It was just a little after 2 AM, and the safehouse was dead silent. Well, as silent as an old house in the countryside could be: the wind rustling the shutters latched outside the windows, the sound of an occasional ocean wave hitting the cliff side in just the right way, creaks of beams and boards continuing to settle for the night. It was Mista's shift on guard duty and he was in the middle of feeding the Pistols a late night snack with the remnants of the tacoes Fugo had made, listening to the not-so-silent silence when,
"Mista?"
"Fuck!" He swung around wildly, knocking half the cooked meat on the floor in the process as his arms pinwheeled to balance himself, heart rapidly pumping in his chest. All efforts failed miserably and he landed flat on his ass on the kitchen floor. Leave it to Mista to make a complete and utter fool of himself.
"Sorry." Giorno winced, offering a hand to where Mista had fell, Sex Pistols flitting around him and laughing their asses off. Except Five- bless his little heart-soul-thing, who was fretting over him and hoping he wasn't hurt. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," Mista answered as he took Giorno's hand and was hauled to his feet by a surprising amount of strength from someone who looked like Giorno. "That was intentional. I meant to do that. It was, uh, to show you what not to do. Yeah, that's what it was."
"Was it now? Very educational, thank you for the demonstration, Mista."
Mista grinned sheepishly, cheeks flushing at the knowing wink Giorno gave him. "So, uh, couldn't sleep?"
The blond's features hardened slightly and he sighed before nodding. "Nightmares," were the quiet explanation he gave and, when he left the kitchen and headed towards the sitting room, Mista followed, leaving Pistols to their own devices. The food was more than enough distraction for them.
"Wanna talk about it?" he said as he fell onto the couch beside Giorno, doing his absolute best not to wonder what a guy like Giorno could possibly be dreaming of. And to keep his mind out of the gutter.
"I'd rather talk about you." Mista made a choking noise that seemed to alarm Giorno because he quickly clarified with, "the conversation from earlier? In the car?"
"Oh. That. You really ain't gonna let it go? I toldja, it's fine, so-"
"Mista, I didn't care that I didn't get to fight alongside you." His brow furrowed as he said, "Well, I did, but not because I wanted to prove my use like you suggested. I cared because I was concerned for you."
"Yeah, I heard that ya hijacked that truck to go find me. Heh, poor driver musta been scared shitless." When Giorno didn't laugh with him, Mista sighed. "Okay, so you were worried. But I'm fine! See? Right here, nothin' to worry about."
"It isn't quite that, it's…" his voice was barely above a whisper as he said, "You believed in me. And I betrayed that belief."
"Whoa, whoa, betrayed? Giorno, you didn't do anything wrong!"
"I wasn't there to assist with a plan that I, myself, suggested and you were almost killed because of it."
"I was barely hurt-" Giorno shot him a pointed look and Mista winced as he clarified, "-fine, I got shot, but nowhere serious! I didn't almost die, it just hurt like a bitch. And look, if anything, I shoulda waited for you like we first said. Bucciarati chewed me out for that big time."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing." The blond still looked defeated and Mista honestly didn't really know what to do at this point. He didn't really get what Giorno was so worried about, but with a job (could you call it a job?) like theirs, these kinda feelings weren't good to have.
"Look, Giorno," he tried to explain. "You're right that I went with you because I believed in you. It was a good idea. But you're wrong that it's your fault that everything that went wrong went wrong. You can't control everything. It's not your fault that we didn't know there was a backdoor, and it's not your fault that I couldn't tell what you were saying, and it's not your fault that I chased after Sale and got myself shot like a complete dumbass in the process. You didn't betray anything, okay?"
"…Alright."
"Good." Mista grinned at Giorno, resting a hand on his shoulder as he added, "Anyone ever tell you ya have a flair for the dramatic?"
"Like my father, I suppose." The blond's face twisted into a purposefully blank expression. "That's what mother said once, anyway. Not that I could tell you if she was correct or not."
"Don't know your dad?"
Giorno looked at him as though he was trying to decide whether or not to answer Mista. "Let's just say it was a bit complicated." Gripping his arms like that, hunched over on himself with an unreadable expression, Mista thought Giorno seemed so much smaller right then.
He'd pulled Giorno into a bit of an awkward one-sided hug before he'd really processed what he was doing, and then he was stuck between loving the feeling of the blond pressed against him and cursing himself for acting so brazenly. He also wondered why Giorno smelled so good.
To his credit, Giorno only seemed to stiffen for a split second before easing into the hug, the tension seeming to drain from his shoulders as a soft sigh escaped his lips. Mista watched his blond eyelashes flutter, the sleeplessness catching up to the younger boy in the dim moonlit room. They caught the faint light just right, looking so fair that they were nearly white. Mista thought it wasn't really fair how one person could be so damn attractive. He also thought maybe he wasn't as straight as he'd always thought he was.
"…this is nice."
The whisper caught Mista off guard and he had to double check that Giorno had actually spoke and that it wasn't some kind of figment of his overactive imagination. "Yeah?" He squeezed the blond's shoulder. "Think you can get some sleep now?"
"I…" Giorno seemed to carefully consider exactly what he wanted to say before his green gaze flitted to meet Mista's as he murmured, "I don't know. The silence, it's… painful."
Mista was pretty sure he meant something aside from the silence but even still, he shifted into Giorno as he began slowly, "Well, if ya wanted… you could sleep down here? With me? I-I mean by me? I mean- like, I'm on watch but, uh, I could-"
"I understand what you meant, Mista." God, how could Giorno make his name sound like something so fucking beautiful? "I-"
It was at that exact moment that the Pistols came floating lazily into the room with full Stand-stomach-things and sleepy yawns. One caught sight of them and said, "Gross, are you gonna kiss or something?" and Mista pulled away in less than a second, leaping up from the couch to yank Pistols back into his hat with a flushed face.
"Really, my kids're so damn rude," Mista laughed with a shake of his head and a shrug of his shoulders as he made his way back to the couch. This time, he sat down a couple inches away, hopefully not enough distance to insult Giorno but enough to give them some space.
He glanced at Giorno, the blond's gaze fixed on the floor as if thinking, and, wanting to strike conversation again, added, "I don't know where I went wrong raising them."
"Well." Giorno, gracious enough to take the bait, paused. He seemed to lean in a bit as he suggested softly, "…Perhaps they need a maternal touch?"
Mista swallowed thickly and said before he could stop himself, "…I think they're out of luck then."
"Are they?" Mista was sure now, Giorno was definitely leaning in closer to him. Whether that was because he was actually trying something or whether it was just Mista's brain reading into the small action way too much was up for debate. Mista didn't worry about it much longer as Giorno cleared his throat and asked, "Why is that?"
Surely he was dreaming. There was no way that this was happening. Mista was not currently straight enough to be well equipped to handle this situation, no matter what he might've thought about it a day or two ago. Whatever, who gave a shit? Certainly not Mista. A nice ass was a nice ass and a nice face was a nice face and if that made him gay, what fucking ever. All his years of flirting and courting were about to pay off and he opened his mouth and said-
"Get a fucking room."
Mista nearly jumped off the goddamn couch as he started in fright, head whipping around and gun yanked out to reveal- Fugo, standing in the doorway with a curious expression. His arms were crossed and one eyebrow was raised just enough for Mista to notice, his calculating violet gaze clearly putting two and two together at lightning speed. Mista'd always hated how perceptive Fugo was.
"Aw, fuck off, asshole," he grumbled irritatedly, getting up from the couch. "Why're you down here anyway?"
"It's my watch. Although, if you'd like to stay and do mine instead-"
"No! God, fuck no, it's my fucking bedtime." And then he thought of Giorno, of how the blond had basically confessed he couldn't sleep alone and how he'd just offered to stay with him a minute ago.
Before he could even turn around to say something, however, Giorno was brushing past him, hand resting against Mista's shoulder as he murmured softly in his ear, "Thank you. See you in the morning, Mista."
Mista watched him disappear up the stairs, frozen in place. Part of him wanted to chase after Giorno and repeat his offer, a second, more cautionary, part of him said maybe that wasn't the best idea, and a third part just wanted to go the fuck to sleep and forget this whole damn thing.
"I didn't realize you were gay."
Right. Fugo.
"Yeah?" Mista snapped, shooting a glare at the shorter boy. "Well, I didn't realize you were a nosy bitch, wow, guess you really do learn somethin' new everyday."
"I didn't say there was anything wrong with it."
"And I didn't fucking say you were right, so shut up." Mista's pride was hurt for some reason, and it probably had something to do with how Fugo always seemed to know stuff about all of them before any of them even realized it. Which meant-
No, fuck it. It was too goddamn late (early?) for this and who knew when Mista'd get to sleep next? They were on a mission for fuck's sake, what was he doing have a sexuality crisis at three in the morning? There were far more important things at stake.
He made a beeline for his room, pausing only for a moment outside Giorno's door, before going to his own and promptly collapsing on the bed. Time to sleep like the fucking dead.
And if Giorno found Five curled up next to his pillow the next morning, well, Mista had absolutely no idea how that happened. The Pistols had always had a mind of their own.
