As Giorno and Mista passed by the kitchen on their way to the staircase, Mista couldn't help but notice that it was vacant. So Bucciarati and Abbacchio were outside again. Both doors were shut this time and Mista hoped that was just because Bucciarati remembered this time and not because they'd discovered he'd heard them.

The stairs were dark, all the lights off on the second floor. As they ascended, the wood creaked beneath their feet, echoing down the hallway in the dull silence. It seemed too quiet, but Mista supposed that after everything that had gone on, no one would be too cheery.

"I believe it's this room that Narancia chose." Giorno's voice cut through the silence as he pointed towards a closed wooden door, a thin stream of light beneath it the only sign that someone was inside.

Mista nodded. "I can pass it off to them. Why don't you go crash, dude?"

"Nonsense, I'm-"

"Dude, Giorno, my man, you're gorgeous no matter what the fuck you're doing and I get that, but honestly? You look like shit right now."

Giorno must've been too shocked by Mista's blunt choice of words to comment on the very obvious so-maybe-I'm-a-little-gay statement, since he just stared at Mista with those big green eyes of his slightly wider than normal.

In the light, Giorno had been too pale and too dim, the vibrance that was part of why Mista was so attracted to him slipping at the edges. His golden braid was loose, messy, sticking out all over, his emerald eyes dark and glinting with something dangerous, purple shadows and gaunt expression making him look more like a spectre than human.

"…I suppose I could use a shower," he said quietly and Mista decided to count that as a win.

Slapping him lightly on the back, Mista shot him a grin. "Go take one then. Out of all of us, you probably deserve it the most. I'll come find you after, 'kay?"

Giorno nodded and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway when he turned around, even his golden blond hair winking out of sight.

It had looked like even his hair had sort of lost its luster, and though Mista didn't know much about personal hygiene care aside from the basics, he knew enough that hair didn't just change colors if you hadn't washed it. Maybe it wasn't anything wrong with Giorno, he realized, maybe it was him. Maybe the colors seemed duller, maybe the bright world he was used to was dimmer than he remembered, maybe it had been consumed by the weight that seemed to hang over their heads, casting shadows on everything they did.

Mista had dealt with his fair share of shadows before, but none this dark.

He sighed, shaking his head as he knocked on the door in front of him. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about it. Which brought him to the question of when. When? When could he think about it and not feel guilty? Did he even have any right to feel guilty to begin with? And if he didn't, then what about-

"What?"

If he hadn't been staring at the door and watching as it opened, he would've jumped ten feet in the air. As it was, he only jumped two.

Narancia stared at him like he grew a second head - which honestly wasn't that weird when you had Stands, so maybe he should think of a better analogy.

"Yo," Mista greeted, holding out the bag between them. "Got a present for Fugo."

Narancia took it, pulled the bag open and stared. His face scrunched up at the contents, sticking his tongue out as he closed it again. "Ugh. That's nasty but-"

"Perfect for Fugo," they both said at the same time, nodding in agreement.

Narancia looked up and grinned widely at Mista, who couldn't help but smile back. Narancia was just like that sometimes. He'd be like that more if he let go of his anger issues, but hey, he wouldn't be a good match for Fugo without 'em, Mista thought.

"I'll leave 'em by his bed!" Narancia said, pointing over his shoulder. Mista leaned over him to peer into the room.

The light was coming from a lamp on the far side of the room by an empty bed, the dim golden glow barely reaching them in the doorway. The other bed, which looked like it had been pushed from the wall it was next to to be within reach of the bed by the lamp, held a lump with the covers pulled all the way up. When Mista looked close, he could see the soft rising and falling of the sheets.

"He fell asleep the second he hit the bed," Narancia snickered, whispering these words as if sharing an inside joke. "I'll never let him say I should have a bedtime ever again."

"It's just 'cause you pass out after eleven normally," Mista grinned back. "Just like a kid, so cute, Naranino!"

Narancia scowled angrily but he ground out through clenched teeth, "You're dead, Mista. When I can be loud, when Fugo wakes up, you're fucking dead."

Mista sniffed dramatically, swingin an arm around Narancia's shoulders. "Not wanting to wake his friend? Our little boy is growing up! Whatever should I tell your mommy, not getting to witness such a crucial moment of growth in his son's life."

"I just have to kill you before Bucciarati finds out," Narancia whined. "Better sleep with one eye open, asshole!" Then his frown twisted into a leer as he added, "But since you're rooming with Giorno, you probably won't sleep anyway, huh?"

"Not you too," he groaned. "C'mon man, you can't kill me if you're already dead." Mista pulled Narancia out into the hall, shutting the door just to be safe. They'd both be dead if they woke Fugo up, accident or not.

"I didn't know you were gay, Mista," Narancia teased.

Mista rolled his eyes. "Man, two nosy bitches on this squad, who'da thunk?"

"I heard it all, Fugo told me everything, you can't hide it from me, I know!" Now that he was safely outside the room, Narancia didn't seem to have any qualms with being loud. "You owe me a thousand- no! Ten thousand favors if you don't want me to tell! No, wait, I got it, I'll help you out, it'll be great, I'm the perfect wingman, just ask Aero-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Mista hissed, slapping his hand over Narancia's mouth. "Do you wanna tell the whole fucking world?! Good God!"

Narancia rolled his eyes and bit. Hard.

"Fuck-"

"Fugo tried that and it didn't work, so there," Narancia pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking out his tongue.

Mista tried his best to glare at the shorter boy but it probably didn't seem all that scary, what with the wide grin stuck across his face. Now that he was here with Narancia, things seemed perfectly normal, like they always did, but. But he'd almost lost this. God.

He pulled the brunet into a headlock, much to Narancia's chagrin as he sighed. "I'm glad you're safe, little dude," he murmured into the mess of tangles that Narancia called hair. It smelled faintly of oranges.

Narancia stopped fidgeting in his grip and stilled, hands clasping Mista's arm that was placed over his neck. It was as close to a hug as the two were willing to go, because they were both manly men and manly men didn't hug nobody. Except maybe their moms and the occasional romantic partner.

"Me too," came the soft voice from beneath his chin and Mista's smile softened. "I'm happy you came back okay, Mista. I was scared."

"You? Scared? Never," Mista teased but he tightened his grip all the same when he felt the brunet's shoulders quake beneath him. "'Sides, nothing was gonna happen, I was with them. You know me, too much of a badass to let shit go south."

"More like sadass," Narancia grumbled and Mista grinned through the rough noogie the smaller boy got in retaliation.

"Get some sleep, kid," Mista said when they separated. "I saw whatcha did with the beds; no doubt Fugo'll need that. 'Specially tonight."

"I'll be ready," Narancia nodded firmly, pumping his fists as determination settled onto his features. He looked more ready to go into battle than just help a friend through nightmares, but who knows, Fugo's nightmares probably were a battle.

"Night, dude."

"Good night!" Narancia called back as he disappeared into the room, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

It was only when Mista was left alone in the hallway that he realized he had no idea which room was gonna be his and Giorno's, and he had no desire to accidentally wake Trish, which would no doubt be the last thing he did before she murdered him for trying to 'peek.'

Deciding he didn't really have any other choice, he plopped down on the top of the stairs, head in his hands as he started picking at a loose thread on his sweater as Pistols emerged and flitted about down the hall to check the other rooms on the floor. Or rather, One, Two, Six, and Seven left. Three immediately started kicking Five when the little pistol tried to stay with Mista instead and he didn't really have much choice but to let them both stay while trying to subdue Three with promises of getting Giorno to make him hot cocoa later. That only brought the others back, whining loudly about how they wouldn't work for nothing while Five burst into tears over being left out and honestly, maybe he shoulda just risked Trish's wrath.

"You guys'll all get some, just late, okay? Go on, get back to sleep," he chided, holding out his gun for them. They complained and moaned but obeyed (thank God) and One sleepily murmured that it'd seen Giorno's clothes sitting on a bed in one of the rooms.

As inefficient as it was, it got the job done and now Mista was standing in the doorway of the room One had pointed out, a lamp turned on on one side of the room and light spilling from a crack under an adjacent door, the sound of running water muffled by the heavy wood. True to its word, Giorno's purpley-pink suit was folded atop… the bed. The singular bed.

Hoo boy.

Okay, hold on, Giorno had to have known that there was only one bed already, he wouldn't have said Mista could room with him if- wait. He hadn't seen that either, had he? Giorno had made no mention of the bedroom situation, but there was only three up here, surely he probably put two and two together? But wait, if there was only three, then where would Bucciarati and- nope, you know what? Mista didn't wanna know.

Worst case scenario, he'd sleep on the couch, right? A place to sleep was a place to sleep; he didn't care where it was all that much. Still, he'd said he'd find Giorno after dropping the clothes off, so he should just wait here for the blond to finish up and then talk to him after.

There was an armchair underneath a large window backed against the far side of the room, so Mista fell into that easily enough, the soft, cushiony fabric helping to take the edge off. Man, this was probably the most relaxed he'd been since this all started a week or so ago.

The pink fabric caught Mista's eye and he stared at the suit on the edge of the bed. If he looked closely, he could make out discolored spaces that likely were from the ridiculous amount of blood spilt over the last few days. The ladybug brooch on the left side stared vacantly back at him, and Mista had to wonder if that brooch even had any of the original one left in it, or if Giorno kept pulling them out of wherever. He should do some laundry tomorrow, he decided, and he'd offer to do Giorno's too. Clean clothes always felt nice.

Wait, Giorno was showering right now, wasn't he? And if his suit was there, and Mista hadn't seen any other clean clothes, and Bucciarati had only bought new ones for Fugo, then… then what was Giorno going to-

The door opened, light and steam pouring into the bedroom as Giorno stepped out, fluffy pale pink towel wrapped snugly around his waist as he tousled his blond locks with a smaller one hung around the back of his neck.

Fuck.

"Oh, Mista, you're here," he said, apparently not seeing anything at all wrong with the situation, even as Mista felt his throat dry up as he took in the sight of Giorno nearly naked in front of him.

Flawless creamy skin flushed pink from the hot shower, rivulets of water dripping down his manicured torso, the barest hint of golden hair trailing down his perfect v, smooth muscles rippling with every movement, blond hair falling around his shoulders and into his emerald eyes, what kind of Greek god bullshit was this?

"Mista?"

"S-Sorry!" he squeaked, clearing his throat as he tore his eyes away. Seriously, it has to be a sin to look that good, holy fuck. "Yeah, uh, you should um. G-Get dressed."

"Indeed," Giorno agreed. Mista heard the creak of floorboards as the blond padded across the floor to the bedside and when the rustling of fabric reached his ears, he swallowed. Curse his stupid teenage brain for imagining what would be underneath the alluring towel. "I'm not keen on wearing the same clothes again, but I suppose there's no other choice. We don't exactly have many resources right now."

"At least you're clean, right?" Mista replied in what he thought was a very convincing nonchalant tone. "Like ya said, no other options."

"Mm," Giorno grunted in acknowledgement as there was a bit more rustling and movement before the blond finally said, "I'm done, Mista."

Mista turned back to look at him and sighed in relief. Pink pants were on, jacket pulled over his shoulders and he was in the process of buttoning it when Mista was able to look back.

"You didn't need to look away," Giorno teased, shooting a sly grin at Mista as he said, "We're both men, after all. Nothing you haven't seen before, I'm sure."

"Yeah, not like that," Mista muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said where am I gonna sleep?" he answered, this time being his turn to smirk at Giorno's frown since it was obviously not what he'd said. "There's only one bed, dude."

"Yes, but it's a very large one. I assumed we would share."

Mista's eyes widened marginally. That wasn't what he'd expected; not 'could' but 'would,' as if Giorno had no doubts that Mista wouldn't want to. Which, like, valid, he did want to, but still. It was the whole premise of sharing a bed that Mista thought Giorno might not like that. Hell, the guy looked like some kinda elegant rich boy that Mista would never meet normally.

"You sure you don't mind sharing?" he asked, careful with his wording because God forbid Giorno thought he might have a problem with it. Hell no.

"I've slept in far worse conditions, Mista," Giorno said dryly. "A queen sized bed is a luxury I thought I would never experience at all, disregarding sharing it with another person. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Wha- no! Of course not! I would love ta sleep with ya- shit, wait, that came out wrong."

Giorno chuckled as Mista tried to regain control of his goddamn tongue. "Well then we have no issues. Although…" he trailed off as he walked closer, bending down to look Mista in the eye as he murmured, "You won't do anything, right?"

"What?!" he all but shrieked, face heating to what felt like the surface of the sun as he jerked back. The chair knocked backwards, wobbling on its two legs before it righted itself, knocking over a potted plant to its right in the process. "N-No, no way, I would never, I'm not that kinda guy, I-"

Giorno burst into laughter and Mista was stunned into silence. He must've looked ridiculous but for the guy to start laughing like that- it made his heart do these weird little flip flops that were probably not a very good thing to be having when they were literally fighting for their lives. It was fucking beautiful. Giorno was fucking beautiful.

"I meant that you don't snore or move in your sleep?" Giorno prompted when Mista didn't say anything else. "What did you think I meant, Mista?"

"That… th-that's what I thought you meant," Mista said rapidfire, shaking any last weird thoughts from his brain. "And 'course not, I'm the picture of grace, Giorno. I would never."

"Picture of grace, hmm?" Giorno chuckled as he pulled back and moved towards the bed again to start turning it down to get into. "Perhaps the picture of grace should pick up the plant he knocked over?"

"I meant to do that," Mista muttered sheepishly as he stood and grabbed the porcelain pot, glad it didn't have any cracks as he righted it again. Not much dirt fell out so he just grabbed what he could and thrust it back into the pot.

"I'm gonna go use the toilet," he said to Giorno as he straightened up and headed towards the bathroom, the golden light, clean water, and warm steam seeming awfully appealing right about now. "Be out soon."

"Alright. Oh, and Mista?"

"Hmm?" Mista called over his shoulder as he moved to shut the door. He looked to see Giorno standing in front of him, smirking softly as he eyed him with a foreign emotion in those green eyes.

"Don't worry," he said as he took hold of the door. "I know exactly what you thought I meant. Good night."

The door clicked shut and Mista was left staring at the wooden door.

Wha- What the fuck. Shit. What the fuck did he say to that? Did Giorno have any fucking idea what the fuck he did to Mista?

Of course he did. And he didn't. Well fuck.