Finding Giorno proved to be an incredibly easy task. The boy had said what he was going to go do after all, so Mista found him in the small closet that held the washing machine, checking over the clothes inside.

"What're you doing?"

Giorno seemed to jump a bit, apparently startled by Mista's presence. Yet another sign that the earlier question had unsettled him; Giorno was normally so passively perceptive, it seemed like a curse. The blond boy straightened up as he turned around.

"I'm checking to be sure they're all truly clean," he explained. "We put a lot into the washer, it's possible some things might've gotten wrapped up in something else and weren't washed."

"Huh. So it's harder than it looks then."

"Everything is harder than it looks, Mista." Giorno seemed satisfied with the clothes though as he waved his hand at the gunman. "Now shoo, go back to playing with the others. You should go have fun."

"Yeah?" Mista grinned cockily. "And what if being with you is funner?"

"…That's not a word, you should say 'more fun,'" Giorno grumbled begrudgingly. Mista enjoyed the slight flush the tips of the boy's ears had gained, finding the pink color more than cute on the pretty blond. Never thought he'd think of a boy as cute as a compliment, but that was before he'd met Giorno.

"More fun then," he agreed. "Lemme help you. There's a lot there, ya gotta go hang 'em up outside right? To dry?"

"Indeed. I thought you said you didn't know how to wash clothes?"

"I don't, just remember seeing my ma hang me 'n my siblings stuff up outside. We used to run through the sheets when she washed them and acted like they were monsters trying to eat us. Until we pulled one off the line and it got dirty and my ma nearly beat the shit outta us."

"That sounds nice," Giorno hummed as he thrust a mound of damp clothes into Mista's awaiting arms so he could pull out the basket to carry them. "You have siblings?"

"Yup. Two little brothers and a little sister, although they probably aren't so little anymore." He wondered how big they'd be now; it had been around four years since he'd last seen them. How old were they now? Thirteen, twelve, and ten, he counted in his head. Huh, how time flies.

As if reading his mind, Giorno asked, "You haven't seen them recently?"

"Well, I left home when I was… uh… shit, like fourteen? I think? And then when you're sent off to prison and then join the mafia, it ain't really something you wanna go home and brag about, y'know? I didn't wanna make any trouble for my family, they got enough to deal with as it is."

"…If it's alright for me to ask, why did you leave home?" Giorno questioned as he picked up the laundry basket. Mista wordlessly pulled it out of his arms, holding it close to his chest as the blond just sighed but let him anyway.

"You carry the stuff for the laundry lines," Mista instructed instead. "And it's no big deal, just we needed money and my parents couldn't make enough so I left. Wanted to make some myself, but also it meant one less mouth for 'em to feed."

"That's surprising. From what you've told me before, it doesn't sound like your parents would kick you out."

"Ah, they didn't. I just kinda left one day." He shrugged as he headed down the hall towards the back door that led to the large field the safehouse opened up to, near the cliffs. "Maybe it was naive of me, but it was the only thing I could think of at the time. …My little brother got sick, see? Real sick and we didn't have money to care for him. So I hoped they'd use the money they woulda spent on me for him."

"And you never went back."

Mista nodded. The story seemed kinda sad now that he thought about it, but it didn't really bother him all that much. The other guys had all dealt with way worse, and compared to them, he felt lucky that his family was alive and hopefully happy. Just knowing that they were all still okay was more than enough for him. Maybe it was cheesy, but his gang had made him appreciate what he had all the more. And he knew he'd go back one day, when he was an adult and old enough to convince them he could be on his own.

And sure, he missed them, but he'd found a new family. Now he had two, and if that wasn't a goddamn blessing, he didn't know what was.

"They must be very proud." That was a surprise, and it must've shown on Mista's face because Giorno added, "Your family. I'm sure your good intentions shined through, and though they don't know where you are or what you're doing, I'm sure your little brother is very thankful for having such a wonderful man as his older brother."

"That's…" He hadn't ever heard that before, most people just kinda nodded and moved on or pitied him, even though he didn't need any pity. "Thanks, Giorno."

The blond smiled warmly at him and Mista thought he should avert his eyes; looking at something that bright would blind him one of these days.

"Yours are too," he said tentatively as he helped Giorno set up the clothesline outside so they could hang the clothes to dry. The look Giorno gave him was a mix of frustration, confusion, and strange gratitude.

"Mine don't even know I'm not at boarding school," he said as he reached into the laundry basket to pull out the first garment, Narancia's weird skirt thing he always wore. "And I doubt they'll ever find out unless the school tells them themselves. Not that they would care."

"What do you mean?"

Giorno hung the skirt up on the line, clipping in place with clothespins before he looked back at Mista. The sun was behind him and it was nearly blinding as it shone in Mista's eyes, Giorno's face obscured as he said, "They never loved me, Mista. In fact, I doubt my mother ever felt anything towards me at all."

As the blond turned back to continue with pinning the clothes on the line, Mista was frozen in place. Shit, what did he say to that? He knew Giorno's family situation was… weird, to say the least, but he didn't know it was that bad. Even Fugo had said his parents loved him, in their own twisted way, but for parents to be totally apathetic towards their own kid…

He opted to just say nothing. There wasn't any way he could console Giorno; he didn't know the blond well enough or know enough about his personal life to make any random statements, but he figured he could at least stay and help and give Giorno the comfort of being with another person. Suddenly all the times he'd thought Giorno had seemed emotionally distant or confused with affection and attention made sense.

The more he thought about it, the angrier Mista got. Giorno was such a great guy, not just because he was super damn attractive, but he was so nice to all of them, even Abbacchio, who had literally fed the guy piss in a cup, and he was really smart, heck, Mista thought anyone who could hold a conversation with Fugo about the random shit that guy knew was a damn genius, but Giorno was also just… he was just so Giorno. How could anyone not like him? Except for Abbacchio, who didn't like anyone except Bucciarati. And hearing about his shitty parents made Mista's blood boil, he could only imagine what kind of shit they did to-

"Giorno! It's Giorno!"

"Giorno, do you have any food?!"

"Uwaaaaaa, Giorno, Number Three hit me again, help me!"

Uh oh. He recognized those whiny, high-pitched voices.

"Hey, get back here!" Mista yelled as he hurried over to them. "Dammit, you guys, how many times do I gotta tell you not to come out on your own!"

"But Mista, you called us out!" Number One replied.

Number Two shook its head in agreement as it said, "You were angry and we got worried!"

"Worried my ass, you just wanted an excuse to come out and play!" Mista knew they were right though; he'd gotten too worked up and had accidentally called out Pistols and now they were flocking around Giorno, all screaming and begging for one thing or another.

"Nooooo~" they all chorused, swarming Giorno to hide from Mista. Six voices all cried out varying degrees of, "Giorno, help us!" as Mista tried to pull them back under his hat.

"It's alright, Mista," Giorno said. "They aren't bothering me."

That was total horseshit, but as Mista watched the way the Pistols cheered happily and flitted around Giorno saying one thing or another, and how Giorno's expression had softened as he answered each of them in turn, stroking Number Five's head from where it had flown into one of his breast pockets to hide, holding out a small caramel he'd gotten from who knows where, Mista had to just let it be.

"At least let us finish hanging up the clothes, guys," he moaned, shaking his head as he facepalmed in exasperation.

"Liar!"

"You're just making Giorno do the work!"

"Stupid Mista!"

"You little- I am too helping, goddammit!" he yelled angrily, swinging around to the blond as he cried, "Giorno, tell them!"

"He is indeed helping me," Giorno chuckled, hiding his smirk behind his fist as he said. "He even carried the laundry basket out here all by himself."

"Why do I get the feeling you're making fun of me?" Mista pouted. "I'm not a little kid, y'know."

"I know, I know," Giorno laughed, and really, when the guy laughed like that, Mista couldn't stay angry at him. Instead he just sighed and went back to pinning the clothes on the line. There were only a few people's worth to wash but they all had unnecessarily complex outfits, so he guessed he shouldn't be too surprised.

"…Y'know," Mista said as he watched Giorno hanging the clothes with Pistols flitting around him. It was surprisingly domestic. "It doesn't matter that your parents never cared. I don't think so, anyway. Know why?"

Giorno eyed him suspiciously, a single eyebrow raise giving him the go ahead to continue.

"Because you already have a new family."

Giorno's face was mostly unreadable, his muscles schooled in a careful feature of indifference, and Mista now knew why he was so good at hiding his expressions. What good were they with a family who didn't care. However, he could see the slight twitch in the blond's brow, the way his green eyes sparkled in the light, how his ears pinkened at the tips.

"I don't think everyone would agree with you," he murmured quietly, averting his gaze to the grassy field beneath his feet.

Mista frowned. "Well who needs everyone?" He stepped over the basket and moved to Giorno's side, lifting his chin up to make eye contact. Giorno's eyes seemed to glow gold in the sunlight. "You got me. And Pistols. We'll be your family."

Mista watched how those green eyes widened, how his peach-colored lips parted ever so slightly in an 'o' of surprise, the way the pink from Giorno's ears finally travelled down to dust across his pretty porcelain skin as he was at a loss for words.

Giorno jerked his head back suddenly, Mista stumbling backwards in shock from the forceful movement and he wondered for a brief, horrible second if he had gone too far.

Then Giorno's soft lilting voice murmured, "…I would like that."

"So would I," Mista grinned, relief coursing through him. "I'm sure Pistols agrees, right guys?"

There was a chorus of loud voices all yelling varying degrees of agreement to the statement and then insults aimed at how sappy Mista was being and he had to shut them down once Two started talking about how Mista skipped a step and needed to propose first.

"We should really finish up here," Giorno said softly, thankfully ignoring that last bit, although Mista could tell he'd definitely heard it by the way he avoided Mista's gaze. "It's already past 1500, if we want to have them dry by the time Bucciarati gets back, we should get to work."

"Yeah, you're right," Mista agreed, a little disappointed the moment was ruined, but when you have six whiny kids, what else can you really expect? "Man, can you imagine his face if he comes back and sees us all wearing towels and blankets and shit?"

"I'm actually imagining Abbacchio's face when he sees that I'm using his sweatpants," Giorno replied as he hung up his own pinky-purple suit jacket on the line. "Do you think he'd turn as pink as this from anger?"

"I think he'd turn more blue," Mista mused, grinning wickedly. "On account of how he'd probably stop breathing from the shock."

"You're right, he would," Giorno agreed with a smile. "So we'd best get this done. I don't want to be the reason that Bucciarati loses his boyfriend. The guilt would kill me."

"Just over Bucciarati, huh?"

"Of course. If Abbacchio feels no guilt or remorse for how he treats me despite my being accepted onto the team, I see no reason why I can't do the same."

"He's accepted you," Mista said, passing Trish's weird math skirt over to Giorno to hang it up as the Pistols messed around with the clothespins that hadn't been used yet. "He's just a crotchety old man is all. Who's possessive. Really possessive."

"Really? I couldn't tell," Giorno answered sarcastically. "Ah, careful Six and Seven, I'd have to wash that if you knock it off the line undoing the clothespins."

As the two chorused 'sorry's as they flitted away to mess with something else, Mista regarded Giorno with surprise. "You can tell which is which?" he asked in mild shock. "It took the others months to figure it out. Fugo and Narancia still don't know, although I'm pretty sure Fugo calls them the wrong numbers just to mess with them."

"They're all quite different," Giorno explained as he pulled one of the last things from the basket, Mista's leather tiger print pants. God, he hoped they weren't ruined from being thrown in with everything else but he wasn't about to complain to Giorno about it. "So it's easy to tell them apart if I think of them as such. In fact, they're all very much like you, Mista, all different facets of your personality. I like them all very much."

"That mean you like me too?" Mista teased, secretly hoping that Giorno would roll with it even though it probably wasn't a secret that he wanted that really. Giorno smirked slyly.

"I suppose you're not so bad either," he teased back with an exaggerated sigh that made Mista's grin only widen. That answer was more than good enough, in his opinion.

"Now then, what do we do with this?"

Mista looked at what Giorno was pointing at and didn't know whether to laugh or scream. Fugo's thong, in all its glory, sat at the bottom of the laundry basket, tiny and hot pink and way more intimidating than one piece of fabric had any business being.

"Well it's gotta dry, right?" Mista grinned wickedly. He'd take one for the team here, all to see the look on Fugo's face when he finds out. He grabbed it out of the basket and pinned it on the clothesline with a flourish, using two clothespins to spread it wide so there would be no doubt in anyone's mind what it was.

Giorno watched him in amusement while picking up the laundry basket to carry it back into the house. He paused for a moment before turning back to look at Mista, an uncharacteristically gentle smile on his face that had the brunet stop in his tracks and stare in awe.

"Mista, thank you. I am very grateful I met you."

Mista thought he might start crying then and there for a second, so much emotion welling up at Giorno's words. This was coming from the guy who rarely ever expressed how he felt despite pestering and nagging, who didn't open up to anyone, and here he was bearing his heart to Mista. There was some kinda poetry in this moment, but Mista was just too stupid to know how to put it properly.

Instead he just smiled back, as wide and happily as he could muster, as he walked over to Giorno and swung his arm around the blond's shoulder. "Me too, Giorno. I feel the same way." The blond looked over at him and nodded, a smile still present across his features and Mista thought if only everything was right with the world. "Now come on, we gotta go relieve those three idiots of their boredom, since I'm sure there's nothing better to watch than me and my amazing poker skills, right?"

Giorno, who had been walking at his side, paused in confusion at his words, and when Mista shot him a questioning look, he said, "No, it's just- you said watch. Who's on watch right now? For the safehouse?"

"Oh, Narancia is. Aerosmith is-" Mista looked around and saw no sign of the plane anywhere in the sky, didn't hear it at all either. Actually, now that he thought about it, had Narancia even been wearing his visor during the game? "-not out. Shit. Giorno, take that back inside, I'll go fix this."

"Shouldn't I look for-"

"Nah, I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary while we've been out here and neither have the Pistols- and yes, dumbasses, I know you've been looking. It would mean someone tracked us last night, since Bucciarati and Abbacchio aren't back yet, and if that's the case, then it's strange to wait this long to do something, And besides Giorno, if someone really did find us, you shouldn't face them alone when there's five of us here that can fight."

Giorno looked surprised but nodded quickly in agreement. "You truly are used to this, aren't you Mista? You've already analyzed the situation, I'm impressed."

"No please, praise me more," he grinned as they rushed inside. Sending Five down the hall with Giorno for communication, Three, Six, and Seven to investigate the rest of the house, Mista hurried towards the sitting room the others had gathered in with One and Two flying close behind him.

"Narancia!" he yelled loudly, drawing the startled attention of all three of the teens. Good, they all looked perfectly fine. "Aerosmith. Your watch."

Narancia looked confused for maybe half a second before realization struck him and Mista didn't know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that the kid wore all his emotions on his sleeve because he looked confused, worried, and terrified all at the same time.

Trish's eyes widened in shock as she whipped her head around to stare at the brunet, who seemed to be trying to shrink into the couch beneath him. Fugo remained expressionless, which was never a good thing.

"Mista! Three, Six, and Seven say they don't see anyone anywhere except for you guys."

"Good, thanks One," Mista replied. "Go ahead and tell them all to come back for now. Oh, and have Five let Giorno know what they saw."

One nodded and zipped out of the room as Two settled on Mista's shoulder. "Miiiista, I'm huuuungry."

"I'll feed you guys after this, so wait a little longer, okay?"

"I don't see anyone either," Narancia added. Mista looked over to see that the brunet had Aerosmith out, judging by the visor over his eye. He was examining the screen carefully as he explained, "I only see five signatures, which are ours, so I don't think there's anyone around us right now. I can expand the search but that might pick up animals or bugs outside."

"No, don't," Fugo commanded. Right, he was in charge while Bucciarati was gone. "We don't want any false alarms. For now, keep Aerosmith circling the house and don't take that damn visor off until Bucciarati and Abbacchio are back. Mista, get Giorno and tell him to stay in the safehouse for now. We can get the laundry later. Trish, you can either stay in here with us or go back to your room, but you need to have one of us with you at all times. We can't say for sure that no one is here, although it seems unlikely."

Trish nodded wordlessly, looking braver than Mista would've thought. Well, he supposed she'd already been almost killed by her own dad, how much scarier could things really get. Plus she had Spice Girl to protect her.

"God, I can't believe this," Fugo groaned, falling back onto the couch as Mista headed out of the room and down the hall towards Giorno. "Narancia, when they get back, you'd better run because when I catch you, I'm going to-"

Mista didn't hear the rest of it, too far away to make it out, but he could guess what the blond said. After all, you could probably hear Narancia's shriek of terror from the damn space station.