There was a kind of nervous energy vibrating throughout the group that had been absent during their time in the safehouse and Mista didn't like it.
Things had been tense, strange, as if everyone was walking around on strings a hundred kilometers in the air where one wrong move would cause them all to plummet.
To be more specifically, Bucciarati was acting normal as always but he'd always been a horrible liar so it was obvious something was up with him, Abbacchio was distracted and distant from everybody (which wasn't that different but it felt different), Fugo seemed more brooding than normal, and Giorno was just plain silent. Which wouldn't have been abnormal except Mista had thought he'd been getting the blond to open up recently.
Which left he, Narancia, and Trish to pick up the pieces of the once-carefree group and attempt to rebuild them into that false sense of security that might be a little dangerous but it would at least mean they could fucking breathe without the air being so damn heavy.
When the capo had checked in on them last night, Mista had been the only one awake. He'd almost drifted off when Giorno had begun twitching and murmuring things in his sleep and he'd immediately decided to give up on getting some rest entirely .
Bucciarati had asked if they were alright, asked if Giorno was and Mista hadn't known what to say. He still didn't, didn't know what to do to calm Giorno's nerves or soothe his heart because the guy wouldn't even tell him what was wrong in the first place. He could only guess.
He'd ended up telling his capo that he thought Giorno was scared but that he didn't know of what. Bucciarati had worn a pensive look as he checked on the others before leaving the turtle and it made Mista wonder if Bucciarati had a better idea what was weighing on Giorno's mind than he did.
It had taken a bit of time to shuffle them into a new position on the couch and Giorno had woken up briefly as he did so with wide fear-stricken eyes. Mista was worried he'd tell him to give him some space at first but then the blond's green eyes had softened into something warm like the hearth in his old house and they'd curled up together on the couch and Giorno had let Mista rake his fingers through his golden hair and murmur soft reassurances in his ear until he drifted back to sleep and this time. This time he didn't tremble and he didn't murmur about fear and he didn't make those little moans like he was watching the people he loved get ripped apart.
At one point, Mista had jerked awake in a cold sweat, heart racing from some vision in his dreams that he couldn't remember for the life of him and for a second, he couldn't see anything or anyone at all. Then he'd felt something shift in his arms and he'd blinked a few times until the spots cleared and his eyes adjusted to the dark, and there was Giorno, looking peaceful and relaxed if not for a furrowed brow and that seemed to help Mista calm down.
When he'd twisted awkwardly to check on the others, he could make out a figure sitting atop the small coffee table. That hairstyle could only be Fugo's, and while he wondered why the boy was up, the stiffness of his figure and the hands clenched tightly together kept him from asking anything. He was pretty sure Fugo hadn't even noticed he was awake, too lost in his own thoughts.
Mista had barely slept at all after that.
It hadn't mattered in the end because the next day was spent on the road, doing nothing else but driving around Sardegna searching for the particular area of Costa Smeralda while making sure no one was following them.
Mista had lots of time to take a nap when it wasn't his turn to drive.
At one point, they'd all been in the car except for Bucciarati and Abbacchio. The capo had insisted that they all stay in the car while he and Abbacchio did whatever they needed to do and Mista had been extra careful not to look in the turtle's jewel at all; in fact, he'd hidden it within the column of the car until they'd heard Bucciarati calling out to them.
Just in case they were fucking.
It was unlikely but hey, Mista knew bad situations made ya do crazy things sometimes and they were dating, after all. Besides, they could all die at any second so. So it made sense to him.
And if he focused on that, then he could pretend like that was really what it was, and not Bucciarati talking about his potential untimely demise and not Abbacchio trying to convince the capo to get help and not the two of them talking about what they were going to do with the group. What they were going to do with the family.
Mista hadn't missed the way Fugo had stiffened when Bucciarati announced he and Abbacchio were going into the turtle for a while. The capo had been instructing all of them, so he hadn't noticed the change in Fugo, but Mista didn't have orders to issue and petulant brunets complaining that he liked listening to music better in the turtle because there wasn't background noise, so of course, Mista had been the one to notice.
The boy's violet eyes were wary, an expression Mista had only seen on him in the worst of occasions: the first time he'd been paired with Mista for reconnaissance, that time he'd returned from a job Polpo had given him, when a weapons dealer sold them out and- and when he'd seen Mista at the Rusellae ruins. It was that guarded, carefully-neutral face that wouldn't seem out of place to anyone unless they knew him, but Mista knew Fugo and he knew those eyes. Those eyes were the eyes of someone who knew something.
His reaction reminded Mista of what he'd seen the night before, of Fugo sitting up awake while everyone else slept, worrying about something unknown to anyone else but him, and it made him uncomfortable. Did the guy think he couldn't talk to them? Surely, he'd at least confide in Narancia if it was something that he felt he could talk about, so that meant it was something that Fugo had chosen to actively keep secret.
The next hour had been spent internally debating whether to try to talk to Fugo, to potentially pool the knowledge that they'd gained inadvertently in an attempt to decipher just what it was that Bucciarati was hiding from the others.
He'd ultimately decided that it would be a bad idea. He didn't have any proof that Fugo had actually heard something; it was just a guess. And if he tried to say something and Fugo didn't know what he was talking about, that would only cause more suspicion and worry and Fugo definitely didn't need to deal with that. He was still looking way too pale, even after being healed by Giorno, and Mista figured that after everything Fugo had been through in the past couple days, he had a right to be paranoid.
And it seemed like Narancia had picked up on it as well because he had barely left Fugo's side since they'd woken up except to take a leak. Even now when they were all crammed in the car, he was wrapped around Fugo's arm in the backseat, chattering on about his favorite rappers while Giorno took his turn driving. Even though it was obvious that Fugo wasn't listening at all, he wasn't pulling away either and Mista figured that was why Narancia kept talking. Narancia had confided in Mista once that he thought that, if he kept talking, then maybe he could drown out the other's thoughts with his own voice. That must be what he was doing now.
It wasn't good to keep worrying about all this, Mista knew that much at least, so he'd made a conscious effort to push those thoughts from his mind and launched into a rousing game of Would You Rather with Narancia that quickly devolved into seeing who could gross the other out the most.
When Narancia had stated that he would rather eat his own vomit than his own shit because then he could eat it, throw it up fresh, and it would be like having his favorite meal all over again, Trish had slammed her fist against the window and told them all that the next person to pose a would you rather question would get to decide whether they'd rather have her fist up their ass or down their throat.
There had been silence for a good five minutes before Fugo had finally joined in with a "Well would you rather be fisted or deepthroat someone?" and Trish couldn't even get mad at them because it had sent Mista and Narancia into wild fits of laughter and even Giorno was smiling and so she had just rolled her eyes and muttered something like "boys are disgusting" under her breath.
The tension had seemed a little better after that.
Mista had just finished up his shift driving the van after needling Bucciarati until the guy finally gave in and let him help out. Just because he had a track record of seven crashes, four collisions with other cars, and two totallings didn't mean he couldn't drive. It wasn't his fault everyone else couldn't, thank you very much.
Despite that, Bucciarati had only agreed with the concession that he let the capo sit in the back and be sure he didn't crash the damn thing. Mista grudgingly accepted the terms, wishing it was Giorno who was sitting in the passenger seat right now instead of the turtle.
Bucciarati and Abbacchio were sitting in the back and Mista was ninety percent sure that the only reason Abbacchio joined them was to make Mista suffer. His backseat driving was the worst and he wasn't even doing anything wrong, dammit! The capo seemed unwilling to step in, obviously enjoying the show, the damn sadist.
Three hours passed agonizingly slow.
Mista had switched with Abbacchio and Bucciarati set the turtle in his lap while he took the passenger seat. Mista said to get them after a few more hours and by then, they'd have figured out who would go next before disappearing into Coco Jumbo.
He was greeted by a wide array of sunshine yellow, rosey red, pale violet, and vivid white flowers scattered everywhere inside.
Four heads looked up at the newcomer and Mista forced his jaw shut as he coughed awkwardly.
"Do I wanna know?"
"We're playing with the flowers!" Narancia yelled excitedly and only then did he notice that the brunet was adorned with a long chain of daisies around his neck and some purple flower nestled in his hair in place of his bandana.
As Fugo tried to wrestle it off Narancia's head, insisting that the boy show him how he managed to do it - Mista noticed the circle of failed chains around Fugo - Trish looked up at Mista and held out a bundle of fluffy white stems.
"Here. You try," she said as she passed them off to him. "We pooled our five hundred lire coins and had Giorno make them into a bunch of flowers."
Mista took the flowers gently since they looked way too delicate for a guy like him to be holding and examined the floor for a good way to get to the blond without stepping on the pretty mess they had made in the turtle.
It took some cautious steps and he had to brush some of the blossoms out of the way with his foot, but eventually he made it to where Giorno was sitting in front of the couch, holding a group of bright yellow sunflowers as he worked carefully.
He looked up as Mista finally managed to plop down beside him and offered a small smile, his color looking way better than it had been the entire day. Apparently all they needed to do to cheer him up was surround him with flowers. Mista was sure to take note of that for the future.
"Hey," he said warmly.
"Hey," Giorno answered softly as he turned his green gaze back to the flowers. "I see you didn't wreck the car."
"Wasn't even trying," he scoffed with a wave of his hand before turning his attention to the flowers. "Didn't know you could do that."
"It wasn't very hard. Coins are nothing compared to living people."
"Nah, I meant the chains," Mista clarified. "Of course you can handle the coins, you're like the strongest guy I know. I didn't know you could do that with the flowers. Mind telling me how you learned?"
Giorno grinned at Mista's compliment as he focused on adding the last few sunflowers. "There wasn't much to do when I was young so I often went out by myself. There was a flower field I knew of outside the city that I liked to visit. I met a nonna there one day when I was crying and she made a crown of daisies for me. I thought it was magic, that she had enchanted fingers."
"Sounds like you were a cute kid," Mista said, nudging Giorno as he leaned in to whisper, "Thought I think you're just as cute now."
"Enough with that," Giorno groaned but his cheeks flushed pink despite his complaints. "Anyways, I met her a few times after that and she slowly taught me. I gave her the first one I ever made, and even though it was a complete mess, she looked so happy. It made me wish she was my real nonna."
"I'm sure she thought the same thing," Mista murmured, squeezing Giorno's knee when the blond's expression turned downcast. Giorno glanced at him with a fleeting smile before turning back to his project.
"I helped Narancia show Trish and Fugo how. Apparently his mother taught him when he was little and he never forgot."
"Sounds like Nara. My sister knows how, she tried to show me a while back but I was horrible at it. Maybe I'd do a little better now though." He flashed a grin at Giorno. "You gonna teach me how, oh wise master?"
Giorno rolled his eyes but held up his chain of sunflowers all the same and pointed at the stem of the newest addition to the chain. "See the little slit there? You use your fingernails to poke the hole in it, try to get it as much in the center as possible. Then all you need to do is thread the next flower stem through the hole. It's fairly easy but I suppose it does take a few tries to get the hang of it."
"Gotcha. Doesn't seem as hard as I thought. My sis made it sound harder than that."
"Maybe she was talking about a garland," Giorno suggested. "Those are more complex. There we go, all done."
Mista looked over to see Giorno holding up the crown of golden flowers, smiling warmly at him through the center of the crown.
"Damn, you did a great job," Mista said approvingly, admiring the neatness of the chain and the way all the flowers pointed outwards with their bright yellow petals on full display. "Might blend in with your hair a little though," he teased.
Giorno shook his head. "This isn't for me," he said quietly. "Nonna always told me that the best part of making a flower crown was giving it to someone you care about and so I never made one for myself. Only for her. I tried giving one to my mother once but… she wasn't very happy about me bringing something so dirty into the house. I haven't made one since then."
Mista resisted the urge to insult Giorno's mom. The guy had made it very clear at this point what he thought of her and even though Giorno didn't like her, he knew insulting her might just make Giorno feel bad instead.
"It doesn't matter though," Giorno said with a wave of his hand. "I thought I wouldn't remember how but it looks like I never forgot after all. So since we decided to make them, I thought I'd use it as a chance to express my gratitude. Do you know what sunflowers mean, Mista?"
"Mean? Like symbolism or whatever?" When Giorno nodded, Mista just shrugged helplessly. He never really cared about stuff like that.
"There's lots of different things they can represent, but I made it so that the flowers are all pointing outwards and slightly up, as if blooming towards the sun like their namesake. That quality gives them a meaning of strength, of reaching towards the light despite life's hardships."
He knew it was kinda silly, but Mista had been hoping that the crown would be for him but after hearing that, it was painfully obvious who it was really for.
"Sounds really important," he said, trying to keep from sounding like he was sulking as he looked back down at the white flowers in his lap to go back to making the chain. "Bucciarati'll like it a whole lot."
"Mista."
Mista ignored him as he lifted up one of the clumps of white flowers, looking at the stem carefully as he tried to poke a hole through it. He heard a sigh to his left and the rustling of fabric as Giorno moved around, probably to go give it to the capo and then he felt something fall on his head.
He looked up to yell at Narancia or Fugo or whoever threw flowers at him but then he saw Giorno kneeling beside him with his hands outstretched and Mista reached up to feel what it was.
Soft petals and braided steam brushed his fingertips and he jerked his head up to stare at Giorno incredulously.
"Bucciarati was a good guess," Giorno said softly. "I owe him many things and I respect and admire him far more than I could ever hope to explain. But he isn't the one who has been my source of strength so far, Mista."
When Mista didn't say anything, Giorno continued, a teasing grin stretching across his pretty features.
"You see, there's this guy who decided to believe in me back before anyone else did, back before Bucciarati even truly trusted me. A guy who backed up my rash suggestion despite no one else doing so and then even wound up hurt because of it, yet he never wavered once. The same guy who talked me down one night when my anxiety was getting the better of me, who stayed by my side, who fought with me despite the chance of death, who never once left me alone even when I was hurting."
"Sounds like a real loyal dude," Mista rasped.
"Indeed," Giorno grinned. "He even ran back into a burning building for me. Quite impressive, don't you think?"
"Sounds stupid."
"Really? I think it was very brave."
Mista groaned as he covered his burning face with his hands, peeking out through the gaps in his fingers as he conceded, "Alright, you win. How the hell do you say all that with a straight face?"
"I wasn't sure there was anything straight about it."
He was about to respond when Mista realized what Giorno was referring to and damn if that wasn't the best and worst thing he'd heard his whole life. Fuck, he'd been confused ever since he met Giorno, what was so bad about just staying that way?
"Just fuck already!"
Narancia's loud jest caught both of their attention and the pair pulled apart, Mista yanking backwards as his face flushed. When the hell had their faces gotten so close together?
"You should have some tact," Fugo was saying to Narancia, wagging his finger as he added, "Tell them to get a room instead."
"You boys have no idea what subtlety means," Trish interjected. "It's much better to tell them to add it to their to-do list."
"I hate all of you," Mista stated with a roll of his eyes, grabbing the bundle of flowers in his lap and chucking them at the others, who burst into laughter.
"Baby's breath," Fugo said as he chuckled, lifting one of the white clumps up. "Means everlasting love."
"Aw, I love you too Mista!" Narancia crooned, hands clasped under his chin as he made a kissy face at the gunsman.
"Did you not hear what I just said?" Mista frowned as he darted forwards to start picking up the flowers he just chucked. "Give 'em back, they ain't for any 'a you. Not a single damn one. How do I say 'fuck you',' huh? What flower says that?"
They just laughed harder and even Giorno grinned at that and damn, well, Mista couldn't really stay pissed if his plight got Giorno to smile. Just looking at him felt like Mista's negative emotions would drain right out of him.
Ignoring the others, Mista settled back into his spot with the cluster of flowers in his lap. Most of the stems had gotten bent and some of the flowers had broken off so he rifled through the pile until he found one stalk that looked near perfect. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out to tuck the baby's breath behind Giorno's ear, stark white against his golden hair.
Mista grinned.
"Not as good as a crown but it'll do."
