Mista debated going out to talk to Narancia and Fugo, happy to see his bros together again and get their old weird little trio back, but the pair were still seated in the grass, hugging again- no, Mista decided, that was way too close to be a hug, it was an embrace and he was gonna give them hell for it later. But not now. He'd be intruding.
Footsteps on the porch told him that Bucciarati and Abbacchio were moving from the door to the bench, which meant he could safely go sit on the edge of the stairs leading to the porch, as far from both couples as possible without just leaving altogether (because it felt nice to have everyone together, dammit, and yeah, maybe he was a little sentimental), and debate the merits of being the only one in the damn group to not be so touchy-feely, and whether or not that was because he didn't want to be or because his relationship with the others just wasn't the same. Fugo and Narancia. Bucciarati and Abbacchio. That was how it was when he first joined and that was how it had stayed, and he was fine with that. It'd never bothered him, left him to go around catching all the tail that being a mafia member got you- which, admittedly, wasn't all that much, but being part of Bucciarati's gang? Now that got you a lot more. Still, it'd be nice if someone was happiest to see him, dammit.
He briefly thought about how nice it would be if that someone was Giorno, but the guy was probably sleeping and he wasn't gonna go wake him up just for attention. No, Mista was perfectly content, to rest his elbows on his knees, chin in one hand, and stare out at the pretty scenery and think about how lucky they all were to get to see it together.
He really needed to get a girlfriend, dammit. How long had it been since his last one? How many months? Longer than the relationship had lasted, he was sure. Girls always just didn't get it when he'd leave for a week or two with no contact, when he'd slip out in the middle of the night for a job, when he'd cancel dinner plans last minute because something came up. One or two had even said the classic, 'what's more important? Your job or me?' and really, Mista wasn't a fool. There were plenty'a girls out there, but only one of his squad.
Of course, he'd had a few enlightening revelations ever since Giorno had arrived. The biggest one being, how was a girl and a guy different when it came to dating? To fucking? And really, who cared all that much? He'd done anal before, how different could that be with a guy instead? Not that he would ever admit any of that out loud, the guys'd give him hell for months. That, and he didn't wanna scare Giorno off. Although, Mista realized, the guy had a habit of surprising him when he least expected it.
Now maybe wasn't the time to ponder his sexuality though, and he decided that maybe he'd just settle on a comfortable neutral for now. Fugo was always telling him to stop being so polarized anyway- a word he was pleased to know (and definitely not because he had pretended like he knew exactly what Fugo meant when he said that and went to look it up later, nope, no way, he was just that smart).
Just as he was getting used to the comforting peace that had settled over them all, the front door opened again. It was much quieter than it had been the first two times, a soft creak, a pause, followed by a muted click as it shut. Footsteps and then a quiet thump and Mista looked over to see Giorno sitting next to him on the stairs.
"I heard the ruckus," the blond explained softly, green eyes sparkling in the moonlight. There was a lot of emotion in them, emotions that Mista was slowly learning how to read as he grew closer and closer to Giorno.
Unsure what else to say, or what Giorno was looking for in a response, Mista just nodded and leaned back, resting his back against the step behind him as he stretched his arms out before coming to rest them on his knees. "Sorry we woke ya."
"Not at all."
There was silence between the two of them, one that was comforting but also awkward as hell because Mista still didn't know what to say, even though he had a bajillion different things to tell Giorno.
About his talk with Bucciarati and all the things he'd learned and still didn't know from it, about what happened with Fugo and the boy's decision, about their fight and the victory that Mista had earned all on his own, about the crop duster and the strange Stand and the water landing and the drive and the truth about the safehouse. About his nightmare with Giorno's voice and about his daydream with Giorno himself.
But nothing would come out. There was too much and it was confusing.
A glance at Giorno's expression and the myriad of expressions his eyes alone cycled through consistently was enough to tell him that the blond was the same.
"…I wasn't sleeping," Giorno said finally, voice soft and slightly strangled. "I couldn't." Mista saw the complicated form Giorno's pretty features had pinched themselves into and frowned. "I thought… we all thought."
He didn't have to explain any further, Mista knew what he meant. Of course he did. The guy had been worried- worried that he'd lost the people he'd just started to know. He was fifteen, Mista reminded himself. He was only fifteen. Before the more rational (and cowardly) part of his mind could stop him, Mista had moved his arm around to rest across Giorno's shoulders, pulling the blond boy into his side in an awkward but strong embrace.
"They're okay," he murmured in reassurance. "I mean, worse for wear, definitely need some patching up, but. They're alive."
"Yes, I see that," Giorno answered, but he was still staring at Mista with a pained face. "Not 'they,' Mista. 'We.'" Mista must've looked confused because Giorno sighed a sigh that sounded way too suffering for a fifteen year old to sound as he explained, "You were hurt too. There is dried blood on your chin and around your nose, which looks like it was hit with a truck, by the way. I notice the awkward way you have your foot resting so that it relieves it of pressure. Sprained, right? And then your chest, the bruises there are… quite visible."
"I- damn. You got all that just by lookin' at me?"
"I think you'll find, Mista," Giorno said slowly, the edges of his mouth perking up just the slightest bit. "That I get a lot just by observing. Especially you. There is quite a lot to look at."
Mista didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't that. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the blond was flirting with him- which, now that he thought about it, was not the first time that had happened. He didn't know any better. This was weird, having a guy that looked the way Giorno did flirt with him.
Not that Mista was complaining.
"Look all ya want then," Mista replied, grinning from ear to ear, winking as he added in a lower voice, "I got more to show you, y'know. Stuff ya can't see with clothes on."
"Are you referring to your injuries, Mista?"
Mista thought he might've pushed it too far for a sec, but the coy smirk on Giorno's face hadn't faltered at all. He was in the clear. Still though, Giorno was right. His injuries could use some healing- though he wasn't sure if Giorno could fix some of the shit that was wrong.
"It really ain't that bad," he said. "I ain't the best, but I've been worse too. Hurt my shoulder, probably fractured some ribs, ya already mentioned my ankle, but aside from that, I'm really fine. These scrapes'n bruises are my battle scars, y'know?"
The look Giorno shot him told Mista that no, he did not in fact 'know.' Bucciarati hadn't seemed to get it either when he'd tried to give Mista some basic first aid, although part of that had been because Mista didn't wanna waste the small first aid kit on himself when Fugo had been literally an inch or two from death.
Giorno sighed sufferingly and before Mista could even begin to mention the other two and how Fugo especially had it way worse, the blond had reached over to touch his chest and there was a sharp stab of pain in his ribcage that quite literally knocked the air out of him as Gold Experience's arm emerged from Giorno's own. Luckily he was sitting down because the second it had pulled its hand out of him, he keeled over, hissing loudly as he wrapped his arms around his ribs. They felt in place again somehow, no pain when he stretched awkwardly, but fuck, that fucking hurt.
Apparently healing waited for no man because Giorno did not let him have a break. He inhaled sharply as his shoulder was somehow clicked back into place, clenching his jaw to keep from vomiting all over the place and oh God, Giorno was lucky he was so pretty that Mista couldn't punch his face in because fuck.
"Didn't know," he managed to gasp out between whimpers. "Ya could do bones too."
"Neither did I," Giorno replied simply, sounding way too nonchalant for someone who could've just made him worse, as if it was just that easy to repair bones, and how did he even do that anyway, Mista didn't see him shoving anything into any open wounds, what the fuck? His confusion must've been obvious because Giorno explained, "I attempted to use your own dead cells and the inorganic compounds within them, such as the water in the dead cells and the carbon dioxide in your lungs near the broken ribs, to restore them to new skeletal and cellular tissue. It must have worked."
Oh.
Mista didn't quite get it 100% but it sounded… kinda creepy. But also kinda cool.
"Now for your ankle-"
"Nononono, hold on!" Mista all but shrieked, jolting backwards out of Giorno's grip. "Let's talk about this man, you can wait a second, right? Gimme a chance to- FUCK!"
No, Giorno would not wait. While Mista had been distracted trying to convince him to give him a break, the blond had summoned Gold Experience behind him and the cold, lifeless fingers were touching his foot before he'd even had the chance to process anything but the pain of the swollen flesh and the dead cells exploding into healthy ones rendered his ankle nothing more than a fiery ball of pain.
Ignoring the way Abbacchio and Bucciarati were probably staring at him now (especially Bucciarati, because he could already picture that damn knowing look and he did not need that right now), Mista dug his fingers into the wooden stairs beneath him and tried to keep from screaming as the hot throbbing began to finally dissipate.
"Was it that bad?" Giorno asked, sounding genuinely concerned. "I don't quite understand why it always seems to hurt the worst for you. When I repaired my arms, it wasn't nearly as bad as losing them."
"Wait, what."
"Ah, we ran into a Stand on the flight here," Giorno explained. "Narancia killed its user, and we believe that's what unleashed the Stand upon us. It was a very close call. If Trish hadn't awoken her Stand, we-"
"Look, I don't care about that, I'll find out later, your arms, Giorno, what-"
"I carved them both off in order to get rid of the Stand."
Mista waited for the punchline but when that was all the blond said, part of him wanted to kill himself just so he could hunt down the fucker in the afterlife and kill them a second time. A split second later, he'd grabbed both of Giorno's arms, yanking them towards him to get a better look. In the moonlight, he could make out discolored splotches on the purpley-pink suit the younger boy wore, strange seams around them from where it had likely been ripped off where the bloodstains were just cut off.
"I'm alright," Giorno said softly. "As I mentioned earlier, Trish was able to defeat it. She got my brooch back to me and I was able to repair them both without much incident."
"That ain't the point," Mista hissed, turning his dark eyes from Giorno's arm to his stunned and confused expression. "I mean yeah, I'm happy ya fixed yourself, but you shouldn't'a had to. I shoulda been there, shoulda-"
"Done what, Mista? You were thousands of kilometers away at the time, and even placing that aside, I thought you were dead. There was nothing you could've done."
"Yeah but- you- your arms, Giorno."
Giorno's expression softened and he carefully pulled his arms out of Mista's grip to free up his hands, allowing them to come to rest atop Mista's knees as he scooted forward. "Believe me when I say it was necessary, Mista. If you had been there, I'm sure you wouldn't have hesitated. And it's not the first time I've been hurt like that, and it won't be the last. I understand you're worried, but I also understand what I signed up for when I joined you all."
"But- I, I don't like it," Mista growled, but the tension was slowly seeping out of his shoulders as he relaxed into Giorno's steady touch. Giorno was right; Mista hadn't been there. But he was there when they fought White Album and although Giorno had also been hurt back then, there had been no time to hesitate. And he hadn't. "You're right. If I'da been there, it mighta just turned out the same. Or worse, I guess."
"It's alright. Your concern is… quite nice." Giorno was smiling softly at him with creases near the edges of his twinkling green eyes, soft blond hair untamed from exhaustion framing his face beautifully and Mista though he was quite possibly the prettiest thing he'd ever seen.
"Good, 'cause I like giving it," Mista said and he meant it truthfully, but Giorno just seemed to find it entertaining because he breathed out sharply as a quiet rumble crept out from the back of his throat. It was the closest Mista had seen to a laugh from him since they'd met.
They sat there in silence for a few seconds and then Giorno moved. Mista froze, not daring to move a muscle as the blond shifted to face his back towards him, scooting over until his back was pressed into Mista's arm and, after a moment, Mista pulled back to shift so that Giorno was positioned against his hip, golden hair brushing against Mista's shoulder as he sighed quietly and reclined into the brunette.
This was the first time Mista had cuddled with someone since his last ex and he sure as hell hadn't expected it to be with Giorno of all people but- but there was no one else he'd rather do it with. Although it probably couldn't really be called cuddling, more of Giorno just using him as a backrest. Still, with someone as closed off as Giorno, Mista decided it counted.
"…I suppose I should be healing the others." Giorno didn't say it like a question or like instructions, and Mista wondered what the blond was testing him for.
"…I think they can wait a little longer," Mista answered finally, his gaze shifting to where Fugo and Narancia were still seated fifty meters or so away from them, now likely talking quietly about who knows what. A glance back to the porch showed him that Bucciarati and Abbacchio had disappeared inside at some point without him noticing. "Doesn't look like anyone's in a hurry."
"Indeed," Giorno hummed. "And this is quite comfortable."
"Tha- uh, I- um." Shit what the fuck did he say to that? 'Think, Mista, fucking use those two damn brain cells for once,' he yelled at himself. "I-I'm glad? Uh, should I move more or, uh, maybe-"
"Mista." The blond sounded exasperated, but hey, it ain't like Giorno was actually an open book or whatever. The guy was near impossible to read, even with all the practice Mista was getting. He was getting better at it though. "Just stay."
"Yeah," Mista said dumbly, cursing his idiot brain for not being able to come up with anything more cool or suave than a fucking 'yeah.'
But Giorno was leaning against him right now, and it wasn't anything that intimate, just his back pressed against Mista's side with Mista's arm awkwardly positioned away so it wouldn't be bothering the blond. Yeah, as far as intimacy went, this was so far down from Mista's normal level that he typically wouldn't'a batted an eye.
Except this was Giorno, and somehow Giorno made all of Mista's normal inclinations fly out the damn window.
After a second, he decided to reach his arm around Giorno's shoulders, pulling the smaller boy in a bit closer as he returned his gaze to the night sky. The warmth pressed into his side was way better than the warmth of Giorno's tongue in the fantasy he'd had in the crop duster while dreaming. This was actually real.
The blond sighed contentedly, a sound that Mista was pretty sure he hadn't meant to make because it was way too young and vulnerable than how Giorno normally portrayed himself. "I'm happy you're safe, Mista," Giorno murmured quietly, and then added, "All of you."
Mista couldn't help the ear-splitting grin that stretched across his face at Giorno's words. The guy had mentioned Mista first, of all people. Even before Bucciarati. He hadn't even checked on the others, hadn't even bothered to go greet Bucciarati when the capo had been sitting just a few meters away from them when Giorno had first come out onto the porch. No, he had chosen Mista.
What the fuck had Mista been whining about to himself earlier about not having someone for himself? Bull fucking shit, he decided.
"After all," Giorno continued, and Mista switched his focus from his own smugness back to Giorno. "You owe me a date. I can hardly do that with a corpse. Imagine the looks I would get."
"That too much attention for a guy like you?" Mista questioned, his grin switching to a smirk. "I don't think a corpse would change too much. You already get plenty of looks."
"Oh? Pray tell, Mista, who's looking?" No fucking way Giorno didn't know what he was saying, and a single glance at the sly smile on the blond's face verfied that. The very idea that a guy like Giorno could be flirting with a guy like Mista was completely bizarre.
But everything had been bizarre since Giorno joined them.
"You'll find out," Mista said. "One day."
The day it was finally alright to tell him. When all this crazy shit was over and they were both still alive and didn't have an entire group of organized crime after them. When Trish was safe and the gang was safe and they were safe.
Luckily Giorno didn't seem to mind his vague answer, giving a quiet hum of agreement as he looked away. And if Giorno pushed a little closer and if Mista's hand squeezed Giorno's arm a bit tighter, well, neither of them had any complaints.
