It had taken a little time to gather all the things they wanted Giorno to wash, especially seeing as they had to scrounge around for something to wear while their normal clothes were being washed.

Giorno had found a bath towel in a hall closet on the second floor that had a cute, abstract bumblebee print on it, and while it wasn't ladybugs, he figured he couldn't be picky. It had fit snug around his hips, just long enough to cover everything and it fell to around his upper thighs. He'd thought it would work nicely.

Then Mista had happened on him, took one look at the towel and had thrust the sweatpants he'd found in the master bedroom into Giorno's arms.

"No way, these're way better. Take 'em."

"You're the one who found them Mista, you should wear them. This will work fine."

"Nah, these are way too, uh, too tight." What an excuse, Giorno thought mildly. "They don't fit me good at all, not at all comfy."

"Too tight? Mista, you wear skin-tight tiger print leather pants."

"Yeah, 'cuz all men are beasts GioGio," Mista said with an exaggerated wave of his hand, "Get with the picture, man." Giorno's brows raised in surprise.

"GioGio?"

Mista stared at him for a second in confusion before seeming to realize what he said. "Uh, like Giorno and Giovanna, they both got Gio in them and I guess it just kinda came out." He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "If you don't like it-"

"No, no. It's fine," Giorno refuted. "A nickname… they feel nice, don't they?"

Mista had smiled sweetly at that and Giorno had wondered if maybe he'd said something strange. The gunman had left down the hallway saying he'd find something else to wear and Giorno had gone to the bathroom of the room they shared to put the sweats on.

They were far too long for him, baggy and loose enough that he had to tighten the drawstring around his waist so they wouldn't sag down. 'Too tight, hmm? Yeah, right.' Giorno just hoped that they weren't Abbacchio's- not that he could imagine the man in sweatpants, but he certainly could imagine what would happen to him if he tried to wear anything belonging to the older man.

Fugo was the only one who hadn't had to find something else to wear since his hot pink suit was brand new. The blond had, however, cornered Giorno in a secluded corner of the house while Mista, Narancia, and Trish hunted around for stuff to wear. He looked oddly embarrassed and it had taken him a second to collect himself enough to address what he wanted.

He had held something out to Giorno and said, "Not a word to the others."

Giorno had taken it and Fugo had disappeared down the hall, practically tripping over himself in his haste to escape from whatever had just happened. Confused, he looked at the thing in his hand.

A hot pink thong.

What the fuck? Ah, no, that was uncouth but- but really, what the fuck. It wasn't like he would judge Fugo for the underwear he chose to wear but. But a thong? Really? Though with all those holes in his clothes, Giorno supposed it wasn't that odd a choice. Wait, if this was his underwear and Fugo was still dressed, did that mean he was- no, this thought process was dangerous and Giorno didn't want to know.

He'd tossed the offending thing in the pile of clothes he was accumulating near the washing machine and had thrown his own jacket over it for good measure. Now to go wash his hands.

It was lucky that the house already had some detergent and Giorno hummed in surprised pleasure as he set it out atop the machine and began loading the clothes into it.

"So not only can you kick some serious ass, you can cook, clean, and do laundry; damn what can't you do?"

After finding something else to wear, Mista had sought Giorno out after passing the task of finding something for Narancia off to Fugo and was now leaning against the doorframe while Giorno loaded the washer.

He spared him a quick glance. "Many things," he replied as he poured the detergent into the little soap container on the top left of the machine. The container itself seemed ancient, but soap didn't really expire so he figured it would be fine.

"Sure," Mista scoffed, "And I'm the prince of Switzerland."

"Switzerland is a federal republic, Mista. The nobility there haven't had a legitimate claim to rule the country since the 1800s."

"I was being sarcastic, dude. And how the fuck do you know all that stuff?"

Giorno closed the washer's door and pressed the power button. He waited a few seconds for the old machine to whir to life, the mass of clothes beginning to lazily spin as a rumble emanated out. This was going to be loud; thank God there was a door.

"I read a lot when I was a child," he explained, turning to face Mista. The gunman had donned a spare sheet that he was wearing as a toga, the soft white material looking pretty ridiculous seeing as he refused to take that atrocious beanie off.

"Yeah I guess," Mista snorted, arms crossed over his half-bare chest. "What kinda stuff do you gotta read to know that shit? Man, you and Fugo both, I just don't get it."

"Indeed. I hope I'll have a chance to talk to Fugo later about that. It's been a long time since I met someone who had similar interests in philosophy."

Mista scoffed with a flippant wave of his hand. "Knowing him, he'll read all he can about it and move on to whatever piques his interest next, so you better move fast. By the way, how'd'ja even know how to do laundry?"

"I'm more confused as to why you all don't. Haven't you all been living separate from your parents for years now?"

"Bucciarati's more of a mom than my mom ever was," Mista said. "And I didn't even have a shitty mom like some of the guys."

"Hmm, I guess I'm not surprised," Giorno agreed. He closed the door to the laundry closet, making a mental note to check the machine in an hour or so when it was done.

"Okay, now that ya got that done, the others're waiting for us, so hurry it up!" Mista hurried him down the hallway towards the sitting room in the front of the house. "Get a move on, buckaroo!"

"Ah, is this about whatever you three were planning earlier?"

Mista shot him a wicked grin and Giorno felt a little less enthused. That couldn't mean anything good. Still, if the others were all truly waiting, even Trish, then he was certainly curious. He wondered if this was what it would have been like to have siblings growing up- although he wasn't sure what he felt towards Mista was a sibling sort of bond.

"So you gonna tell me or what?"

"Hmm?"

"The laundry. How come you know how to do it?"

Perhaps Mista was more perceptive than Giorno had thought. He'd known about the man's skills in the midst of battle but he hadn't known whether that extended to normal circumstances or not. Based on what he'd seen, his guess would have been no, but somehow Mista had been able to see through him three times now. How curious.

"I taught myself how to clean my clothes," Giorno explained, knowing he wouldn't be able to get out of it. "My mother certainly wasn't going to do it, and I wanted to be of use to her when I was younger. However, when she found out, she just stopped doing hers altogether and left it all to me."

"Sounds like she's a bitch."

"I wouldn't say that," he defended hesitantly. "She always knew what she wanted and I admire her for that."

'She just didn't want me.'


"You aren't actually looking for that damn book, are you?"

Bruno hummed a response as he browsed the shelves of a small bookstore in the town they'd driven into. It had been smaller than Abbacchio remembered, although he wasn't that surprised; why would anyone come to this rural part of Sicily normally? That was part of why they'd got the house out there.

He shook his head. "Just ask the damn shopkeeper, Bruno. The guy looks bored outta his mind anyway. Give him shit to do."

"I doubt that man would know anything of 14th century epics, wouldn't you agree, Leone?"

"Thought you didn't know what it was?"

"I asked Fugo about it on our way out," Bruno replied simply. So he'd been planning to look from the very start. Figures.

Abbacchio often found himself wondering what woulda happened if Bruno wasn't such a damn bleeding heart to all the lost souls that seemed to gravitate towards him. Like flies to a damn lamp. Disgusting.

But then Bruno probably wouldn't have approached him if that was the case, and that was no damn good at all. Besides, part of what was so great about the guy was his kindness. Leone didn't think he'd ever seen such a beautiful heart. Such a beautiful man.

Who wouldn't tell him a damn thing goddammit! Fuck, just thinking about it got him worked up! Who just says 'oh by the way, I'm dying but I won't tell you how or why I know.' Why the fuck did Bruno have to say anything at all?! What was that saying, ignorance is bliss?

But that wouldn't work either because Abbacchio knew. He could pretend he didn't know why all he damn wanted; it wouldn't change the truth.

Bruno wanted him to protect the kids.

That was why, that was why he'd said that, that was why he wouldn't say anything else. Because they both knew that if Leone knew what was going on, he'd abandon everything else to try to fix whatever was wrong. In a heartbeat. It wouldn't even be a contest.

There was nothing he could do if he didn't know any details. At least he could spend as much time with Bruno as he could. At least he had that. Had him. For now, at least.

"Leone?"

Bruno's soft voice broke him out of thoughts and he looked up.

"You're going to break the cup." Bruno's cool fingers closed over his own that circled the paper coffee cup he'd bought earlier. He'd been squeezing it so tight that the warm, brown liquid was trickling down the sides in small beaded drops. "What are you thinking so hard about?"

"Nothing you gotta worry about," he growled, relaxing his grip as he took a deep breath. He needed to calm the fuck down; freaking out wouldn't do jack shit right now. Maybe he - God forbid - should talk to Giorno about it. The prick might be able to fix whatever was wrong.

Fuck, now he felt disgusted again. Stupid blond brat and his stupidly perfect fucking face. See how perfect it'd be after he smashed his fist into it.

Bruno shrugged and went back to examining the shelves for whatever title it was that Fugo had said earlier. Abbacchio had let it go in one ear and out the other; who the fuck cared what the guy liked to read?

He leaned back against one of the walls, hands shoved in his pockets as he fiddled with the little gift he'd had burning a hole in it for months now. It had arrived late, having been delayed a few times because of how busy the holiday season had been for the jewellers, and he hadn't gotten it until late January. By then, Christmas had already passed and he hadn't been able to find another chance to give it to Bruno. He'd wanted to wait until a special occasion, that was what upstanding people did after all, and he was a little traditional like that, wanted it to be special, but now that all this crazy shit was going down… he didn't want to wait much longer.

Maybe he was rushing into things but with a job like theirs, Abbacchio thought it was a damn miracle they had lasted two years together already without anyone really finding out. It had been a pain in the ass to hide it from the kids, but they'd managed well enough so far. They all probably had an inkling anyway, but as long as they didn't know for sure, that was fine.

It could be used against them, after all.

Abbacchio hadn't thought he'd be happy ever again, that he wasn't allowed to be. Bruno was… he was an exception. And lately, he was thinking that wasn't the case anymore.

So what if he wanted to give his boyfriend a ring? His former partner probably would've been happy for him. That was the kind of guy he had been, huh?

If only he could work up enough courage… once this was all over, then? Yeah, that sounded pretty damn good. Once the Boss was dead and Passione was ruled by someone else. They could leave. Together.

Bruno came up to him and Abbacchio looked up, pulling his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms over his chest.

"Well, I wasn't able to find the book, but which do you think Fugo would prefer?" Bruno held up two books, Orlando Furioso and Africa. Abbacchio didn't know a damn thing about either of 'em. Dumb kid and his dumb big brain.

"Whichever's got more words," he drawled sarcastically.

"Orlando Furioso it is," Bruno smiled, setting the smaller of the two books back on the shelf. "I believe it would be more up Fugo's alley, anyway."

"Then why'd you ask me?"

Bruno grinned up at him, glancing around to be sure the bookshelf obscured them from sight before pressing a quick peck to Abbacchio's cheek.

"Because I value your opinion."

"…You're embarrassing," he grumbled, taking a sip of the coffee to hide his flustered expression. Lukewarm. Ugh.

"Only when I'm allowed to be," Bruno sighed with a dramatic shake of his head and Leone shot him a smirk. They stared at each other for a few seconds before they both burst into laughter.

Bruno's was light and melodic and way better than any of the nature sounds he played on his headphones. He had to get that on recording somehow; it would keep him calm way better than anything else.

"Shall we go pay?" Bruno asked, still smiling warmly as he hooked his arm under Abbacchio's and dragged him towards the register. They still had a few stops to make, saving the food for last since it might spoil otherwise.

"Do you really have enough cash for all this random shit?"

"Of course I do, Leone." Bruno frowned, puffing out his cheeks in a small pout. So fucking adorable, good Lord. "It's the man's job to pay on the date, after all."

Abbacchio grinned wickedly. "Shouldn't I be paying then?"

"What do you- oh." Bruno rolled his eyes, looking away in what Abbacchio thought was embarrassment, although it was hard to tell. The guy didn't really look flushed like he thought he'd be or anything. "Such a dirty mind, Leone, now I know where the boys get it from."

"Please, those guys were born with their brains in the gutter," he scoffed as Bruno set the book down on the counter, passing the shop attendant some lyres. "If you think I had anything to do with that, you're wrong."

"Where did I go wrong raising them?" Bruno sighed.

"Oh? Embracing the mom role, are we?" Abbacchio teased, poking Bruno playfully in the arm as the younger man swatted his hand away.

"I accept any and all roles I am given in life, you know this," the capo explained. "Even if I'm the wrong gender for those roles. What is it they say nowadays, this is the 21st century?"

"Wow, you even sound old."

"Oh shut up, you act like a bitter old man half the time."

"I can't help it, it's those damn kids," Abbacchio said, shrugging his shoulders. "Fuckers act half their age. And you aren't any help, buying them shit they don't need."

He grabbed the book from where it had been set on the counter, wrapped in a small paper bag and gestured to it.

"Case in point."

Bruno sighed. "Come on, we have more places to go."

Bruno took the leftover change and the pair left the bookshop. As Abbacchio held the door open, he spotted a cafe that looked pretty empty across the street and smiled. If this was a date, then maybe they could actually do something sort of date-like for once.

Maybe he'd be able to get Bruno to eat something too.