"I'm sorry."
Mista had to hold back a sigh of complete and utter misery; this was what, the millionth time Giorno had apologized to him in the span of a couple hours? Okay, maybe he was exaggerating, but that's what it felt like.
"Dude, it's fine, I've told ya that already," he replied as patiently as he could- which meant it came out sounding more like a growl and that clearly didn't make anything better, as he could tell from the corners of Giorno's eyes briefly crinkling that the blond had winced at his tone.
Trying to soften his voice, Mista added, "Look, we both went to Capri and just 'cuz I fought the guy and you didn't doesn't mean ya gotta get all bent outta shape about it. It's fine, you'll get other chances to show your stuff."
"That's not what I-"
"Can you two dumbasses shut the fuck up for five fucking seconds?" Abbacchio's voice came from the front of the car. He'd been saddled with driving the two of them plus Narancia, while Bucciarati took Fugo and their newest charge Trish, to the safehouse. It was Bucciarati's idea; he hadn't wanted Trish to get overwhelmed with all the new people.
In Mista's opinion, they were the ones who would be overwhelmed by Trish, not the other way around.
Narancia was passed out in the passenger seat, snoring softly with a content expression on his face from having gotten shotgun without so much as a fuss. Giorno and Mista had been fine with sharing the back. Abbacchio had not been fine with driving them.
"I want to fucking listen to my music, and I can't do that if you're talking, so shut the fuck up before I wire your mouths shut for you."
Definitely not fine.
Giorno shot a glance at Mista, who just shrugged his shoulders and mimed zipping his lips and throwing the key out the window. The blond nodded and settled back into his chair, but judging from his green eyes glinting in the light, this conversation wasn't over.
It was another hour before they reached the safehouse, somewhere nondescript and off the radar, where no one knew them and no one should know them. Mista had stretched when he first stepped out of the car, taking in the countryside of the rolling hills before them. No matter how many times he saw them, he always thought how much he loved his home.
Hearing voices coming from behind him, he turned to see Bucciarati standing next to the other car, a bit away from the others and closer to the cliff's edge, talking quietly with Giorno. Their heads were bowed and it was clear they were on alert for anyone who might've been eavesdropping, even though the only guy who would possibly care was busy drinking himself into a stupor with the untouched liquor supply in the safehouse.
Mista rested his hands on his hips as he bent around to comment on some stupid thing Narancia had just said, earning an angry glare from the shorter boy and a chuckle from Fugo, who quickly moved the attention back to their most recent argument, something about whether or not tacos counted as sandwiches.
But even as he listened to them bicker, Mista watched Giorno out of the corner of his eye, cataloguing the blond's every movement. How the sun behind him made it seem like he was glowing. When his body language shifted just enough to convey the emotions that weren't displayed on his face. The way he brushed a strand of golden hair behind his ear almost absentmindedly, as if it was out of habit rather than necessity. How his green eyes lit up when he noticed Mista watching him, a soft smile and brief wave enough to send a wave of heat across Mista's cheeks.
'Yes,' he thought to himself with a nod, 'Not bad at all,' as he watched Giorno gesture to Bucciarati shooting another quick glance at Mista before looking back at the capo. Bucciarati's blue eyes shifted up to land on where Mista had been watching them and the expression on his capo's face told Mista that somehow Bucciarati knew everything he'd been thinking. Even when he wasn't quite sure what he was thinking.
Bucciarati gave a nod in agreement and then Giorno had turned around and was walking back over to them, golden braid bouncing over one shoulder with each confident stride. Mista'd never seen someone carry themselves the way Giorno did. Like he knew he was meant for something more than whatever was going on now.
"Oi, Giorno, you agree with me, right?!"
Narancia's shrill voice broke Mista out of his thoughts as he remembered that he was with the others right now. Giorno's green eyes shifted to study the smaller raven-haired boy and Mista found he was a bit sad to lose that gaze.
"Agree with you on what, Narancia?" Giorno asked with all the patience of a Saint.
"That a taco- mmph!" He was cut off when Fugo slapped his hand over Narancia's mouth, muffling any persuasion he might've attempted.
"Giorno, would you say a taco is a sandwich or in its own food group?" Fugo, to his credit, kept his hand over Narancia's even when it was obvious that Narancia was drooling all over it, as evidenced from the spit dripping down his chin. He did, however, yank away when Narancia bit him. Hard. "Narancia! You little fucking gremlin, I'll fucking-"
"Well, I would say a sandwich consists of bread and a filling," Giorno's musings interrupted the Wrath and Might Fugo was about to rain down upon Narancia and the two swivelled to stare at him intently, awaiting his verdict. "As a taco is made from a tortilla, I would assume it is not, in fact, a sandwich. Though I can't say I've ever really had one before."
"Yes! I told you, you piece of shit!"
"No, c'mon, it's totally a sandwich!" Narancia wailed, clearly more distraught over the fact that he was wrong instead of his near-death experience Fugo almost gave him. "Giorno, you traitor! I hate you!"
"Aw, c'mon, Narancia, I agreed with you." Mista slapped a hand on Narancia's shoulder, trying to console the smaller boy.
"You don't count, Mista," Fugo explained gleefully. "As you are, in fact, a complete buffoon."
"I am not!"
"Sorry Mista, but you kind of are."
"Narancia, I'm on your side!" Feeling very betrayed and just the slightest bit insulted, he crossed his arms over his chest in a huff. "Not like you're any smarter," he pouted.
"For what it's worth, I think you're very smart, Mista." Giorno, God bless his little golden soul, was clearly an angel sent from Heaven. Mista knew if he was a good person (mostly) and did good things (besides the occasional murder, and only when they deserved it), he'd get rewarded and that reward was obviously Giorno.
"You've known him what, a day?" Fugo scoffed as he strolled over to Narancia, who was pouting very obviously about his brilliant theory being shot down by not one, but two people in the span of ten minutes. "Just wait, Giorno, you'll see. Come on, Narancia, stop pouting." He was already leading the smaller boy towards the safehouse, an arm around his shoulders amicably. "How about I make you a taco, hmm? I'll even add chanterelles, just for you."
"Why would I want to eat a chandelier?"
"The mushrooms, Narancia." Fugo sounded like he was desperately holding back from beating his friend senseless. "The orange ones."
"The fancy ones?!"
"Yes, those."
"Yay! Fugo, I love you!" Narancia practically threw himself on the blond. Fugo just sighed, muttering something out of earshot as he continued his walk into the safehouse, basically carrying Narancia along with him.
"I can't tell if they're the best of friends or if they despise each other." Right, Giorno was next to him still. Outside. Alone.
"I can't tell that and I've known them for over a year. I'm not sure they even know." Giorno nodded, his head cocked to the side as if he was thinking about something- which, after having known the guy for all of half a day, Mista knew he probably was. "So's it true?"
"Is what true?" The blond's expression was calm, refined, but the way his features seemed pinched right next to brow, his green eyes flashing sharply, something was clearly on his mind. Mista wondered what he was so worried about.
"That you've really never had a taco."
"Oh." Giorno immediately seemed more relaxed, some of the tension in his shoulders draining away as he thought for a moment before responding, "I didn't have the most exotic childhood, so yes, it is true."
"'Exotic'?" Mista laughed. "That your way of sayin' you're sheltered?"
"In a way." There was something Giorno wasn't telling him, but Mista wasn't really the prying type. Okay, maybe he was, but he didn't wanna be with Giorno for some reason.
"Well what're you waiting for, C'mon, let's go make ya one."
"…Is that allowed?" Giorno's voice was soft, a sort of quiet that made him sound questioning and concerned. To Mista, he sounded like a child asking if he could play too.
"No shit," he answered heartily, slapping Giorno's back so hard that the blond stumbled forwards, flashing what he hoped was an enthusiastic grin. "You're one of us now, kid."
Giorno seemed to stand a little taller when he said that, the ghost of a smile crossing the corners of his lips as he followed Mista into the safehouse. Mista tried to ignore the way Giorno's fingers brushed briefly against his when the blond reached his side.
