A/N: So with this, we're finally caught up with the AO3 version so the updates will be switching to around 4-5ish CST every Monday. Thanks for hanging in there with me y'all!
Despite the awkward question during poker and then the maybe-flirting-maybe-just-smalltalk Mista had had with Giorno outside while hanging up the laundry, Mista had decided that all in all it was a pretty great day so far.
He was over the moon with his manicured nails, small golden stars spattered across the navy blue night sky with white tips reminiscent of the moon. He'd let Trish have free reign, saying to go whole ham since he used his hands with his gun and all the more to look smokin while blowing some asshole's brains out. When she'd finished, it had been all he could do to not pull out his gun and start firing and posing.
Fugo had teased about the 'girly' design, since he'd opted for white skulls against a deep violet backdrop, but then Mista had pointed out that manicures were inherently girly in and of themselves and that using girly as an insult was such a dated insult anyways. Looking thoroughly admonished, Fugo had something back but Mista wasn't paying attention anymore. He'd realized that the stars looked almost the same shade as Giorno's hair and it made him love the design all the more.
He was in the middle of adjusting his beanie just as Bucciarati and Abbacchio returned, arms full of brown paper bags that he assumed were supplies and food. Fugo and Narancia were still fighting, the idiot children that they were, so Mista decided to be the adult and help unload the groceries.
It had been only mildly surprising when Fugo had lied straight to Bucciarati's face, but then again, despite their argument, he was always soft on Narancia. Mista certainly wasn't gonna break their apparent unspoken vow of silence about the matter, so he just listened as the pair exchanged some words before Narancia was manhandling Fugo out the door - an impressive feat for a guy of his stature.
Bucciarati entered the kitchen, helping him and Abbacchio to put away the groceries in a comfortable silence that reminded Mista of the days when they lived communally in that big apartment in Napoli that Bucciarati owned. When things were still relatively peaceful.
There was the click of shoes down the hardwood and then a voice called, "Mista."
Ignoring the click of Abbacchio's tongue behind him, Mista immediately spun around to grin at Giorno. "What can I do ya for?"
"I was wondering if you would help me rebraid my hair?" he asked, gesturing to the golden locks that were cascading around his shoulders like he was Aphrodite or some shit. "For some reason, I keep messing up today."
Mista saluted and followed him obediently out of the room, disregarding Abbacchio's comment of 'like a damn pet dog,' thinking that maybe it wasn't too far off anyways. If Giorno wanted him to sit and shake, he'd damn well do it, wagging his tail the whole time.
Giorno settled onto the floor of the sitting room and Mista sat behind him on the couch. Trish spared them barely a glance before she turned back to the latest edition of Grazia that Bucciarati had bought her.
Running his fingers through Giorno's hair was like feeling silk; it was smooth and soft and almost feather-light in his hands. The curls were more like waves when they were down, crashing forth over the ocean of pale skin that hid beneath them.
"Ya gotta brush?"
Giorno seemed a bit surprised and shook his head. "I normally just use my fingers," he explained.
Mista shook his head furiously. "Ya gotta take better care of your hair, GioGio," he said just as Trish suddenly stood up, looking appalled as she rushed from the room.
"When she saw it had changed colors, my mother said it was cursed," Giorno murmured quietly, face hidden from view as it was fixated on the floor.
"Yeah? Well my mom used to say that if I swallowed a watermelon seed, it'd grow in my stomach but you don't see me believing it."
"I hardly think that's the same thing," Giorno retorted, but his voice sounded lighter and that was good enough for Mista.
"Here." Trish reappeared, holding a boar-bristle brush in her hand that she passed it to Mista. "I can't believe you don't own a brush; really, boys are so uncouth," she huffed as she made her way back to the chair.
"Thanks, Trish!" Mista said, flashing her a grin as she flushed and buried her face in the glossy pages of her magazine. "Now then, I'll get started."
There were a few tangles in Giorno's hair near the ends, likely from the inadequate car it had received up until now, but they fell away quick enough, with just a few strokes of the brush. Mista swore that the more he brushed, the more the golden blond hair began to shimmer, almost glowing in the light from the sunset that poured through the window.
He tried to pretend like the little noises of satisfaction Giorno was making didn't make him feel things that he had no business feeling when he was just brushing hair.
"That feels nice," Giorno sighed quietly. "You're very talented, Mista."
"Did my sister's hair a bunch back in the day," he explained with a grin. "She's the baby of the family, gotta be sure she was all dolled up 'n everything."
"You were a good big brother."
Mista's grin fell a bit at that. He didn't say anything as he finished up brushing Giorno's hair but he figured that if he was a good brother, he wouldn'ta left without a word.
"I'm gonna start braiding now."
Separating Giorno's hair into three even groups was a bit harder than he'd thought, since the hair was fine but had volume, and then he fell into the familiar rhythm of one strand over the over, tightening the braid carefully with each plait he made. He knew Giorno preferred it a bit loose and kept that in mind as he moved down the hair. Finishing it off with the loop that Giorno always had, he patted the blond's shoulder as he sat back.
"All done!" he said cheerily, admiring his handiwork. It wasn't his best, obviously, but he thought it looked pretty damn good and it also gave him an excuse to touch Giorno's hair, which he'd been wanting to do for ages now.
"Thank you," Giorno replied as he stood up, pulling the braid over his shoulder to appraise it. He seemed to like what he saw since a soft smile crossed his face. "It looks wonderful."
"Then it suits you," Mista said boldly. Chicks liked confidence, so he figured Giorno might like it too. The blond's smile deepened as he huffed a quiet laugh.
He looked about to say something when they heard Bucciarati calling from the kitchen, "Giorno, would you mind coming to help me get ready for dinner?"
Like he even had to ask, Mista thought but remained silent. Giorno gave him one last nod of gratitude before he left the room, heading down the hall to join Bucciarati.
Mista reclined back on the sofa, thinking about what to do now. He'd had a pretty damn good day so far but he found that he was still fucking tired despite sleeping real well all night. Maybe his fatigue was just catching him up with him.
He was about to force himself to sit back up and go do something productive when he heard Trish ask from where he sat, "Are all of you gay then? Or is it just you two?"
"Wha- th-that's- I-"
"Oh please," she scoffed with a roll of her eyes. "Do you think you're being subtle? 'It suits you'? Please. You're clearly trying to get in his pants. Not that I blame you, Giorno's like a statue or something."
He must've been glaring at her or something because when she met Mista's gaze, she looked surprised for a split second before she burst out laughing. "Don't worry, I'm not interested. I prefer them more mature." She said that last part dreamily, resting her chin in her hand and clearly thinking of someone in particular.
"Then we won't have any-"
"You might want to do something about that smell though."
"Hey!" he cried indignantly. "I showered last night, no way I smell!" He did not mention that he used the same soap as Giorno and that if Giorno smelled so damn good, then surely he must as well. After all, he didn't think that was really how it worked.
"Maybe it's just the stench of vulgarity then," she muttered, examining her fuschia-painted nails as she continued without missing a beat, "Well, I don't really care one way or another whether you like guys or not. It doesn't affect me."
Mista grumbled, "Well good then. Even if I didn't like Giorno, I wouldn't pick you anyways."
Trish let out a shocked gasp and stared at him with her best 'I'm-so-offended' look and Mista stuck his tongue out at her. They glared at each other for a few seconds before grinning. Trish really did remind him kinda of his little sister back home and he wondered if this was what their relationship would be like when she grew up too.
"…But hey, 'n all seriousness, don't lay into Giorno, 'kay? I don't care much but I dunno how he feels about it. Or how he feels in general."
"I won't," Trish answered and Mista could tell she really wouldn't. "And if I were you, I wouldn't worry about it too much. I've been watching both of you, after all."
Mista frowned. He was about to ask what exactly she meant when they heard the front door slam open and seconds later, Fugo and Narancia were in the sitting room arguing about cereal or whatever and it was far too entertaining to remember to ask Trish anything.
"-not, you fucking dumbass!" Fugo was yelling as he stormed into the room, hands on his hips and anger plastered across his face.
"You've already said that but why is it not?!" Narancia all but shrieked as he followed after the blond. "You said it's not a soup or a stew, so what the fuck is it then?! A salad?!"
"NO! How fucking stupid are you?! Salad is a mixture of vegetables, name one cereal that has vegetables in it!"
"But they're made out of wheat or some shit, right?! Those are vegetables!" and Mista thought Narancia was making a very good point there; it wasn't like cereal just popped into existence readymade.
"They're grains, you idiot!"
"But they're both plants!"
"They're completely different food groups!" Fugo shook his head exasperatedly as he said, "I know you dropped out but this is like third grade level stuff, you moron!"
"Then if it's not salad and it's not soup, then what the fuck is it?!"
"IT'S JUST FUCKING CEREAL!" and things looked for a second like they were about to get physical with Fugo practically seething and Narancia looked ready to foam at the mouth as they just glared furiously in dead silence at each other.
When Narancia reached into his pocket, Mista was certain that he was going for his pocket knife but instead what he pulled out was a crumpled, yellow dandelion that looked like it had seen better days.
"Sorry Fugo," he said bashfully, holding it out to the blond as he looked away with a faint pout still on his face.
While Mista was shocked, Fugo didn't seem at all surprised by this turn of events as he reached out to take the flower from Narancia, features softening as he did so.
"I'm sorry too. Thank you, Nara."
Narancia grinned and practically threw himself onto the taller boy in an overly-enthusiastic hug that Fugo accepted as easily as he did the flower.
Mista's mouth was hanging open and he thought he should probably close it as he heard a voice to his left murmuring, "So you guys are gay."
Trish had a cheshire cat grin across her face when Mista looked at her and clearly only he was meant to hear that and he couldn't help but snort and shake his head in agreement. After all, when it came to those two, he'd never been sure what they were- best friends, mortal enemies, lovers, brother, pretty much anything could apply.
"Can I interest you fine men in some classic gambling?" he asked as he got up to sling his arms around Fugo and Narancia when they drew apart, waving the deck of cards in his hand with a cocky grin.
"Hope you cleaned off the last time you took a shit," Fugo chuckled. "Because I'm gonna wipe the floor with your ass and I don't think Bucciarati would appreciate it if you got shit all over."
"Oh it's fucking on."
The rest of the night had been abnormally relaxed and now, sitting out on the front porch, Fugo wondered how long this peace would continue for.
Surprisingly, it had been Trish who wiped the floor with all of them. She apparently had quite the adept hand when it came to gambling and a poker face that could rival even the most stoic of pro players. They'd only had time for a few rounds before dinner was finally prepared and he, along with the other two, had been more than happy to go eat instead of continue to get their asses kicked.
Bucciarati and Giorno had made pizza, much to Narancia's delight who ate his own margherita pizza entirely by himself and then had gone to bed early with a sick stomach from overeating. Even though he'd been warned. Fucking idiot.
Dinner had been passed with stories from Bucciarati about what they'd seen in town as Abbacchio made snarky comments. Mista and Narancia enthusiastically recounted the highlights of their game from earlier, this time with Trish making snarky comments that were decidedly far superior to Abbacchio's, which were really just complaints and bitching from a crotchety old man. Giorno ate in silence, but Fugo observed the subtle changes in his features based on who was talking with keen interest. Then he and Narancia had told the others about the kids they'd met in the forest during their walk.
"Two children? You said they were camping out alone?"
"No, Bruno," Abbacchio had cut in immediately. "You aren't adopting two more kids, five is more than enough."
Narancia had then pointed out that he was counting not only Trish, but Giorno as well in that, and the white-haired man had gotten far more defensive than necessary. It only confirmed what everyone else knew: that he was slowly warming up to the blond. Which Fugo greatly approved of; not only was it good for their team to get along, but Giorno really was a nice guy. Plus Abbacchio really didn't need to be so jealous about him and Bucciarati's relationship, they were clearly just friends that admired and respected the other. Besides, Giorno was obviously interested in Mista. But it only seemed obvious to Fugo, and he was more than willing to keep quiet and watch the two struggle on their own. He'd give a push if necessary, but they seemed to be doing fine on their own.
He'd volunteered to keep first watch that night, and when Bucciarati had tried to argue that he was still exhausted from the fight and that he'd almost died, he'd instantly refuted that. The whole day, he'd felt nearly a hundred percent thanks to Giorno and a restful night of sleep that he refused to attribute to waking up that morning and realizing that Narancia had held his hand all night and slept beside him.
The others had slowly trickled off, with Bucciarati and Abbacchio heading off to bed shortly after Narancia went up to sleep off his swollen stomach. Fugo didn't wanna know what they were planning to do if they weren't gonna sleep, so he just didn't think about it.
Giorno was the last one to go to bed, coming out around midnight to tell Fugo that he'd switch with him in a few hours or so before heading off to sleep himself, leaving the house silent aside from the creaking as it settled for the night and the occasional thud from the second floor as people got ready to sleep.
The moon was out, bright and full shining down in a clear sky covered in stars. The night was quiet, with a few crickets and katydids that had hatched early during the warmer nights filling the air with their chirps. The wind was gentle, swishing through the long grass in the yard and out into the field that stretched towards the cliffs behind the house. If he really concentrated, he thought he could hear the crash of the ocean waves against the sheer rock face of the cliffs.
There was a false sense of peace a night like this brought and Fugo didn't like it.
Another hour of sitting there on the porch keeping watch with occasional patrols around the sides of the house passed by before it was suddenly disrupted.
He first heard the yelling before he saw anything and he was instantly alert, eyes fixated on the direction it was coming from: the woods to his right. Purple Haze appeared at his side, breathing heavily and hissing defensively as it awaited further instructions.
When the first sign of movement appeared, he hurried down the porch steps and stopped at the edge of the house as the figure neared him, Haze charging forwards.
He almost didn't manage to stop his Stand in time, calling it back merely a second before its fist would have collided with the small child running towards him, which would've killed the boy before he even realized what was happening.
Bartolomeo ran straight through Haze as Fugo called him back to his side, not noticing the Stand at all. Instead, he bolted straight for Fugo with fat tears rolling down his face and a desperate look in his eyes.
"How did you-"
Before Fugo could even get his question out, the boy had thrown his arms around Fugo's waist, looking up at him with round blue eyes glistening in the moonlight as it reflected off the tears welling up in them once again.
"Please, Signor! Help me! It's Benito! He's gonna die!"
