Everything had changed before Mista had been able to process what was going on.

Fugo was gone.

As the boat drove away, Mista could see Fugo watching them go, and the expression on his face made it obvious how hard it was for him to watch them disappear from his life. How scared he was for them all. Not that Mista could really blame the blond; he was pretty damn terrified himself.

He'd thought he'd done a pretty good job of walking confidently onto the boat after Abbacchio, making a show to Giorno of how he knew greatness was waiting for them all and that Bucciarati would never lead them wrong. Mista believed that wholeheartedly, but he'd said that as much for his sake as Giorno's. He needed to remind himself of that in order to force himself to do what he knew was right.

Trish didn't deserve this. No matter how crappy she acted, Mista didn't think he'd behave much better if his life was thrust into utter chaos in less than a week right after losing a parent. And there was no way in hell he'd leave Giorno. Not after promising to stay by him.

Silence hung over the group like the clouds that stuck around after a rainy summer day: thick and heavy with the tension that probably wouldn't be going away any time soon. Mista surveyed the others from where he sat in the back of the speedboat beside Giorno.

Bucciarati was muttering in hushed tones with Abbacchio, likely about their next move now that Fugo was no longer there to be second-in-command. His face was pale, almost unnaturally so, and his movements were stiff, but he'd almost just died so Mista thought that was probably normal.

Abbacchio, to his credit, looked completely unphased, and honestly? He probably wasn't. The guy never seemed to give a shit about anything except Bucciarati and whatever Bucciarati wanted, so of course he'd gone with the capo.

It was Narancia that had surprised him. When he'd first caught sight of the boy swimming after that, Mista's initial thought had been one of regret. He'd wanted Fugo to hold him back, to keep the smaller boy from going off to his death with the rest of them; Narancia was like a brother and Mista didn't want anything to happen to him.

Narancia, who was sitting silently next to an unconscious Trish, staring at the waves the speedboat created as it sped away down the canals of Venezia. His face was a mask of violent emotions and his lower lip wobbled once in awhile, but his eyes remained dry. Mista looked away and pretended not to notice how Narancia kept glancing back in the direction where Fugo had disappeared from sight.

"Are you alright?" a quiet voice came from his left and Mista turned to offer a small smile to the concerned blond beside him.

"As fine as I can be," he said with a shrug. Giorno looked a bit guilty for some reason, and Mista was starting to piece it together by now. "It was you, right?"

"What was?"

"The one who started all this. It was you," Mista repeated, and he was pretty confident he was at least eighty percent right. The other twenty percent made him scared that maybe Giorno would hate him after the accusation.

Giorno stared at him for a long time unblinking before averting those too-green eyes downwards as he murmured, "This was not my intention, but I suppose I am the one at fault. You're correct in your assumptions, Mista. Forgive me."

"Wha- no, Giorno, you don't gotta apologize," Mista hissed back, sending a fervent glance at the others to make sure they weren't listening. "I wanted to know 's all. 'N even if it was your plan from the start, I'd still follow you."

"Why? You hardly know me; I'm not the person you think I am."

"Maybe not," Mista answered with another shrug, "But the Giorno I know is a good kid with a good head on his shoulders and good intentions. 'N I don't think you're a good enough actor to be faking that."

Giorno's smile was faint but it was there and that was good enough for Mista at the moment. "You don't gotta tell me now, okay? We're kinda in the middle of something. But after this's all over, you're going with me for pizza and you're gonna tell me everything, got it?"

"Mista," Giorno said slowly, his green eyes widening just the tiniest bit as he murmured, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were asking me on a date."

"Maybe I am, maybe I ain't," Mista answered, even though he hadn't noticed how that sounded until after he'd spoken. "Let's leave that up to you."

Giorno didn't say anything back but leaned into him, resting his blond head against Mista's shoulder and damn, if Mista had known a couple near-death experiences and being branded for death was all he needed to be smooth, he woulda done all this shit sooner.

"…I believe your answer will have to wait," was the quiet reply he finally received, and Mista hadn't expected anything less. There were far more pressing things to worry about right now, but a bit of light-hearted daydreaming wouldn't hurt either of them.

Sneaking an arm around Giorno's shoulders to hold the younger boy close to him, Mista took a deep breath as he looked up to the blue sky overhead and wondered just how many more days he'd get to see that. If he'd ever get to see that maybe-date. With a small shake of the head, he exhaled. No point in worrying about all that now; he'd made his choice.

For now, he figured he'd just enjoy the calm. After all, there was no way it'd last.