He refrained from rubbing his aching head and turned toward the others. "Let's get this over with."
He saw Bucciarati eyeing him with slight disapproval, but no one said anything.
The mission at least got off to a good start, even though it seemed like a monumental effort on Giorno's part. Even Gold was sluggish due to his illness. He just barely managed to block a blow before he was thrown into a wall, the breath knocked from him. His head swam from the sudden inertia, and his stomach rolled sickly, gasping for breath.
"What's the matter, you look unwell?" the other Stand user taunted as he advanced casually, taking his time.
Giorno pushed himself up, but his arms were weak, and his whole body ached and shook, head spinning, only making his nausea worse. He slipped and slumped back against the wall, summoning Gold Experience to try to at least get a small amount of protection. He was too out of breath to call for help…
A blue blur and the sound of zippers preceded Bucciarati's appearance and the other Stand user gasped and collapsed to the ground in a pile of multiple limbs.
Giorno slumped, retracting Gold, and just trying to catch his breath. It just wheezed in his lungs though, making his chest ache even more vigorously. He started to cough and doubled over, nearly retching.
"Giorno!"
Through wet eyes, he could barely make out Bucciarati hurrying toward him, a hand landing on his back. "Are you injured?"
Giorno tried to shake his head, but couldn't stop coughing, curling up on the ground, fighting to get a breath as his fingers clawed at his chest and ribs. He must look ridiculously pitiful like this.
Bucciarati didn't leave him though, he bent further, pressing a hand that felt amazingly cool to Giorno's forehead. Giorno couldn't help but lean into the touch, eyes fluttering shut at that brief moment of relief. Not even thinking about the fact that he was acting so childlike on the field were they had just finished a battle, where there were, actually, still the disembodied parts of their enemy lying on the ground a few feet away.
"You have quite the fever," Bucciarati said darkly, though not without concern. "You shouldn't have come out here today."
Giorno tried to reply, but started to cough again, wheezing. He caught a brief glance of Bucciarati's concerned frown as the man got his hands under Giorno and lifted him upright. Giorno fought to get his feet under him but the continued coughing stole all his breath, making him impossibly dizzy. Everything spun, and steady arms caught him, pressing him close to a body that felt so much cooler and more comfortable than Giorno's right now. He didn't even mind the small spatter of blood across Bucciarati's sleeve. He pressed his face against the older man's chest until he could catch his breath, focusing on the pleasant smell of Bucciarati's cologne as he steadied his breaths.
"Easy, just breathe, we'll get you home and in bed. I'll take care of everything from here."
Giorno gave a weak moan, but it wasn't until he heard the voices of the others that he realized he was literally clinging to Bucciarati. He tried to pull away, recover some of his dignity, but his head ached and spun so much that he swayed, causing Bucciarati to have to hold onto him even more securely.
"Hey, is Giorno okay?" Narancia asked.
"He's just overdone himself while he's sick," Bucciarati told them. "Can the rest of you clean up here while I get him home?"
"No, I can…" Giorno tried to protest, only to start another coughing fit that doubled him over. Mortified, he glanced up to see the concerned looks from the others, which only made his head ache worse.
"That's enough for today," Bucciarati told him quietly as he wrapped an arm securely around Giorno's waist and started to guide him out of the building, toward one of the cars.
Giorno gave up the fight, honestly too exhausted to care at the moment, and allowed Bucciarati to bundle him into the car, driving him home as Giorno pressed his too-hot cheek against the window for some relief.
He had nearly nodded off by the time they got back, and fumbled with the door handle. Bucciarati simply hurried around the car and helped him out. Giorno's body was protesting monumentally at this point, his feet dragging.
He just about made it to the stairs with Bucciarati's help and then another coughing fit overtook him, forcing him to sink to the ground.
While he gasped for breath, Bucciarati simply reached down and picked him up, carrying him up the stairs.
"Y-You…" Giorno tried.
"Shh," Bucciarati told him. "You've really overdone it, I think. You need to be in bed, sleeping."
Giorno coughed again and sighed.
Bucciarati deposited him in his bed before going to Giorno's dresser and pulling out a pair of pajamas for him. The bed felt amazing under Giorno's aching body and he snuggled into it instantly, closing his aching eyes. After Bucciarati used Sticky Fingers to more easily get him into the pajamas, he left the room and Giorno sighed tiredly, almost wishing he had stayed, already missing Bucciarati's cool, gentle hand on his forehead, but, he was fine. He would just be sleeping anyway. Bucciarati certainly didn't need to coddle him.
However, he was surprised to find Bucciarati returning with multiple items. First a thermometer to take his temperature, then medicine for the fever and tea to ease his throat.
"I know it's difficult when you have so much on your plate," Bucciarati said quietly, as he took a wet cloth and pressed it against Giorno's forehead. "But sometimes you need to learn when you need to sit one out. Believe me, I'm not good at it either. But trust me, it looks better to know your weaknesses than to collapse during a fight."
Giorno flushed redder than he already was, glancing away. He was surprised when he felt Bucciarati's fingers card through his hair, smoothing it back from his sweaty forehead.
"You don't have to be ashamed, Giorno."
Giorno glanced up at him through aching eyes, trying to understand, or rather, force it into his head that this weakness was okay. That Bucciarati didn't think worse of him for it, apparently, since he was still here, taking care of him instead of telling Giorno to leave him alone. That he was a waste of space, that he wasn't worth worrying over and he should just sleep it off and stop wasting everyone's time…
Another coughing fit overtook him and he curled slightly to one side, the violent fit tearing through his body. He groaned, clutching his chest. The muscles spasmed and ached from all the abuse. He closed his eyes as he got his breath back, trying to relax.
He was surprised when he felt a hand land on his sternum and froze, glancing down to watch as Bucciarati began to massage firm circles against his knotted muscles. It helped him to relax and he sank back into the bed, eyes sliding shut.
"You—you don't have to stay," he finally said.
Bucciarati gave him a small sad smile. "Giorno, I want to stay. Besides, all I'm doing for the rest of the day is paperwork. I can do that just as easily here as at my desk." He reached up to readjust the cloth on Giorno's forehead before he went back to his careful massage. "Just rest now."
Giorno's eyes finally slid shut and stayed that way. He drifted off to Bucciarati's gentle ministrations, feeling extremely comforted by this new and unusual feeling of not being alone.
2.
Giorno really wanted to stay awake and watch the movie with the others, but he was just honestly so exhausted. Even with everyone's loud comments, and Narancia's excitement, Giorno found himself constantly fighting the urge to nod off. It had been such a long week with three separate missions that had all turned out to be more work than they had expected. That was partly why they had all decided to take tonight to wind down, have some family time together. And Giorno wanted to participate, he really did, but he had hardly gotten any sleep the past few days and it seemed like now that he had finally stopped, his body was practically forcing him to rest.
He held on for a little bit longer, until after all the snacks were eaten, and then, during a slow part of the movie, his eyes finally slid shut and he slumped to one side.
"Tired?"
It took him a moment to realize his cheek was pressed against something that shifted, and his eyes instantly flew back open, embarrassed that he had landed on Mista's shoulder, the older boy staring down at him with a smirk.
"Sorry," he murmured and tried to lean back stiffly to keep himself upright, propping his head against the back of the couch.
But as his eyes slid closed again, he felt an arm snake around his shoulders and pull him in. Giorno's eyes flew open in surprise as Mista tucked him in against his side, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch to wrap over Giorno's shoulders.
"It's okay, GioGio, you can sleep if you want. I know you're exhausted. Besides," He grinned, patting Giorno's back. "I've been told I make a pretty good pillow."
Giorno wanted to protest, but he was warm and Mista's shoulder was admittedly a pretty good pillow. And if his friend didn't seem to mind… He pressed his face into Mista's sweatshirt and allowed his eyes to droop shut as he felt the older boy squeeze his shoulder fondly.
Giorno slept better surrounded by his family than he had in weeks.
3.
Giorno slumped at the table in the back of Libeccio, feeling awful. He should get up, he needed to go and answer for what he did. He didn't know why this was so hard. It would just be a few words and then it would be over. That was it.
He was the one who had insisted on doing this himself, after all. Because it had all been his responsibility. He didn't deserve the luxury of hiding away, of feeling terrible. He knew what he felt was only a fraction of the pain the woman would feel when he told her…
He got up, but instead of heading toward the room where he had asked the woman to meet him, he started pacing. He pressed his fingers to his mouth, biting his nails to the quick.
"Giorno?"
He spun around, surprised to see Trish standing there.
"What are you doing here?" he asked her, somewhat defensive, ashamed that anyone else had to see how weak he was.
"I just came to see if you were okay. You just looked so sad."
Giorno sank back into the chair, pressing his face into one hand. "It was just…unexpected. I couldn't do anything to stop it. It happened so fast. Usually there's some kind of hesitation, but this time I couldn't even use Gold to heal him. He died instantly, shot through the head…"
He was shocked when a warm, soft hand wrapped around his, pulling it away from his face. Giorno could only stare at Trish, stiff, as she wrapped both her hands around his, rubbing a thumb carefully across a raw spot where he had bitten the nail too close.
"Giorno, I can't imagine how it would feel to lose someone like that on a mission. But if I've learned anything about this life it's that it's unpredictable and hard."
"He was just so…eager to help," Giorno sighed. "But he was still just a civilian…"
Trish squeezed his hand and Giorno's eyes were still trained on their hands entwined. The sensation was so…different, unexpected, and yet, it was…comforting.
"I'm sorry," she told him softly.
The host walked over with an apologetic look and Giorno glanced up, pulling his hand away from Trish as he stood up. "Is she here?" he forced himself to ask.
"Yes, signore," the man said.
Giorno nodded and as soon as the man turned around, he took a shuddering breath, trying to compose himself. He was the don, he would lose people, he knew this. He'd almost lost members of his own team. This time…he'd just miscalculated. And it had cost a boy younger than himself his life. For that sin, it was only fair that Giorno himself be the one to tell the mother what had happened.
He was surprised when Trish stood as well, and slipped her hand back into his, squeezing.
"It's okay," she told him softly. "Let me come with you."
"I…"
"You don't always have to do everything alone, Giorno," Trish told him.
Giorno felt the pressure of her fingers, and just that small contact, knowing that there was someone else there, that there was someone at his side, was such a comfort that he felt a new strength enter him. He finally wrapped his fingers around Trish's hand and squeezed back.
"Trish…thank you," he said quietly.
She smiled and leaned her shoulder into his in a friendly gesture, then stayed by Giorno's side as he stepped forward to do his duty.
4.
It was so cold. Giorno lay on something hard, barely conscious and disoriented. He had no idea where he was, only that his back hurt.
He tried to move and pain ripped through him, so he gave up, slumping back onto the cold ground, just drifting, still having no idea where he was or what had happened.
Giorno drifted in and out of consciousness. His back ached, and the cold burrowed into him. He had no blankets, there was no warmth to find. Just like when he was a child.
That's where he must be, he realized. Back home—or, well, at his mother and stepfather's place. That must be why his back hurt too…
If only he had enough energy to get on his feet to get out of there.
Footsteps sounded, coming toward him. There was shouting too and Giorno shrunk away. It was his stepfather, he knew it, obviously whatever he had done to Giorno before hadn't been enough of a punishment.
He pressed himself back against the wall as the footsteps stopped in front of him, curling up to protect himself. A hand reached down and shook him, shouting, but it just caused agony to rip through his back, and Giorno lost what little hold he had on consciousness completely.
XXX
Giorno woke to warmth. It felt amazing, but he had no idea where it was coming from. He only knew that he was somehow pressed between two sources of heat, and though his back still hurt, it wasn't exacerbated by the fact that he was tense with the cold and shivering.
He murmured contentedly and huddled closer to one of the sources of heat.
"Is he awake?" someone whispered.
"I think he's finally coming around."
"Giorno?"
Giorno suddenly froze, prying his eyes open to find that he was staring directly at Narancia. The boy grinned, relief obvious on his face.
"Hey, Gio, how are you feeling?"
Giorno looked around their surroundings. They were in the back of the van as far as Giorno could see, the windows frosted over. He vaguely remembered now, going on a mission up in the mountains with Narancia and Fugo, getting caught in the snow while the Stand user attacked…
"You got jumped," Narancia told him.
"You were incredibly cold when we found you," Fugo said and Giorno finally realized he was the heat pressed against his back.
Giorno weakly tried to fight his way out of the blankets, embarrassed. "Sorry. D-did you get him?" he murmured, then hissed as his back pulled. His movement caught the blankets to shift and let in cold air. He shivered.
Fugo and Narancia both grabbed him. "Giorno, stay here, we're not going anywhere," Fugo said firmly.
"And don't worry, we took out the enemy."
Giorno pressed his chapped lips into a thin line, trying to shift himself so that he was no longer touching either of the boys, not wanting to feel like he was intruding on their personal space.
Which is ridiculous he told himself. This was their idea after all. Though they probably hadn't really had a choice if he had really been that cold.
He wasn't used to being this close to people, and he certainly didn't even think Fugo liked to be this close to people. It was his fault he hadn't been careful enough. That he'd been jumped. There he was, supposed to be some kind of leader when he really just felt like more of a burden…
"I-I'm okay," Giorno tried to tell them.
"Dude, you were literally blue in the lips when we got you out of there," Narancia said. "And the van is stuck anyway. The others are on their way to come get us. But until then, we may as well stay here." He shifted so he was pressed against Giorno again. "Now, come on, stop moving around and letting all the cold air in, I'm cold too."
Once again sandwiched between Narancia and Fugo, Giorno tried to relax, and…it wasn't really that hard. He couldn't deny that the shared heat was comforting. The camp blankets they kept in the back of the van might not be the softest, but they were warm. Giorno found himself sinking further into the warmth, pressing his face into the shoulder of Narancia's sweater which trapped his breath and warmed his cold nose and cheeks.
Giorno may not be great at accepting physical contact with other humans, but this felt…not bad. He realized then how lucky he was to have people who cared enough to share body heat with him to keep him from dying of hypothermia.
The three of them huddled closer together and Giorno drifted off again as they waited for the rest of their team to come get them.
When Bucciarati and Mista showed up, they bundled the three into the back of the car, the heat on full blast and more blankets handed out. It was still warm, but Giorno found he missed the comfort of having another body so close.
Narancia seemed to agree because he leaned his shoulder against Giorno's, pressing him against Fugo.
Giorno stiffened slightly, wondering if Fugo would be mad, but he made no move to shift or push Giorno away. He instead leaned his head back against the seat as if he were going to sleep. Giorno, too exhausted to do anything but give in to his weary body, simply laid his head down on Fugo's shoulder as Narancia did the same to him, and fell back to sleep, feeling safe and secure.
5.
As much as Giorno tried, sometimes nightmares just wouldn't leave him alone. He couldn't understand why his past kept coming back to haunt him when it had been nearly three years since he'd had to see his mother and stepfather, it had been almost six months since he had become the Don of Passione and shouldn't ever have to worry about stuff like that ever again. But in his dreams, he would be right back there, frozen in terror as his stepfather stood over him with a belt, unable to call Gold to his side, no one to care what happened. He was weak, and pointless, and there was nothing he could do to stop it…
That was why he found himself down in the kitchen in the middle of the night, clutching a glass of water in his hand, trying to fight off the lingering darkness of the dream. But it wasn't really working. He was too much inside his own head.
"What's the matter? Can't sleep?"
Giorno spun around, nearly dropping his glass at the voice. Abbacchio had somehow entered the kitchen without Giorno being able to hear him. His arms were folded over his chest and though he was wearing his pajamas and rode, he didn't look like he had only just woken up.
"Sorry," Giorno said, putting the glass down before he started toward the door, figuring the older man would want to be alone.
"You don't have to leave," Abbacchio said, practically blocking his exit. "You're not actually bothering me you know, kid. I can't sleep either."
Giorno looked at him with surprise and Abbacchio rolled his eyes slightly before coming further into the kitchen. "Sit down. I was gonna make some tea."
Confused at this sudden casual kindness on Abbacchio's part, Giorno wordlessly took a seat at the table and watched as the goth put on the kettle and pulled out two mugs and teabags.
"So, is it work or nightmares?" Abbacchio asked after a few long moments of silence as he poured the hot water in the mugs, and dropped the tea in.
Giorno looked down at his hands folded in his lap. "Nightmares," he admitted quietly.
"Hm," Abbacchio replied, handing one of the mugs to Giorno before he sat down across across the table.
Giorno pulled the cup to him, cradling the warmth in his hands. He was waiting for some kind of disparaging comment about sucking it up, about getting over it, but all Abbacchio said was, "If you need to talk about, I'm here to listen."
Giorno looked up sharply, again surprised. Abbacchio snorted at his look and took a long sip of his tea.
"What? I'm not exactly the dick you seem to think I am. Despite the rocky beginning," he amended with a shrug.
Giorno relaxed his shoulders slightly. "I know that, I just…"
"I get it," Abbacchio said. "Sometimes it doesn't help to say anything, and that's okay too. Whatever works. Just know that if you do need to…you can come to me."
Giorno exhaled slowly, finally raising the cup to his lips and blowing on it before taking a sip. "It's…hard when it's something so rooted in your past, something that doesn't even matter anymore. I know, rationally, that I'll never have to deal with it again, but…my head has other ideas when I go to sleep."
Abbacchio gave him a look of knowing sympathy. Giorno had never seen the man look at him like that before. "Memories of the past can be like that," he said. "Believe me, I know."
Giorno tapped his fingers nervously against his cup, trying to fight the urge to bite his already short nails. "It doesn't get better, does it?"
Abbacchio frowned. "I wouldn't say it does get better; your subconscious always has a way of digging up what you don't want it to, but it gets easier to manage. Takes less time to come back to reality. Especially if you know you have good things waiting for you when you wake up." He shrugged. "But that doesn't mean you won't be bothered by it, and, well, I guess that's just part of life."
Giorno nodded, actually appreciating the honesty over empty reassurances. "Thanks," he said softly.
Abbacchio's lips twisted up on one side. He looked a lot softer, more approachable, without his dark makeup, Giorno thought. Either that or, maybe it was just because he wasn't sneering at the moment. "No problem, kid."
Giorno felt tired suddenly, as if a burden had been lifted, and after a few more minutes, Abbacchio got up to put his empty mug in the sink.
"You gonna stay up for a little bit longer?" he asked.
Giorno nodded. "Yes, for a few minutes. But you can go back to bed if you want."
Abbacchio crossed back around the table to leave the kitchen, but paused, settling a hand on top of Giorno's head. Giorno froze in surprise when Abbacchio's fingers ruffled his hair fondly as he pushed Giorno's head back so that he could meet his eyes.
"Just remember my offer, okay? You ever need to talk about anything, shit from your past, I'm here. I know you like to think you're the big bad mafia Don, but you're still just a shrimpy kid in my eyes, so you don't have to put on airs for me."
Giorno let out a soft huff of laughter, relaxing, almost melting under the warm hand. "Thanks, Abbacchio," he said sincerely.
The man's hand slid down through his hair to squeeze his shoulder briefly before he turned around. Just that small gesture put Giorno at ease, feeling like he had someone he could count on if he needed. Was this what it would feel like to have a real father? Someone who actually cared about his wellbeing?
Giorno never would have thought he would see Abbacchio in that light, but he was grateful for it, all the same. He went back to bed that night, and slept nightmare free until the morning where he woke up to his new family.
(1)
Giorno alternated sitting at one corner of the hall where a couple hard chairs sat, and pacing, worry gnawing at his insides. He needed to see his friends, he couldn't believe that this had happened, that Narancia and Mista were…
He pushed back those thoughts, pacing again. He wasn't sure if it was good or bad that no one had come to find him. Or maybe…maybe they had forgotten about him all together. He just wished it hadn't been this time that he had been so stupid as to get hit by the Stand user. Of course he hadn't known that it's ability ran on a timed basis, and not one controlled directly by the user. So, that meant that despite the Stand user's defeat, his powers were suppressed for at least another twenty-four hours, and in that time he could do nothing to help Mista and Narancia, which is why he was currently pacing the stark hallway of a hospital, instead of using Gold Experience to heal his friends like he usually would.
"Giorno!"
He felt instant relief as he looked over and saw Bucciarati hurrying toward him, worry pinching his own face.
"I got here as quickly as I could; are you all right?" he asked instantly, reaching out to touch Giorno's shoulder gently, eyes searching him for injury.
"I'm sorry," Giorno blurted instantly. "It was my fault. I was too reckless, and I got hit and…and now I can't use my powers. I couldn't heal them!"
Bruno's face softened slightly, but Giorno was already pacing again, rubbing his face with both hands, trying to fight against the images of finding Mista and Narancia bleeding out on the ground, of his realization that he couldn't heal them—Mista with no less than five bullets in him. Having to stop the bleeding as well as he could, heave them into the back of the car and race to the hospital. Having to watch doctors take his team members—his famiglia—away while he sat there, useless.
He was useless.
He groaned and sank against the wall, sliding downward until he was sitting with his knees against his chest. Breathing was getting harder as he felt panic settling in. he pressed his fingers to his mouth, gnawing on the already bleeding nails.
Bucciarati crouched in front of him. "Giorno, you did everything you could. Your quick thinking defeated the user and got Mista and Narancia here. I'm sure it won't be much longer before we hear that they're just fine."
"But I should have been able to heal, I should have done better watching their backs instead of playing the hero," Giorno gulped, his throat constricting with emotion as the image of Mista jumping in front of him crossed his mind again. "I was stupid and I could have gotten them killed!"
Bruno quietly shifted to sit down next to him, resting his arms across his knees. "That's the burden of a leader, Giorno, believe me, it doesn't get easier. But if things do go wrong—and they will eventually—the best thing we can do then, is to make sure everyone gets out alive, and you did. You're only considering what you did to be useless because you have a healing ability. To a normal person, your actions would be applauded."
Giorno took a shuddering breath, still trying to get a hold of himself. "I just…I'm scared," he admitted in a whisper.
"Waiting in a hospital is never nice," Bruno admitted and reached out to rub his shoulder gently. "Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want me to get you something to drink?"
Giorno curled up tighter, swallowing hard. He knew what he wanted more than anything right now, but…he couldn't actually ask for that. He couldn't…
And yet it was the only thing that could possibly keep him from the anxious pacing, the reassurance he almost craved right now.
"Can I…?" he began before swallowing hard, shaking with anxiety and mortification. He could do this, he could ask Bucciarati for this one thing. What did it matter now anyway? He was already such a wreck. He sniffed, swallowing again. "Can I…have a… hug?"
He caught sight of Bucciarati's face, going from surprise to the softest expression Giorno thought he had ever seen in his life. "Of course, mio ragazzo," he said, opening his arms slightly.
Giorno didn't hesitate, simply collapsing against the man, wrapping his arms firmly around him. This was the first time he had ever initiated a hug, and as he felt Bruno's arms tighten around him in return, he didn't think he ever wanted to let go. He buried his face in Bucciarati's shoulder, his familiar scent of lingering sea air and light cologne putting Giorno instantly at ease. He took a shuddering breath, hands gripping fistfuls of Bucciarati's suit, knowing he was probably wrinkling it horribly, but the man didn't say anything or chide him for it. He simply brought one hand up to tuck against the back of Giorno's head, drawing him closer still.
"It's all right, Giorno," he whispered, resting his chin on top of Giorno's head as he started to rock him slightly. "It will be okay."
Giorno took another shuddering breath and nodded against the man's shoulder.
He didn't know how long they sat like that, before the sound of footsteps approached and Giorno pulled back instantly, wiping his eyes and forcing himself to his feet as he saw the doctor.
"What's the news?" Bucciarati asked, face impassive, but Giorno could tell he was anxious.
The doctor offered a small smile. "Both of them are out of surgery and are doing well. We're currently administering some blood transfusions, but as long as they respond well, they should both be ready to go home within a couple days. You can see them as soon as we get them into a room."
Giorno's knees nearly gave out in relief.
"Thank you, doctor," Bucciarati said for him, shaking the man's hand, his own relief clear on his face.
"I'll let you know when you can see them," the doctor promised before returning down the hallway.
Bruno squeezed Giorno's shoulder. "See? I told you everything would be okay," he said softly.
Giorno exhaled and swiftly threw his arms around Bucciarati again. The man gave a soft laugh, but returned the second hug just as fervently.
Giorno knew he should let go, but maybe just a few more seconds. Maybe giving and receiving human touch wasn't as hard as he thought.
He might just get used to this.
Maybe he would practice with Mista and Narancia when they woke up.
Giorno let out a sigh, comforted by Bucciarati's arms around him and the fact that he knew his family was now safe and sound.
He couldn't ask for more than that.