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At barely eighteen years old, Guido Mista can hardly be considered an adult. By legal standards, of course, he is actually an adult. Sure, he carries himself proudly amongst his group of friends, and forevermore finds ways to make them all laugh or want to strangle him, depending on who is being asked. And yeah, somewhere along the lines of high school, his relaxed attitude landed him with best friends from all walks of life - several of which are much younger than him. Furthermore, he might take it upon himself to be protective of those younger members of his little circle, but... when things come down to the wire, Mista is immature beyond measure. Hardly an adult.Take today, for example. Giorno is in the school's courtyard with Buccellati and Abbacchio, two college students Mista befriended back during his own first years as a high school student. Abbacchio is a part-time member of the campus police group that patrols the area to ensure that no students are causing trouble, and Buccellati often spends his time helping office staff for work-study. Narancia, another senior comrade of Mista's, is listening to music. Fugo is... doing whatever it is that Fugo does, and Mista is sitting with Trish, drinking coffee while she occasionally sips at her mineral water. She can easily be considered a less-than-ideal conversational partner thanks to the stuck up aura she exhibits here and there, but Mista is never one to turn down conversation. Besides, somewhere in his heart, there seems to be a soft spot for the orphaned girl. Mista can relate in his own ways, after all.He cares for the pink haired girl's well-being as much as he cares for the rest of his comrades, but there are certain times that he wishes he spent time with a different circle of friends. Trish, it seems, plans to make right now one of those particular instances. A long ended conversation - ended weeks ago, actually - resurfaces before Mista can put an end to it."So..." Trish begins, putting her mineral water on the table before them. Her hands come to rest in her lap, and a perfectly manicured eyebrow archs in Mista's direction. He knows that look all too well for comfort. For a sophomore in high school, she can certainly fix him with an expression that reminds him of a mother readying herself to scold her child... "When are you planning on telling Giorno that you like him?"Her inquiry catches Mista off guard so much that instead of spitting out his coffee, he chokes on it. The styrofoam cup is nearly dropped onto the lunch table, but Mista holds onto it for dear life in an attempt to ground himself. The coffee burns even more this way, stinging his throat and nose while his eyes water and his other hand comes up to smudge the liquid away. He must look the picture of distraught, he thinks somewhere in the back of his mind. With his hat crooked, eyes blurred, and a rattling cough preventing him from speaking, Mista feels as agonized as he knows he looks. His face is crimson, if not for nearly choking to death, then from embarrassment. Thankfully, other students in the vicinity pay him no mind aside from a few stray glances.Dear God, why now? Could this conversation not be dead and left in the past, already?Evidently not.Trish wordlessly slides several napkins in his direction. The senior takes a well deserved moment to collect himself, using the back of his sleeve instead of the napkins to wipe his eyes, as well as the coffee from his mouth and chin. "As far as I'm concerned? Never. He's a good friend to me, nothin' more." He mutters. Another sip of coffee to clear the catch in his throat, and he slams the styrofoam coffee cup on the lunch table with enough force to slosh the remaining contents out. Mista makes a mental note to get a lid next time. He uses the napkins now, mopping up stray droplets with a scowl. "Plus, Jesus Christ, he's fifteen!" Mista adds the words with a scandalized hiss, reaching a hand up to scratch nervously at the dark tresses hidden mostly beneath his beanie. "I'm an adult now - I can get in major shit for that kinda stuff, y'know! And I don't need any more trouble with the law."She knows all too well, if the glimmer in her eyes is anything to go by.Trish's lips curve into a wry smile at Mista's expense and she leans forward, expression bright in such a way that causes Mista's brain to raise more than one red flag in panic. "If I remember correctly, he'll be turning sixteen on the same day that we have prom, which is only a few days away," she notes, her tone almost sing-song by now. He groans back at her, both hands reaching up to rub at his face in exhaustion. She laughs, a silent declaration of her victory on the matter. Mista allows her that much, albeit grudgingly. "Besides, I see plenty of seniors dating kids younger than Giorno and I nowadays. Thirteen year olds, fourteen year olds, you name it. Plus, it's not like you just started liking him or anything. You've liked him for over a year now, and pretty soon, you're going to be done with high school and you won't see him as much anymore! Get it over with now and save the heartbreak for some other time."Mista knows that he looks panic stricken when he realizes that Trish is right, but he can barely help it. His senior year is almost over - there are six weeks left to the entire semester, and then he will graduate. After that, Trish and Giorno will become juniors, and Mista will... do whatever it is that he plans to do with his life after college. There is little hope of him getting a decent job, since during the start of this year, campus police caught him trying to trade narcotics for a pack of cigarettes off another kid. That made a permanent mark on his record outside of school thanks to the brief trip to jail - being an adult is fun - and his barely passing grades made a mark on his plans for college, too. All this shit for a pack of smokes he never actually got his hands on in the end.At least it made him look a little more cool to Giorno. Hopefully."Trish," the brunette whines, dropping his head down onto the lunch table hard enough to make a loud "thunk" noise. "Trish, I've got it so damn bad..." He avoids looking at her, but he knows without a doubt that her brows are furrowed and she is about to tell him that it could be worse."It could be a lot worse, you know. You could have never met Giorno in the first place." He hit the nail on the head. "Knew you'd say that. I think that'd be better than this.""Well, maybe take my advice for once, in the name of love." She chides, bopping him on his head with the water bottle. He grunts in response, folding both arms in front of himself miserably; only then does he look up to her, mustering the most pitiful look possible. It gets him nowhere - Trish's stern expression refuses to budge.The senior chooses his words carefully. "What's your advice?""Easy!" she chirps, shifting a little in her seat. True to her nature, she looks down her nose at him, as if the answer is truly that obvious. It is. "Ask Giorno to go to your prom with you. The worst that can happen is, he turns you down. Or he'll accept, you two go to prom together, you realize you're hopelessly, madly in love with him, and you'll tell him. And then he'll tell you he doesn't feel the same.""Are you speakin' from experience?"She squints at him. Bad move."No, but at least my experiences aren't so bad that I need to ask an underclassman for romantic advice." Blue eyes are piercing right through him. She speaks with enough acidity to melt the table that separates them, and Mista inwardly cringes. Very bad move.He leans back in his seat, breathing through his nose. His stomach feels sick, like he might throw up at any given moment; on top of it all, Mista's heart is pounding so hard that it might hammer out of his chest. Giorno is nowhere near him, and just discussing him is enough to make the eighteen year old nervous."Okay," he says on a shaky exhale, reaching to take a sip of the now room temperature coffee that he pushed aside earlier. "Okay, I can do that... I think.""Do it soon. The clock is ticking."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Trish meant it when she said "the clock is ticking." Mista knows it, but the sick feeling in his stomach is enough to dissuade him from talking to Giorno. That feeling becomes especially prominent when the blonde comes back from the courtyard with Buccellati at his side. Abbacchio, as expected, is not far behind. Both of them wear a similar expression - stern - and Giorno looks somewhat frustrated while Buccellati speaks to him about something too quietly for anyone else to hear over the chatter in the cafeteria.Mista wants to know what the conversation is about.The pink haired girl sitting at the lunch table with him makes it a point to kick Mista in the shin; when he turns his head to glare at Trish for that, her gaze flickers to him, and then in the direction he knows Giorno is. "He's been staring at you," she remarks idly, polishing off the last of her mineral water. He follows her gaze quickly enough to catch the pair of blue eyes lingering on him. Buccellati is still speaking, but Giorno almost looks as though he is ignoring the black haired office assistant entirely in favor of looking at Mista. Oh, that is definitely not a figment of Mista's imagination."Maybe I'll tell him that you like him, since you won't." Trish's sudden remark is meant to make Mista uncomfortable, and though he tries to ignore it, he slowly begins to lose his cool. She lets the statement linger, and the longer she does, the worse off Mista ends up. Chewing at his lower lip when she moves from her seat at the table, he contemplates how serious she is on the matter. She never does make idle threats, but if this is her way of getting back at him for his earlier quip about her love life, then this is a bit much.By the time she stands up, the back of his neck is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Mista decides that enough is enough."Don't you dare! You've already caused enough trouble for today," he hisses at her, standing up from his seat quickly enough for the chair to make a screeching noise. It draws more attention than Mista wants, and a haphazard glance to one side tells him that Giorno is still speaking with Buccellati, though the conversation seems to be put on hold in favor of Giorno, Abbacchio, and Buccellati looking directly at Mista and Trish. Mista knows that if they are looking, other people must be, and that alone is enough to make him sit back down; his gaze stays on her, promising revenge for his seemingly endless humiliation.Trish is lucky that Mista's coffee cup is empty, because he feels like throwing it at her.She grins down at him from her standing position, waving the empty water bottle innocently. "I was going to throw this away." The glint in her eyes tells Mista that he fell for her trick, and he opens his mouth to snap at her further when the chair beside him is pulled back and someone sits down in it. Mista actually hopes that it is Abbacchio. He would prefer the company of the irritable (and occasionally scary as hell) campus officer over the flutter in his stomach that threatens to bring back the coffee he finished a few minutes ago. The strands of gold in his peripheral vision tell him that his hopes are for nothing, and Mista glares down at his hands while trying to ease his nerves. Giorno is close enough that he must be able to see the tremble in the senior's hands while he fusses with his nails; the notion alone causes the brunette to scowl further without really meaning to."Mista? What was all that about?" Giorno asks softly, always polite, even when picking apart the hardened exterior that Mista made it a point to keep up. The way his mouth forms the letters of the older male's name is enough to make Mista's heart flutter. Gross.Mista simply cannot find it in himself to ignore Giorno. He can ignore anyone else, but never the blonde haired beauty seated beside him. He answers back the only way he knows how to: gruff. "Nothin'," he mutters, sitting back in his seat and rolling his eyes to the ceiling because he knows that Giorno never accepts one word answers. The thrum of his pulse roaring in his ears is loud enough to drown out the little voice in the back of his head that urges him to tell Giorno the truth. "Trish is just... y'know, being Trish." He adds onto his one word explanation, careful not to give the blonde any reason to further question his previous actions.Brown eyes glance to Giorno then, and Mista catches sight of the blonde's furrowed brow. Mista is rarely secretive about anything; he is an open book of sorts, who speaks his mind in phrases and actions that leave little room for misinterpretation. That being said, Mista knows that Giorno is well within his rights to want to know why he refuses to explain what the issue is. Yet right when the blonde's mouth opens to ask another question, the bell rings. Chairs are suddenly pushed back and students begin to chatter more as they gather their bags and move to throw away the scraps of their lunch. Mista breathes a sigh of relief. Saved by the bell, he thinks, reaching for his backpack. "Gotta get to class," he tells the sophomore, locking eyes with Giorno while offering a reassuring grin. "See ya in the courtyard, later, yeah?"He barely gives the underclassman time to affirm their usual meeting place before he practically sprints from the lunchroom. Mista never thought he would be so grateful for his Italian II course.It turns out, Mista realizes, that his Italian II course is definitely something he should never be grateful for. In fact, he loathes it all the more when his teacher begins lecturing about conjugations and "to be" verbs in Italian; his mind drifts immediately to the blonde he abandoned only a little while before. With his chin in his palm, he begins scribbling haphazardly into his notebook to look as though he is actually paying attention, but that comes to a halt when the back of his chair is kicked. He knows who is doing it. The action is a custom between Mista and a particular childhood friend - whoever sits behind the other makes it a game of kicking the first person's seat until they turn around.Mista ignores it and it happens again. And again. And one more time.That seems to frustrate the person who wants his attention, and for good reason. Mista typically turns around on the first or second kick, but today he simply cannot bring himself to be in the mood for it. "Mista," the voice mutters, trying too hard to be discreet, "Trish told me about lunch today." Narancia oftentimes talks with Trish thanks to his painfully obvious crush on her. Mista, controversially, is better at keeping his crush on Giorno on the down low. But while that could be said sometimes, right now, his crush on said blonde is the topic of discussion for the second time today, and Mista finds himself wondering why God picked today to torment him. "I found out about it pretty quick. I'm sure others have, too." Narancia is baiting him.He bites. "Well, Narancia..." The taller of the two slouches in his seat, glancing over a shoulder to confirm that Narancia is listening. "Can't say I'm surprised, since you got all her social media for, y'know." Tilting in his seat and casting a glimpse to their teacher to ensure that his attention is elsewhere, Mista makes a jerking off motion at his longtime comrade, whose face reddens immediately."Mista! I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Narancia snaps as quietly as he can, reaching a hand below the top part of Mista's chair to jab him in the side. It almost earns a yelp, but the older of the two smothers it with an awkward cough. Luckily, the teacher never turns around to see the source of noise. The seventeen year old sitting behind him is positively glowering now, and Mista grins back at him."What?" he asks, feigning innocence. "She's hot when she keeps her mouth shut. I can see the fascination." His statement strikes another nerve in Narancia, clearly, because the shorter senior scowls harder at him and reaches a hand up to adjust the collar of his tank beneath his more school-appropriate shirt. Goddamn dress codes. "I 'member when you used to try and watch her change out for gym last year." Mista reminisces on the situation with a grin, just to embarrass Narancia. The act is a measured sort of payback for his own slight humiliation; the eighteen year old understands that it is hardly ideal for everyone within his group of friends to be aware that he is smitten by Giorno Giovanna, and so he often takes it upon himself to give a little payback to those who are prone to teasing him the most.Also known as: Narancia and Trish.It helps that one is somewhat in love with the other. Love and influence are powerful concepts, after all."Anyways," Narancia cuts in softly, drawing Mista from his thoughts. "Trish said that you're gonna ask Giorno to prom."For the second time that day, Mista loses his cool. "All I wanted was for this - y'know, my jerk-off level crush - to be kept quiet." He definitely wants more than just that, but he refuses to say otherwise. His fists clench hard enough to threaten the usable state of his pencil, and he puts it down. At least in class, his temper is confined marginally, but the look he shoots Narancia with dark brown eyes is enough to assure murder if the words "ask Giorno to prom" ever come out of his mouth again. For the life of him, he cannot figure out why he reacts so negatively to the idea of asking Giorno to go to his senior prom with him, but Narancia seems to understand well enough to offer advice."Chill, Mista," Narancia urges under his breath, eyes locked onto the teacher for the time being. Ah, the age old trick of "pretending to pay attention." Narancia is good at it, but not as good as Mista. "If you won't talk to me or Trish about it, go talk to Buccellati. He knows about this kinda stuff better than any of us." The slightly younger male's head dips down as the teacher turns around to speak to the class, and Mista glances away and out the window for a moment, feigning distraction. Mista understands the implication there, and he ponders it while staring out the window.Abbacchio and Buccellati, longtime comrades, once danced around each other and refused to confess their feelings for one another; when push came to shove, it took Buccellati nearly three years of keeping to himself before Abbacchio finally exploded and confessed how he felt, instead.Mista knows the two of them and their differences, but he oftentimes catches himself feeling a little envious of the relationship between the two. They are lovers, but before that, they are best friends and there is never, ever, one without the other. Their relationship, Mista thinks, is something out of an early nineties romance movie. Something like... Nah... Not "Pretty Woman." More like... "While You Were Sleeping." Frustrating, full of twists and turns, but it somehow ended up with a happy ending. ... Okay, so... Yeah, "Pretty Woman" fits that description, too. Mista's love life like is more like the "Titanic." Sinking, slowly. Doomed from the start. Destined to fail.Okay, enough of that."Buccellati, huh?" he muses to Narancia, turning back around in his seat to face the front of the classroom. "Maybe I'll pay him a visit after class. He can write me a late slip or somethin'. I can afford to miss calculus.""Tell me how it goes," the shorter male says, a little louder than he means to. A pointed glare from the teacher silences their conversation, and Mista's attention focuses on his notebook, scowling at the scrawled cursive on the page that mirrors a teenage girl's diary. "Tell GioGio you like him," it reads. Dear God, gross. Mista grabs a sharpie from his bag and scratches the words out in stark black. Telling Giorno would need to wait another day, Mista decides, ripping the paper out of his notebook. He aims for the trashcan after wadding it up and sinks the paper in with a halfhearted throw, settling in his seat with a smug grin."'least there's basketball if college don't work out," he mutters to himself wryly, impatiently waiting for class to let out.He simply cannot wait to talk to Buccellati after this.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Once Italian II is dismissed and Mista is able to venture to the office, he moves quickly. Giorno's class is in the same hallway as Mista's, and he cannot bring himself to face the blonde any longer than absolutely necessary. Giorno seems to be aware that something is on the brunette's mind, but Mista wants to avoid that particular conversation for as long as humanly possible.When Mista swings by the office, he is delighted to see that Buccellati is sitting at the front, helping file student absence notes and other paperwork. However, he is crushed to notice that Abbacchio, as expected, is standing by the desk, talking softly to him. A moment passes, and he goes unnoticed. He attributes that to the duo being enraptured in conversation, and Mista's habit of infiltrating areas quietly whether he means to or not. Mista catches his name in the conversation, and then Giorno's, and his stomach sinks further. He chooses then to speak up, acting naturally, or as close to it as he can manage."Yo, Buccellati. Abbacchio." The crack in his voice does little to aid him.Buccellati jolts, and Abbacchio turns around quickly, shooting a glare at Mista. He assumes that the expression is for the sake of his surprised counterpart, who clears his throat and sits back in his seat; Buccellati's fingers come up to rub at his temples in exhaustion and the action does not go unnoticed by Abbacchio, who crosses his arms and looks to Mista expectantly. "Make it quick. Bruno and I are busy," the campus officer says, curt as ever. Mista refuses to take it personally."Okay." To stress his point, he uses Abbacchio's first name. "Look, Leone, I, uh... y'know." Mista gestures towards Abbacchio, then the door. "Can I have a few to talk to him alone? It's... It's about —""I know what it's about." Abbacchio cuts in, gaze darkening considerably. "It's about Giorno. It's always about Giorno with you." If Mista knew no better, he would assume that Buccellati and Abbacchio served as Giorno's parents, and not... the hulking principals of their high school who actually are Giorno's parents. The blonde vice principal - Dio Brando - scares the living hell out of Mista, and for good reason: he is absolutely insane. Better yet, he can be downright terrifying, just like Abbacchio. The other principal - the actual one, is Giorno's "nice father," Jonathan Joestar. He is ridiculously kind and understanding, but stern when needed, just like Buccellati.Mista falters a little at the straightforwardness on the campus officer's part, any semblance of confidence now smothered with anxiety. "You're right," he admits, looking to Buccellati for assistance. "Then... if y'know, you can gimme a few minutes to talk to the guy who knows him better than any of us." A shared look between Abbacchio and Buccellati is enough, it seems, to communicate that Buccellati is comfortable speaking alone to Mista about it. The campus officer rests a hand on the dark haired office assistant's shoulder for a moment, a wordless gesture of affection, and then he makes his way to the door, exiting quietly. Though... it is not without a scowl in Mista's direction, no doubt for interrupting the brief snippets of alone time the two get with one another during school hours.Buccellati is, and always will be, much more inviting than his boyfriend. He offers Mista an apologetic smile, beckoning the senior to take a seat beside him. There is an odd comfort to the gesture, Mista realizes, because Buccellati is known for operating in a business fashion. Every conversation is like a meeting or a transaction; when it comes to Buccellati's close friends, though, it is vastly different. "You're welcome to sit," the older man tells Mista, nudging aside paperwork for the time being.Mista sits. It would be rude not to. "Uh... So, y'know, this whole thing with Giorno," he starts awkwardly, pulling his beanie off to run his fingers through short brown tresses. The action is a nervous habit - one Mista tries to exhibit as little as possible because he wants to look "cool" to Giorno and his other comrades. Buccellati is easy to loosen up around, though. "Trish started in on me earlier 'bout it durin' lunch, and... Narancia went on about it in class, and then when I told 'im I didn't wanna talk about it, he told me to come here to you." A sigh is pulled from the senior's lungs and he shrugs, raising both hands up to gesture between the two of them. "And, yeah. Here we are."The expression that crosses Buccellati's face at Mista's explanation is something warm - fond, even. He smiles wider, crossing a leg over his knee at the ankle while he observes Mista. Mista, whose face is three shades of red; Mista, who is fretting uncontrollably about the idea of asking Giorno for anything other than friendship. Mista, who is currently picking at his nails while waiting for the response of his older, wiser comrade of several years."Here we are," Buccellati says, sounding almost nostalgic while he observes the younger man. He begins to say something else, but Mista gets there first."You and Abbacchio were talkin' to him earlier during lunch and you kept lookin' over at me. And even just a minute ago, you two were talking about both of us. I heard ya." He sounds a tad more confrontational than he means to, but the determination to acquire an answer is forefront in Mista's mind. "Wanna tell me what that's about?" The warmth leaves Buccellati's face, but only for a split second. It is replaced with a cool, composed expression. Mista wonders how often the college student practices it in front of the mirror, or if he picked it up from his taller counterpart."Mista," the office assistant begins, uncrossing his legs and sitting up straight in his seat. He looks troubled, and he seems to hesitate. "There are certain things in life that we can control. There are other things we can't. One of those things we can't control is who we fall in love with." The word causes Mista to glower at him and slouch further in his seat, and for a moment, Buccellati looks almost apologetic. "Part of growing up is, well... falling in love. And you might be an adult, but you're still young, just like Leone and I."Buccellati stops here, expression softening more than Mista thinks possible of him. "If anyone understands the frustration of being young and in love, I do. You remember how long I avoided telling him – how long he and I danced around each other before one of us just snapped and said something."Mista wants to know about Buccellati's conversation with Giorno at lunch. "So you were — " A hand is lifted by his longtime friend and Mista falls silent without so much as a grunt in response."Be quiet and listen to me." His expression does not match the stern edge to his tone, and for that, Mista is grateful. "Your situation with Giorno is similar to Leone's and my own. I'm stunned that it's taken you a talk with Trish and Narancia, of all people, to come to me. Honestly." The black haired college student shakes his head, reaching for a stack of paperwork to tidy the haphazard pile. "You may be older and more educated as a whole, but Giorno certainly outshines you in important areas." The statement makes Mista's heart flutter a little, and he rights himself in his seat, elbows resting on his knees while he slouched his shoulders. His head hangs low and Mista purses his lips in thought, counting the tiles beneath his feet while he attempts to put his feelings into words. "Are you sayin' — " Teeth sink into the flesh of his lower lip. "Are you sayin' that he's been comin' to ya... to talk like I'm doin' right now?" The senior lifts his head, dark brown eyes searching Buccellati's neutral visage for any semblance of an answer. Unfortunately, Abbacchio's tendency to mask his feelings with a cold exterior seems to be Buccellati's new tool of trade. He learned from the best. "I'm saying that perhaps you should talk to him about it." Mista hears the flip of a page, coupled with the scrawling noise of the office assistant signing off on something. "Narancia mentioned that you two walk home together every day, and you have since you became friends. I'm certain that you can find the time during a fifteen minute walk to admit your feelings to him." Buccellati's rhythmic movements cease, but only for a moment; without looking, Mista knows that he is being fixed with a stern expression - one that can easily tell Mista that the college student expects him to do as suggested."But what about prom?" Mista asks suddenly, a brief rush of panic traveling through his veins. "What am I gonna do 'bout prom? Trish and Narancia want me to ask him, and before those two said somethin', Fugo told me that he'd probably ask Giorno before I ever could!" The bell rings for the final class of the day to begin. Amidst their chatter, the thirty minute homeroom period has passed. Mista groans, reaching a hand up to scratch at his head. Class is the last thing Mista can focus on right now. "You don't think he will, do ya?""Fugo," Buccellati laughs, "is not interested in Giorno at all." "He's not?" Mista croaks the words in disbelief. His brow creases and he finds himself accepting that answer more easily than anticipated. But still, his curiosity gets the better of him and as he pulls himself upright from his seat, he asks, "then... who's he like?" Buccellati busies himself with writing a late note for Mista rather than answering the question at hand. When he does reply, it is both what Mista wants to hear, and simultaneously not at all what he desires. "He wants to see the two of you together as much of the rest of us. That's just him trying to force you to ask Giorno quicker. I'll agree with those before me. Ask him." The shocked expression on Mista's face is enough to make Buccellati laugh harder than before. The eighteen year old knows that his face is also more red than he could ever imagine, and he adjusts his beanie back over his hair, scowling. "Give me a break!" he snaps in embarrassment, snatching the note from the suddenly outstretched hand of his older friend. Muttering a "thank you" under his breath, he turns to leave the office, noticing that Abbacchio is standing just outside the door. Great. So much for a little privacy.Halfway through the doorway, he is stopped one last time. "Mista?" Buccellati's tone is light. Amused. Mista's head tilts and he looks over his shoulder curiously, wondering what else Buccellati wanted to tell him. The taller male is not looking at him. Instead, he is fully immersed in his paperwork as expected."That's me. What's up?""Fugo is quite fond of Trish." Mista expected as much, but Buccellati pushes a couple of papers aside and eventually meets Mista's gaze with sparkling blue eyes. "Lately, though, I've seen his eyes wandering to a certain childhood friend of yours." The statement stuns and delights Mista all at once, and he barks out an overjoyed laugh. "It's about damn time!" he declares, pushing through the doorway with a grin. He nearly forgets about Abbacchio, who clears his throat and succeeds in making the senior jump out of his skin. Any previous joy is almost snuffed out when he sees the consistent scowl on Abbacchio's expression. After several years of knowing Abbacchio, Mista is accustomed to his unwelcoming nature, but it is definitely easier to overlook it when it is being directed elsewhere. He waits for a moment to be reprimanded for something, — anything — staring at the ground before Abbacchio takes a step towards the doorway."He feels the same." The idle remark stuns Mista. Of course he knew as much from his conversation with Buccellati, but to hear it said outright is another thing. Mista laughs nervously, trailing off when Abbacchio continues. "He talks to Bruno and I about you every single day.""Thanks, man." Mista is grateful, and he offers the campus officer a heartfelt grin. The upward curve of Abbacchio's mouth into a little smile sets Mista's heart at ease more than expected, and he raises his hand up in a wave as he rounds the corner and trots to his last class of the day.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
As he walks into his final class, Mista noticed that the teacher is presently nowhere to be found — probably a bathroom break or something before the beginning of class — and he passes his late note off with a wave of his hand over the trash can. Mista takes his seat adjacent to Fugo in the section of desks placed off into threes in the classroom, all facing each other, and still wonders why his teacher insisted upon sectioning students off in groups of three, but decides that three is, without a doubt, better than four.His fear of the number started with the desire to get a cat.From a young age, Mista's soft spot for animals shined through every time he stumbled across a stray. Even though his rough exterior kept quite a few people at bay, animals always seemed to gravitate towards him. Mista often wanted a cat — controversially high maintenance, independent little purrboxes that would either snuggle or scratch a person all depending on their mood — and one day, he got his wish, though much later than he originally anticipated.A fellow Mista knew harbored a litter of four kittens, born from a mother cat which the man still planned to keep. He could no longer keep the kittens, though, and so he kept them in a box on his front porch with a sign that said "free kittens." Mista wanted one in particular — a little black one with large green eyes — and when he stopped by to take one of the kittens, another man held one near his face. The kitten seemed agitated, and Mista watched as the kitten squirmed around and clawed the man's eye out. That particular scene traumatized Mista, and his panic-addled mind supplied that because the man took a kitten from a litter of four, he sealed his fate unknowingly.He did not return the next day to take a kitten from the litter. He returned four days after the incident — unbeknownst to him until he thought back on it — and when he arrived, someone had taken kitten Mista so desired. Later thinking on it fueled his fear of the number four — he read somewhere once that the Japanese held a fear of the number because it sounded like the term for "death," and now he understood why. Of course, Mista did find a kitten to eventually take in. It differed greatly from the first kitten Mista wanted; this one, a mackerel tabby with paws that looked as though the kitten stepped in white paint, stole Mista's heart from the moment he laid eyes on her. Timid as ever, she would only come out to play when night time arrived; otherwise, she would lay at the foot of Mista's bed and mew at him.He named her "Aria," and fell into a routine of spending at least ten minutes with her every day before he left for school, whether it made him later for class or not. The benefits of living on his own for the last four years seemed to amass as time went by.That number again? Damn it. Something bad would happen this year, Mista suspected.Who knew that a fear of the number in his childhood would translate so late into his life? The nostalgia of the phobia causes Mista to scowl. "Four" showed up everywhere, and at the worst of times."Damn number. Better not see it today or my chances are fucked." Mista mutters it under his breath, but Fugo's ears are sharp enough to understand his statement. The pale haired sixteen year old looks at the senior, almost smug. "Chances of what, Mista?" Fugo's tone, as always, sounds equal parts catty and equal parts sincere. The only way Mista knows that Fugo is sincere in his curiosity is the way the underclassman leans forward so Mista can speak quieter. Fugo's hands prop his chin up while he waits patiently for an answer, and Mista thinks offhand that, in some way, everyone is influenced by Buccellati. The action is a mirror image of how Buccellati sits when he is waiting for an answer to his questions."Oh, fuck yerself." The words are biting, but Mista is grinning in spite of them. "The whole prom thing is what I'm thinkin' about."Fugo begins to say something, but Narancia striding into the classroom renders him silent. Mista is not lost on the way that Fugo's eyes remain locked to the senior as Narancia drops his bag, sits down, and loosens the collar of his shirt in exasperation. "It's hot," the seventeen year old mutters, fanning himself. In the same motion, Narancia pulls his cell-phone from his pocket, glaring at the screen for a minute before he puts it face down on the desk. "It's hot," he repeats under his breath, and then adds, louder, "and girls are tough to deal with." He speaks while tilting his head back to glare at the ceiling, slouching in his seat. Mista nods in agreement, casting a sideways glance at Fugo when the fair-haired male stays silent. His silence speaks loud enough to the eighteen year old, intended or not.Mista understands the unwritten look of desire in Fugo's dark eyes — something not so much carnal as it is bona fide. There is also an unspoken fury displayed in the way Fugo looks at Narancia — an expression equal to someone looking at a person they know they can never call their own — and for that reason alone, Mista keeps his mouth shut aside from asking, "Fugo, what were you gonna say, again?" Mista notices how the question seems to startle the youngest member of their current trio, who jerks his head towards Mista, mustering a bitter smile."I —" The sixteen year old shifts in his seat, briefly glaring at Narancia's phone as it vibrates again. "...I forgot." The two word answer holds more weight to it than Narancia is aware of, even if one took away the sour note Fugo's voice held; a shared look between the two of them assures Mista that Fugo remembers perfectly, but his attention is so lost in thoughts of Narancia that conversation with Mista has been rendered null. Mista can accept that, and he turns the topic of discussion away from his own situation to Narancia's as smoothly as possible, in spite of whether Fugo wants to hear about it or not. Mista certainly does.Leaning forward in his own seat, Mista reaches forward and taps the back of Narancia's phone. "What's goin' on with the ladies this time?" he teases, sparing a glance at Fugo, whose glare promises the most agonizing of deaths. It reminds Mista of the way he felt earlier in the day when Trish confronted him about his feelings for Giorno, and while he feels some level of sympathy, he knows that his actions are a necessary evil if Fugo ever plans to tell Narancia of his feelings.Narancia's exasperated noise makes Mista laugh. "Trish won't go to prom with me!" he laments, rolling his eyes and waving his hands erratically. "I've asked her and she's not interested at all, but she's playing match-maker and tryin'a get me to go to prom with some mystery date!" The lanky senior grabs his phone up from its place on the desk, scrolling through text messages to show Mista the girl's statements. He reads them, passing the phone to Fugo with Narancia's permission. Narancia sits back in his seat, crossing his arms. "She says someone we know likes me and definitely wants to go with me, but she isn't tellin' me anything about who it could be! I don't really wanna go with anyone else but her, anyways, so... even if I did find out, I'd probably just turn 'em down."That statement is enough to even unsettle Mista, whose stomach drops at Narancia's words. Dark brown eyes dart to Fugo, who, although already pale, has turned whiter than a sheet. The grip on Narancia's phone is dangerously tight in Fugo's hands, and the oldest of the trio wonders if the youngest will break it by mistake. Mista knows what is about to come next, and he also knows that there is nothing he can do to ease Fugo's rage, and that makes the situation worse, considering their position in a classroom full of students waiting for their teacher to enter."I don't know why anyone would want to go with an idiot like you, anyways," Fugo snaps suddenly, tossing Narancia's phone back at him with enough force to break it if it hit the ground. Lucky for him, Narancia catches it, although Mista can see that he is stunned by the sudden outburst. That, of course, goes away in all of three seconds because Narancia explodes into a fit of rage like he always does when Fugo says something heated to him."God damn you, Fugo! I'm gonna fuck you up!" Narancia declares loudly, yanking himself up from his seat fast enough to startle the other students in the classroom. Everyone's attention zeroes in on the duo, the room falling silent; Fugo is quick to follow Narancia's movements, standing up and reaching for Narancia's shirt to drag him closer just as Narancia pulls his fist back to strike. Mista knows better than to throw himself in the midst of their arguments — they never last long. This one is abruptly cut short when the teacher walks back into the classroom, locking eyes with the duo, and then Mista.Mista's hands go up in a motion of surrender, as though to say, "I'm not involved in this." The situation ends with Narancia and Fugo being sent to the office with their belongings, with Mista following after them to give his account of the incident. Suffice it to say, this is just another typical day in calculus for them.On their walk there, Mista keeps a fair distance between the two of them. He takes notice of the way Narancia keeps at least a foot between them as they walk beside each other, contrary to the usual stance of practically leaning on Fugo. On Fugo's behalf, Mista notices the way the taller of the two is slouching, glaring down at the ground. Fugo's mood especially sours when they make it to the office and Buccellati looks up to the three of them with a disappointed expression. A shake of Buccellati's head furthers the dismal atmosphere, and Mista almost wants to apologize before he realizes that Buccellati is absorbed in paperwork yet again."Mista, sit." The tone is much less welcoming than only a little while earlier, and this time he sits down, watching Buccellati point towards Jonathan Joestar's office. "You two, go speak to the principal." As an afterthought, Buccellati adds, "I should send both of you to Dio. You're lucky I care about you two as much as I do, otherwise I'd let him sentence you to a much worse punishment." The conversation with them ends there, and Mista overhears Jonathan welcoming them into the room while he sits and waits for Buccellati to reprimand him for being involved in the situation.He waits.And waits.And waits.The college student puts his pen down and Mista readies himself for a tongue-lashing. Instead, he's met with Buccellati's amused expression. "What on earth happened between those two?" he asks, glancing at the clock. "You have a few minutes to tell me before your rendezvous with Giorno."Mista launches into the story, telling Buccellati about Trish, Narancia, and the way he saw Fugo look at Narancia right before they got into it. The story is elaborate, but to the point, but Buccellati's attention is entirely focused on Mista until the senior sits back and says, "and now we're here," all while motioning to the office. His own gaze lands on the clock now, his mind offering that there are five minutes before classes are dismissed and he will need to head out to meet Giorno in the courtyard. Buccellati, ever perceptive, takes note of this."You seem like you have somewhere you'd rather be." Said with a smile, Buccellati glances towards the door. Mista glances to it as well, and then back to Buccellati in question. "I know how those two are, so we don't need to discuss it any further. You can go now, if you'd like." The office assistant puts away the last of his paperwork for the day and spares a glance to his cell phone. "I'll tell Jonathan you had somewhere to be if he asks why I allowed you out of school ten minutes earlier than everyone else." As if on cue, Mista hears Narancia burst into another uproar about something related to Fugo; Buccellati seems to have heard it as well, because he adds, "...I imagine he'll be busy with those two for a while, though."The senior laughs, shaking his head gently. He pulls himself up from the seat, stretching. "They'll work it out, man. They always do.""I could say the same for you and Giorno. Good luck with him," Buccellati offers, gentle enough to remind Mista of a mother. In spite of the anxiety causing butterflies in his stomach and the nervous thrumming of his heart, he gives the older male a smile to match the one he gave Abbacchio earlier that day, and nods."I'll do my best." Mista promises, making a quick exit from the office before the crowds of students come pouring out into the halls and the main lobby. He trots down the steps into the courtyard, hopping on top of one of the walls while he waits for the final bell of the day to ring and dismiss the many students of his school. The sun is warm, and it works well to ease his nerves somewhat as he pulls his own phone from the waistband of his pants, checking his social media accounts. It is Friday, so his social media has already flickered to life with people in other circles talking about parties and plans for the weekend. Mista's plans are as followed: go home, play with Aria after homework and dinner, think about Giorno, will away the urge to jerk off thanks to thinking about Giorno, and eventually do it, scream angrily into a pillow. Oh, gotta make time to cry, watch some TV... and maybe play the latest Fallout game or Mass Effect. Or maybe some Grand Theft Auto, since that is pretty fun when he feels terrible. Uh... think about Giorno some more, and then go to bed and repeat the process the next day.Essentially, it is the same schedule Mista has occupied for a year and a handful of months. His life has become too entwined with Giorno to tangle now, even if things go wrong; that offers him small comfort, though.The school bell ringing tears him through his thoughts, and Mista sits atop the three foot brick wall surrounding the courtyard, scraping the dirt off one of his boots with a fingernail in the meantime. Students begin to steadily filter out of the school to mingle and either drive home, be picked up by their parents, ride the bus, or walk home. Some move to other parts of the school for after school clubs, and while Mista briefly acknowledges one or two attractive underclassmen girls with a grin, his attention shifts once he notices Narancia and Fugo walking down the steps beside one another. Even from a distance, Mista can tell that in spite of whatever argument the duo had in the office, they are back to normal. Narancia is jabbing at Fugo, who is tormenting Narancia with a barrage of clever insults, true to form.He waves to them, noticing the way that Fugo's mouth quirks into a smile when he notices Mista. Whether it is because he has worked things out with Narancia, or he knows why Mista is lingering behind, he has no idea. There is little time to think on it, though, especially when someone clears their throat softly to the right of him. Mista turns his head, heart thudding painfully when he realizes that Giorno is standing there, observing him with one of those serene smiles he graces Mista with more than anyone else.Mista clears his own throat in embarrassment, muttering, "yo. Ready to go?" without meeting Giorno's gaze. He internally curses when he hears the slight crack to his own voice, but Giorno either overlooks it or simply does not notice. The blonde nods, adjusting the strap of his bookbag on one shoulder while Mista hops off the wall in a less-than-graceful movement. He stumbles, catching his footing at the last second, and scowls when he hears soft laughter.Dammit. Giorno's laugh is cute."Ever graceful, aren't you?" the sophomore teases, expression full of mirth. Mista rolls his eyes, rounding the corner of the wall to begin the walk home with Giorno."Far from it." Mista's tone is wry, but not in such a way that it will ward Giorno off. He walks quickly by habit to get where he needs to go, and a glance behind him tells him that Giorno has no intentions of rushing their walk home together. He never does. Mista thinks offhand that Giorno is really the only person in the world that he will slow down for, because he halts and waits for the shorter male to come to his side before he begins walking again. This is all natural to them — this mismatched pace that eventually falls into the same step.There is Mista, impatient to get out of school's captivity to enjoy the more simple things in life — no certain future ahead of him... And then there is Giorno. Giorno, who patiently allows life to work its magic while he dictates his own intricate future with polite words and a professional attitude. But Mista knows better than anyone, that beneath the polite exterior lay a person too afraid to let anyone in for fear of losing it all.Mista knows, because he is the exact same way at heart."Unlike some of us, I didn't take dance classes from the time I was a kid 'til my freshman year of high school." The remark is met with another soft laugh, this one tinged with a hint of bitterness. Mista knows that Giorno's childhood has been dictated by Dio, whose expectations of him are greater than anything Mista could imagine, and for that reason, he stays quiet while they walk off the campus and down the sidewalk towards their homes.Giorno breaks the silence with a question Mista has been dreading for days. "Are you planning to go to prom?"Mista hesitates with his answer. He has no idea how to approach the topic, and he lets a sigh slip past. His shoulders lift and fall in a shrug, and he glances up at the sky thoughtfully, tilting his head to the right so his eyes will fall on Giorno. "I 'unno," he replies truthfully, reaching for his phone to look at the time. They have ten minutes more of walking together. How much ground Mista can cover in ten minutes is left up for debate, but he continues anyways. "I ain't got a date, so I been thinkin' 'bout passin' it up."From the corner of his eye, Mista can see the way Giorno lowers his head to fuss with his cell phone for a moment. He is texting someone, from what Mista can tell of it. "I see," the blonde puts his phone back into his pocket, brow furrowed. "Admittedly, I am a little surprised that you've not found a date." The statement causes Mista to laugh in embarrassment, adjusting his beanie while averting his gaze from the younger male."I've asked a couple girls I've got on my facebook. They said no, but it's all cool. They're both real nice so I'm still chattin' with 'em." Mista speaks with a level of distance, a vague attempt to stay disconnected from the source of his current issue: asking Giorno to prom. The remark is halfhearted, and from the looks of it, Giorno is far from convinced. If anything, his expression offers some sort of distaste for Mista's efforts, which, of course, does not go unnoticed."Mista, there's something I've been meaning to speak to you about."The statement makes the senior's stomach drop. Mista readies himself for what he knows is coming and he can barely still the waver in his tone. "Sure. Shoot.""Why have you been avoiding me lately?"
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Why have you been avoiding me lately?"
Oh, no. This is because Mista thought of the number four today — it has to be! His luck is seriously only this bad when that number comes up, even in his thoughts.The awkward laugh that the senior offers cuts through the uneasy silence, but it rings in his ears long after the sound dissipates. Mista is, without a doubt, at a loss for excuses. He can scarcely bring himself to lie to Giorno as it is, and trying to direct the topic to something else will only make Giorno angrier and more suspicious. "I just... y'know, GioGio, I've been busy. Senior classes are a little more difficult than sophomore ones and all, so... Ain't had as much time to shoot the breeze with ya."The amount that Giorno visibly relaxes at the use of the familiar nickname contrasts with the bite to his tone. "I understand that," he says, and Mista wonders how three words can send chills up his spine, be it out of fear or some strange fascination. That thought is cut short when the smaller male continues, stopping dead in his tracks to level Mista with sharp blue eyes. "But if you think I'm going to accept that as an excuse when you've made time to chat at five in the morning before, you are mistaken." Mista hesitates, heart beating out of his chest to the point that there is a genuine ache in his breast. He knows that his face reads of a guilty conscience if his slouched poster fails to, and the senior pushes his beanie back to card a hand through choppy strands of coffee brown. He opens his mouth to speak — to explain the reason why."Have I done something to upset you, Mista..?" Giorno's next words abruptly cut him off and the slightly wounded expression on the blonde's face breaks his heart in the same second. Moments like these — rare flickers of the feelings Giorno so carefully holds at bay — are what Mista finds himself thinking back on constantly. He cherishes them, and while he would like nothing more than to appreciate the fact that Giorno trusts him enough to display any emotions at all, the brunette can barely believe that he has hurt Giorno in any way at all. Dramatic as it may be, Mista would rather shoot himself in the foot — or any body part, really — than intentionally or unintentionally hurt the sophomore staring at him.Mista is torn between laughing in disbelief, brushing it off, and pulling the blonde into his arms for eternity. He settles for none of those options, instead swallowing down the catch in his throat to speak up. Fingers rub at the back of his own neck in a motion of anxiety, attempting to soothe the stress he can feel building and weighing him down as the seconds pass. "Giorno, Christ, no!" He blurts the denial out before giving it proper thought, and he adds onto his statement with heightened embarrassment, "honestly, you've not done nothin' wrong. I've just been real busy."Giorno watches him carefully. His expression is entirely unreadable as he quietly says, "Trish told me something in class today."Oh, God. His heart-rate quickens to a pace that threatens either an anxiety attack or a heart attack at the rate things are going, and the senior feels his stomach turn over and drop like a sinking ship. Frozen on the spot, Mista stares at the blonde, feeling the size of an ant. The stony look on Giorno's visage is enough to make him shudder, and he turns his gaze away, trying to count the cracks in the sidewalk all the while. "What'd she tell you?" The hesitation is enough to make Mista shift on his feet uneasily, swallowing hard. "She told me that you're in love with someone." Mista swears that he hears Giorno falter as he speaks, and dark brown eyes lift to see if he has heard correctly. He still struggles to understand the emotion on the blonde's face - he has yet to see anything like it from Giorno, in all of their time of being around one another. "Is that true?" the smaller male eventually asks, voice reaching a tone Mista has never heard before. He can barely breathe, let alone speak, so he only nods.Giorno, whose hands are clenched into fists, relaxes visibly and reaches a hand up to adjust the braid trailing down his shoulders. It is a habit only Mista has observed as being the result of nervousness, and part of him wants to ask what Giorno has to be nervous about. He knows, because Abbacchio and Buccellati have told him that Giorno feels the same, but he can bring himself to act on it as much as he can dance.Mista cannot dance. At all."It makes sense now," the sophomore says, starting to walk again. Mista stands there a moment longer before he follows dutifully, head ducked down in guilt. "That's why you've not wanted to be around me." As he comes to an even pace with Giorno again, he can better glimpse the younger male's face, and he notices that the blonde is almost smiling. The quirk of Giorno's lips upwards is both endearing and maddening to Mista, whose heart clenches painfully in his chest. "You've found someone else to spend your time with." Cerulean eyes flicker to the senior, and then away once more. "I can accept that. I only wish you had told me sooner."
What?
"Hold on," Mista cuts in, fingers clenching in the strap of his backpack as he adjusts it with shaking hands. "Hold on," he repeats, and his brows have sloped downward enough to make him appear almost as angry as he feels. "What'n the hell are you talkin' about, Giorno? Seriously, where are you gettin' all this from?" The senior demands, lifting his other hand up in question. The silence that fills the air between the two is enough to make Mista wonder if perhaps he should say something else; judging by the crawl of surprise over Giorno's expression — it almost makes the brunette want to laugh. Giorno is rarely so open with how he feels. In fact, he seems as blown away as Mista is.Like the snap of one's fingers, another reaction for Mista to cherish in his mind's eye is gone with the wind as he spits out a reply to the blonde. "There's nothin' to tell you 'cause I don't like anyone like that." A lie. A lie makes things easier on Mista, who is still struggling to admit how he feels for his best friend. A lie makes things less connected — it adds a sense of distance, and right now, Mista needs that. He has never lied to Giorno, and it makes him nauseous to do it now, but... Still, the senior begins walking, his steps brisk and filled with contempt at the situation he has landed himself in. If only Mista had kept his feelings to himself. If only, if only.Giorno begins walking again, if the light sounds of footsteps are enough to tell Mista anything. Giorno's voice wafts through the air, and Mista feels the muscles in his shoulders tensing. "It isn't in Trish's nature to lie, especially to me — " The senior whirls around then, brows knitted and teeth clenched in a show of true anger — a sight Giorno has yet to see in all of his time of knowing Mista. Of course he has been a witness to the occasional outburst of disgust or irritation from the senior, but not like this. Never like this.Desire is an ugly thing, Mista realizes, and he is slowly beginning to understand why Fugo consistently holds so much rage in his soul. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to angrily tell Giorno every emotion wrecking havoc on his mind in these particular seconds and instead, he attempts to cool the blaze of unrequited affection that ruins any semblance of the Mista that Giorno and his comrades are familiar with. Dark brown eyes search deep into opposing sapphire from their distance apart, brows knitted while Mista says, carefully, "there is nobody, Giorno. Nobody." Good, the older male thinks to himself, jaw set enough to drag up a slight ache in his teeth and gums. Good, lie. That's the only way you'll get out of this, is if you lie to him. "Don't worry about it," Mista continues, turning his back to Giorno.The statement seems to make its impact on Giorno, who remains silent and follows.The remainder of their walk follows that same silence to Giorno's doorstep.Thankfully, both of Giorno's fathers are still at the school; from what Mista gathers, DIO already cannot stand that Mista walks Giorno home each day. In fact, from what Giorno has disclosed to Mista in brief conversation, it took hours of Giorno's nicer father, Jonathan, coaxing DIO for the blonde, scarier parent to tolerate Mista being anywhere near their son. In the back of his mind, the senior thinks that he would prefer the company of DIO threatening to rip him apart piece by piece, rather than this awkward discomfort he has subjected himself, and Giorno, to.Speaking of the sophomore, Mista's attention flickers back and he notices that the blonde is standing in front of his doorway. His back is to the brunette, but from what Mista can see, he seems to be hesitating to let himself inside and wave Mista goodbye like he has every day for well over a year. The clench of Giorno's fist once, and then twice, makes Mista wonder if perhaps the other male wants him to just leave.He takes that as his sign to leave, and he turns. Begins to walk away.Something stops him. Amidst the sounds of cars passing, birds chirping, and the world around them still moving, Mista only seems to truly hear the hesitant edge to Giorno's voice when he asks, "Mista..?" The tone pulls at the older male's heartstrings, and he turns back, pulling his beanie lower on his head for an excuse to hide the guilty expression. He knows why Giorno sounds hurt. This is all Mista's fault, after all. If he told Giorno his feelings, none of this would have happened.For now, though, he stands still and waits. He listens to a sound that only he knows — a sound Giorno has only ever let him hear in the middle of the night during sleepovers, when they have heart to hearts about their families. The sound of Giorno's breath wavering, unsteady. The sound of the blonde everyone knows to be so strong and reserved, coming apart at the seams. Mista has never heard Giorno cry, but he imagines that this is what happens right before he does. He finds that he never really wants to, even if all he has thought about for months is a future with Giorno. A life with the blonde, once he graduates, goes to college, and follows his dreams.Mista wants to follow Giorno to the ends of the earth and back again, but he never wants to hear Giorno cry. Especially not because of something Mista has done."Yeah?" he asks, heart pounding anxiously in his chest. He wonders, a stray thought in his mind, if Giorno will confess his feelings here, like something out of the movies he watches often. The movies that he begs the blonde to watch, but Giorno always refuses, and Mista allows him that, grudgingly. "What is it, GioGio?""Ah, nothing. You should go." The sudden razor sharp edge to the younger male's tone stuns Mista. Did he just imagine Giorno sounding hurt..? No... The tremble in Giorno's hands as he pushes stray locks behind an ear, is enough to tell Mista that the hurt sound from Giorno was genuine. It both upsets and angers Mista at the same time, and he breathes slowly through his teeth to quell some of the urge to snap at the blonde. Giorno's hand settles on his front door, the key already in the lock, and the door is opening with a soft creak when Mista speaks up, eyes locked on his comrade's retreating figure."Was Abbacchio serious when he said that you like me?" The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and Mista is surprised that Giorno stops in his tracks. He almost, just for a moment, wants to take it back and apologize, but Giorno barely gives him a chance to even breathe before he shakes his head fiercely. "Thank you for walking me home." The gratitude seems — no, it is — forced. "I'll be going now." The blonde tells Mista, pulling the door open further to step inside. Without looking back at Mista, he shuts the door and the brunette hears the click of the lock.It hurts Mista more than it probably ought to.He stands on the doorstep of Giorno's home and just stares at the closed door, yanking off his beanie so he can run a hand through his hair. "Fuck," he mumbles to himself. "You fucking idiot." He turns, still swearing at himself, and begins the walk to his home, only a block or so away. A hand reaches into his pocket, closes around his phone, and Mista drags the device out in order to send a text to Buccellati.
Me: Bruno, I fucked up.
He waits for just a second, phone in his grasp while he walks, before Buccellati reads the reply and three dots alert Mista that a reply is being written.
Mom-Friend: And how, exactly, did you do that?
Mista sighs through his nose and hits the phone button in the upper right-hand corner of his screen. With the phone to his ear, he waits, listening to the monotonous ringing until he hears his college comrade answer, although not without a complaint from Abbacchio in the background."I'll ask again," Buccellati says, voice slightly muffled through the phone. The familiar static soothes Mista's racing mind as the office assistant asks, "how did you manage to screw up a fifteen minute walk home?" A laugh escapes Mista and he thinks of a reply. "He, uh... fuck. Trish told him I liked someone, and I 'unno how she told him, but he thinks that I like someone else, and — ""Did you tell him that that wasn't the case?""Well... yeah," Mista says stupidly, shoving his beanie into his back pocket for the time being. "Yeah, man, I told him that, but I kinda said that I didn't really like nobody like that, and I think..." The senior hesitates, nervously laughing again while waving his free hand in the air. He realizes that Buccellati cannot see the motion, but he continues anyways. "I think he thinks now that I don't even like him, and like... I asked 'im when we got to his place if what Abbacchio said was true, and he kinda told me to 'fuck off' in that GioGio-esque way of his. Y'know how I mean."The roar of anger in the background causes Mista to yank the phone away from his ear and he can hear Abbacchio snarling something at him even with the phone a foot away from his head. He can barely make out Buccellati's attempts to quiet his angry counterpart before he says, "Mista?""What?""You, ah... You weren't really supposed to know that Giorno told us anything." Buccellati sounds, at the very least, agitated. Whether the feeling is towards Mista, or the fact that Abbacchio is angry, Mista is uncertain. "Oh, well. There isn't much we can do about it now. I'll smooth things over on our end on Monday." Mista makes a disgruntled sound into the receiver, which earns a gentle snicker from the college student on the other end. "You, though... I'm afraid I can't meddle in your affairs any more than I already have. You'll have to sort things out for yourself, pronto."Mista sighs again, rounding the corner of the block to his own home. "Yeah, got it. I'll figure somethin' out.""Of course you will," Buccellati agrees, and his tone is warm again; a good sign, compared to the unhappy muttering from Abbacchio on the other end. "I don't think that even this could truly come between the two of you." The statement makes Mista's heart flutter a little, and as he unlocks the front door to his home and greets Aria, who is waiting at the door for him, he considers it. He wants to say more, but Buccellati interjects with, "I need to finish some things up on my end. Let me know how things go, as always."The brunette nods, then says, "yeah, got'cha. We'll talk soon. Thanks man." The phone call ends there, and Mista makes his way into his home after dropping his bag by the front door. He picks Aria up, nestling his face into her fur, and heaves a sigh."What'm I gonna do, little girl?" he mutters, resting his chin atop her head as she meows insistently and nuzzles into his neck. He sets her down and eventually gets around to feeding her.The night passes slowly from there, and six in the evening finds Mista laying on his bed, staring up at his ceiling. A stray thought causes him to look at his phone and check his social media. The situation with Giorno ended three hours ago, and since then, Giorno has yet to appear on Facebook, Twitter, or... really, anywhere. The brunette takes it upon himself to pull up his last texts with the blonde and look through them, scowling at how different things were only a couple of days before.He takes it upon himself to attempt texting Giorno.
Me: Yo. Can we talk?
He lays there, staring at his phone; the anticipation for the blonde to reply to him is enough to make his stomach turn.Five minutes go by.Ten minutes.Fifteen.At twenty minutes with a significant lack of a reply — enough to tell the brunette that Giorno is bothered in some way or another — Mista rolls over on his bed and finally caves in. He calls Giorno, one hand propping him up while he bites his lip and just waits. On the next to last ring, Giorno answers."Mista." The bite to his tone is enough to make Mista's stomach sink, but the joy of the blonde actually answering is enough to override that feeling. He sits upright on the bed, smiling for the first time since their earlier exchange, swallowing hard as Giorno says, "I'm listening."This is an area where Mista fails. Expressing his feelings for Giorno, when they come out all wrong and make him look like a fool. "Look, uh..." He has nearly chewed a hole into his lower lip, and he stares down at the floor as he finally says, "I'm sorry about earlier.""Is that all?" Mista winces. Giorno is being colder than normal, and Mista understands why."Just — I really am sorry. I don't want this to come between us, okay?" He swallows again, attempting to clear the awkward catch in his throat as he says, "I dunno if it'll make you angry or somethin', but I hope... I hope that Abbacchio wasn't wrong, actually." His heart is racing to a point that it genuinely hurts, and an absent thought reminds him to breathe. "If he was, then, y'know, can we just forget about it?"Giorno is quiet. His tone is hollow when he does speak, and his words make Mista's heart sink."He was wrong."He forces himself to laugh into the receiver in a weak attempt to muffle the searing pain that catches him and forces him to drop his elbows onto his knees while he holds the phone. Mista's head hangs low, and he feels worse than any time anyone has kicked him in the stomach. "Alright," he allows, clearing his throat. "Alright, that's cool, man. It better not make things weird between us, yeah?" Mista's tone, thankfully, stays level."That's fine. I'll see you on Monday." His tone has certainly softened since before, but... Something in Mista's brain refuses to accept that as an answer. Just before Giorno can hang up, he speaks up quickly."Wait, wait, Giorno — Plea—just, uh, just don't go yet. Don't go." Shit, what is he doing? "I know I just made shit really weird, but do you wanna come over and spend the night if your dads will let ya? We can play games and stuff; I've — fuck, man, it's been like three hours since we talked, I know, but I miss you." He knows that his statement is the wrong one, because Giorno's silence makes him sick to his stomach. In all the attempts to ask a girl out — in being denied a thousand times and bouncing back a thousand more — Mista can never recall a time that his heart has ached. He can never recall a time that Giorno's silence left him feeling so devastated, so at a loss. He has no idea what to do about it."Give me time to think it over," Giorno eventually murmurs, heaving a sigh from the other end of the phone. "I'll let you know within the hour.""Yeah, I'll be waitin'." Mista attempts to sound cheerful. He truly does. However, when Giorno bids him farewell and the line goes dead, he sits on his bed, phone in his hands. He attempts to tell himself that Giorno is still on the line — that things are alright — but the anxiety overtaking his entire body assures him otherwise. He lays back on the bed again, staring up at the ceiling while he waits. Giorno's earlier remark lingers forefront in his mind. He was wrong. His phone vibrates not long after. It's been ten minutes since the phone call at the most and Mista checks it at lightning speed, heart sinking when he reads Giorno's text.
Blondie: I think I'll pass on the offer to spend the night. I'll see you on Monday, Mista.
Me: Yeah, that's chill, man. See ya monday.
He throws his phone to the side once the reply has sent, laughing at the absurdity of it all while his hands rub over his face. Mista pulls himself up from his bed and makes his way to the bathroom, staring into the bathroom mirror with tired brown eyes. At eighteen years old, romance should be the least of his troubles, but here he is, pining for his best friend, and stuck in such a rut about it that he has entirely no idea what to do. He turns the water on, scrubs his face clean in an attempt to wash away the hurt, and lifts his head to look at himself."You want something you know you can't have, Mista," he tells his reflection. "But you're chasing it anyways. It's stupid. You're being stupid."He only wishes that he could stop the choke in his voice as he laughs again and turns his back to the mirror, trudging to his bed and throwing himself onto it with a sigh. This weekend is gonna suck.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
What do you do when you love someone, and you feel as though you are about to lose them?Mista wonders this as he sits on his bed the following Saturday morning, staring at his phone. He scrolls through endless messages; since they met, regardless of the amount of phone storage it takes up, Mista has held onto every text from Giorno. Call it obsessive — Mista just calls it being lovesick. Every conversation seems to lead to something more between the two of them, if the increasing pet names for one another, and the endless teasing is anything to go by. There are too many crossed lines between the two of them for Mista to sit back and accept that there is nothing romantic lingering behind Giorno's actions and words. People who don't feel for you in some way, don't sound on the verge of tears when you confront them about their feelings, his mind offers. Especially not people like Giorno — people who are poised and elegant to outside eyes. People who scarcely reveal glimpses of their true nature in slips of the tongue, or heartfelt laughs at things that, in the presence of others, would not amuse them so greatly. People like Giorno are careful in what they want others to know, and they refuse to allow anyone to untuck corners of their carefully ironed lives unless they desire it. They are human lock-boxes, to which no one seems to possess a key. People like Giorno are experts at hiding the skeletons in their closets, and making their dirty laundry look brand new again. People like Giorno are sophisticated grace — the closest thing to perfection that one can really achieve.People like Giorno are the most genuine when confronted so outright.There are no other people in Mista's world like Giorno.The brunette is lost in thought, to say the least, and every single thought revolves around the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, nymph-like beauty he calls his best friend. The more Mista thinks about Giorno, the more his heart aches as he scrolls through the remaining texts, the last one from the blonde pulling a disgruntled sigh from his throat.
I think I'll pass on the offer to spend the night. I'll see you on Monday, Mista.
Dark eyes stare at the phone a moment longer, and while Mista wants nothing more than to throw his phone aside and avoid it altogether for the rest of the day, his heart tells him otherwise. He wants to speak to Giorno — to resolve things quickly, painlessly — but... he cannot will away the sensation that perhaps he is losing what he could possibly have with Giorno. Whatever relationship they have, Mista still desires to hold onto it — Giorno is precious to him in that way. Even friendship would be enough, the senior tells himself often. But though he says that, Mista oftentimes behaves like a child whose favorite toy has been taken away, just at the prospect of not being in a relationship with Giorno. A romantic one, anyways. ... He realizes, dully, that he may be a hypocrite.Looking at the final messages from the night before, he observes that his own reply seems a tad stilted, and Mista wonders if Giorno can tell how the Italian truly feels just with a few typed out words. Things are, in fact, not chill like Mista claimed. Calloused fingers move to type a new message, one that asks "hey, you doin' okay, GioGio?" and then the older teenager hesitates. Giorno said that he would see Mista on Monday — did that mean that he planned on avoiding conversation with Mista until then..? Mista shakes his head, deleting the message and watching the continuous blink of the cursor while he looks for some way to bridge the suddenly widened gap between the two of them.Me: I know this is outta the blue an' all, but I wanted to ask... do you wanna go to prom with me or somethin'? He writes out the inquiry quickly, glancing over it with growing anxiety.Mother Theresa, Mary, and baby Jesus, no, Mista thinks. He would rather die than send that to Giorno. A one way ticket to Giovanna-Brando-Joestar-Hell definitely is not the way Mista wants his life to end. Nope. No thank you.A press of his finger on the backspace button, and the message disappears, along with most of his courage to send anything at all. Still, he types out a two word inquiry, saying a silent prayer to whatever Gods may listen that he gets a response of any sort. Really... he dreads a response at all. Especially if Giorno planned to maintain that clipped, distant sort of socialization with Mista, instead of the warmer, more welcoming personality that the senior had come to hold so dear.
Me: You up?
Good. A simple question that he can pass off later as just innocent curiosity. Really, though, Mista's stomach has since clenched and the abject horror at potential responses warrants an uneasy shiver from the senior. He readies himself to wait for radio silence all day long, but when his phone buzzes briefly in his grasp, it startles him.
Blondie: I am. It's unusual for you to be awake this early. Do you need something, Mista?
A stunned laugh escapes him, and Mista reaches his other hand up to rub at his face in exhaustion. Giorno seems to know him all too well. Mista has barely slept all night — be it from sexual frustration or heartache, no one really knows for certain — and he wonders, briefly, if perhaps Giorno lost sleep over him as well. Wishful thinking. Of course not — Giorno had already clarified that Mista's feelings went unreturned, and there was no real need to dwell upon it further than that.
Me: I didn't get a whole lotta sleep last night. I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were doin' alright after yesterday and all.
He sends the message, and although his phone says that Giorno has read the message almost immediately, he waits almost ten minutes for a reply. Ten agonizing minutes, spent wondering if he should have said anything at all, or if he would have done better to keep quiet. Ten minutes of fidgeting in place, making disgruntled, exasperating sigh noises, clenching onto his phone just a little tighter to soothe the ache in his chest. Mista always talked too much — spoke unnecessarily and put his foot in his mouth — and this seemed to be a case example.
Blondie: I'm fine.
Mista falters just a little at the two word response. He begins to wonder if Giorno would, in fact, treat him coldly today as well. However, his heart rate picks up that much more when Giorno begins typing another response, which the brunette suspects may be just as withdrawn.
Blondie: I apologize for jumping to any conclusions yesterday. I hope you'll forgive me for being crude.
The statement stuns Mista, who blinks at his phone once, then twice. His heart rate has begun to quicken in that anxious way it always does when anything circles back to Giorno. I've got it bad. His statement to Trish rings loud in his ears while he musters something close to a decent response, amused on one hand and horrified in the other. Me: Ahh, it's all good, man. Seriously, no sweat. I'm sorry for making shit so awkward between us. It's just — shit's been odd, y'know?
Blondie: Yes, it most certainly has been strange lately. Although, I do have one question I would like you to answer. Honestly, if you would.
He nearly drops his phone in his lap, letting slip a slightly strangled noise at Giorno's prompting. In the back of his mind, a million questions come up, and every single one of them relates back to their conversation the day before regarding Giorno's feelings, and what Mista had been told. The anxiety is eating him alive. And so with shaking hands, he types out, Shoot. Dark brown eyes stay locked on his phone as Giorno reads the message and begins the reply.And stops.Begins again.And stops once more.It drives Mista mad with anticipation by the final time Giorno begins typing again, and this time, the reply is startlingly different from any interrogation he expected from the blonde. His mouth feels dry as he reads the response, and the cold chill that runs up his spine — an action of pure instinct, stemming from his gut making him aware of something — tells him two things: either he is reading too much into this, or Abbacchio was correct. Either way, Mista found himself singing the same old songs and making the same mistakes — wanting too much, paying too much attention to the finer details of conversations with Giorno — and it frustrated him to no end.This response is the definition of the same old song and the same mistake.
Blondie: Do you ever feel afraid sometimes? Not the general concept of being afraid, but... Do you feel as though sometimes there's something just within reach, and the closer you get to it, the more afraid you are that you'll lose it?
Mista bites into his lip and thinks about all the ways he could respond, that could end up equally wrong. He wonders what Giorno is thinking of for him to ask such a thing. A part of him seems to know — a lovesick part, anyways — and while persistence makes him want to ask, the common, courteous thing to do would be to avoid touching on that subject if possible. So he writes: Yeah. I get scared about that a lot lately. You wanna talk about what's eatin' you, or nah? "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to" goes unsaid, as do many other things. "I know exactly what's eating at you" and "I'm afraid of losing you because of how I feel" being two other phrases that went unmentioned.
Blondie: No. I apologize again. I'm thinking far too much. But... Mista?
Me: That's me. What's up?
Blondie: If you don't mind, I wouldn't mind coming over tomorrow.
Mista's breathing catches. A slight furrow creases his brow as per usual, and he considers Giorno's change of heart with the beginnings of a little smile. His reply is easier than all the others — a simple, heartfelt sure. Key's under the mat like always. You can let yourself in whenever. And still, the beginnings of a laugh bubble up from his chest and spill into the quiet of his bedroom, where the senior lays back on his bed and stares almost adoringly at his phone. With only a few words, his anxieties seem to have dissipated enough for him to feel truly elated at the prospect of Giorno coming to spend time with him.There are things to be done — homework, because Mista does do his work... most of the time, playing with Aria, cleaning his home for the arrival of his comrade... Mista finds himself laughing a little, in fact, because Giorno has seen the interior of his little home more times than Mista can count, and yet the brunette still frets about the state of cleanliness his home is whenever the blonde visits. Some things, it seems, never change.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
On Sunday afternoon, only three nights before Giorno's birthday and prom, Mista dreams.Mista dreams of the graceful blonde. He dreams of confessing his feelings, and having them accepted and returned. He dreams of foolish, hopeless romantic things that only high school girls seem to dream of, yet he knows that high school boys dream of them too. He dreams of dancing in the rain with Giorno, taking rides in the car while listening to music, and staring at the stars while they both lay on the hood of his car that he never really uses. His dreams are peaceful, and he wakes up with a contented expression, stretching bodily before hearing a little laugh to one side of him. The noise startles him and he jolts with a yelp, flinging himself upright and out of his bed while simultaneously whipping his head around to the source of the noise. Giorno sits on the end of Mista's bed and stares at him, brows raised in slight surprise — or... amusement. Mista can hardly tell. His brain has been awake for all of two seconds and now it has short circuited about thirty times in those two seconds, because oh, god, Giorno is here, and oh, god, Giorno was watching me sleep, and the best one yet: oh, god, how long has he been here?!Mista chooses the last thought to bring up in the form of a question, voice slurred with sleep as he asks, "when did you get here?"Giorno looks to be lost in thought for a moment, fingertips daintily touching his phone to turn on the lock screen and view the time. "About an hour or so ago." The statement takes the eighteen year old's breath away, and Mista knows that his cheeks have warmed enough for it to be visible. Bright blue eyes lift to look the senior over and the corners of the sophomore's mouth lift into a smile at Mista's expense, yet Giorno neglects to make a comment on it. Mista wonders why.The fact that Giorno has arrived at a later hour is surprising in and of itself. He typically warns Mista beforehand if he plans to arrive late, and yet... A spare glance at his own phone tells him that it is a little after six in the evening, but he also has no notifications from Giorno. "Uh, so..." Mista trails off hesitantly, a hand coming up to rub his face, then the back of his neck while he sits up amidst the pool of blankets around him. "What made ya wanna come over so late?" A stupid, half awake question. Giorno's lips remained upturned into a smile that Mista can only label as sly."You did say that I was welcome at any time." A brow lifts at Mista's expense when he grumbles something close to an acceptance. "And besides, prom is in three days and you have no idea how to dance," Giorno declares, voice a smooth, welcome lilt in the openness of Mista's otherwise silent bedroom. Mista finds himself gaping at the blonde while Giorno continues, saying, "father's dancing lessons will amount to something if I can teach someone with two left feet how to dance. But I had things to do beforehand." Mista wants to feel offended, and yet... all he does is laugh. He laughs openly, turning his head away to muffle it even the slightest amount while Giorno sits there, one perfectly groomed brow furrowed down into something akin to distaste. Clearly, the sophomore finds the proposition much less amusing, but Mista continues to laugh, the bed shaking slightly at the heave of his shoulders while he attempts to stifle it. "Giorno," he protests, almost pleading through his disbelieving laughter, "Giorno, you can't teach me how to dance three days before prom! I'm not even gonna go! There's no point!""Oh, but you are," the blonde interjects smoothly, fixing Mista with a sort of stern look that would typically make him wither. Right now, however, he is far too amused at the prospect of being taught how to dance in any fashion, and the fact that Giorno believes that Mista is going to go to prom without the blonde. "Someone paid for tickets for you and I to both go together, and I refuse to accompany someone to prom if they can't dance."The statement cuts Mista's laughter and he nearly has a heart attack in his bed. Mista is... going to prom with Giorno..? "W-What... What?!" The brunette stares at the younger male in abject horror for a moment before he forces himself to calm down. This is good. This means that Mista can avoid having to ask Giorno to go with him and save unneeded embarrassment. If this is good... why does he feel so afraid?"Someone," Giorno begins again, looking a little put off that he needs to repeat himself, "paid for tickets t — ""I heard ya the first time, I just — that's..." Mista trails off, uncertain of what, exactly, he can say to smooth the situation over. He has a sneaking suspicion that a certain pink haired young lady is behind this, and if it is not her, then it is, without a doubt, a certain college-student-turned-office-assistant. "That's uh... That's new. When'd that happen?"Giorno is silent for a long time before he says, "I found the tickets in my locker on Thursday, and... I wanted to discuss it with you on Friday, but there was a change of plans." His tone becomes slightly wry towards the end, and Mista wonders if it is because of the conversation they had, or some other unknown reason. The awkwardness settles between the two of them like a blanket before the blonde lifts himself from Mista's bed and only then does the brunette notice that Giorno is wearing sweatpants and a tank top — entirely different than his usual attire.Mista wants to say that Giorno looks sinful in sweatpants and tight tank tops, but at the same time, his bleary conscience tells him that Giorno looks beautiful, and that it would be almost cruel to tarnish such beauty with obscene thoughts like those. It makes him reach both hands up to scrub at his face, and he wants to drown himself in his bathtub and also laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. When his hands come away from his face, Giorno is checking his phone and sliding it into the pocket of his sweatpants; one pale hand settles on a hip and the blonde looks expectantly to his comrade."Get dressed, make dinner, feed my adopted daughter." Mista's heart throbs a little at the fact that Giorno so often calls Aria his "adopted daughter," and simultaneously jokes that he and Mista are her parents. And typically, Aria spends more time around Giorno than Mista whenever the blonde visits. She is highly fond of him, which... blows Mista's mind, especially considering the fact that she is so shy. He wonders if that is fate's way of telling him that his relationship with Giorno is meant to be. "Do whatever you haven't done — we'll need the evening freed up.""Oh, you... you weren't kiddin'?""I was not." Giorno looks rather determined, and Mista's gut sinks a little."Alright, alright. Just, y'know... gimme a few. Lemme get changed and all." The blonde nods and turns his attention to the cat that has just ventured into the room with a little meow. He bends to pick Aria up, carrying her lovingly out of the room to allow Mista privacy before the... dancing lessons... began.——By the time Mista has dressed, fed Aria, and made a couple of slices of toast for himself in a makeshift dinner, Giorno is sitting on the end of the couch waiting. He looks slightly impatient and maybe even a little excited, if the brunette's careful scrutiny is anything to go by. "Good, you're finally done," Giorno says on an exhale, and Mista winces at the feigned exasperation from his younger comrade. "Now, help me get this furniture out of the way so we have space to move." The sophomore stands up, motioning to the couch and coffee table that sit in the center of the room. "We'll move them..." A pause, and then Giorno points to an otherwise empty area in Mista's living room, "here." Mista nods and lifts one end of the couch up before Giorno can even get around to the other side, which ends up with the blonde bursting into laughter.In fact, while Mista struggles to find what is so funny about his actions, Giorno is laughing hard enough that he ends up brushing tears from his eyes. "What are you going to do, Mista?" he inquires, breathless and slightly red in the face from laughing. "Throw the couch over your shoulder and move it?!" The questions make the brunette sputter at first, but the mental image of him lifting the couch onto his shoulder and carrying it anywhere causes him to choke on a laugh of his own."Shut up and help me!" he protests, voice lifting into something close to a whine just to pester Giorno into actually assisting him.It takes ten minutes of laughter and fumbling around for them to move a couch and a coffee table, and the entire time, Mista feels almost certain that he's falling a little more in love with his best friend. Giorno says something stupid, Mista laughs harder than he should. Mista does something stupid, Giorno laughs harder than he should. An absent memory surfaces — the memory of Trish sitting across from Mista one day during lunch and saying, "you know... he only ever laughs when he's around you. To everyone else, he's just quiet and polite, but when you're around, he laughs. He smiles. It's like a completely different Giorno." It makes Mista feel warm and content in ways that he should probably ignore, but he pays attention to them anyways.Once they move the couch and coffee table aside, the blonde across from him dusts his hands off as if he has done most of the work. Lie. Mista did most of the work, but he would give Giorno the credit. "Alright," Giorno says with a flourish, setting both hands on his hips as he looks around. "Now, music. Every dancing lesson needs good music." The senior stands to one side awkwardly, realizing now just what he has managed to get himself into. "Give me the aux cord to your speakers.""Wait, we're going to dance to music that's loud?" Mista questions, brown eyes widened ever so slightly. The look he gets in return is the closest thing to "yes, dumbass," that Giorno will ever give him. A hand comes out expectantly, waiting for the aux cord that Mista always keeps put away so Aria cannot play it to death, and the taller male moves to retrieve it with an anxious laugh. He hands it off to Giorno once he locates it, and waits while the blonde selects a list of songs from YouTube for them to practice to. Once the first song comes on, Mista recognizes it almost immediately.Lana Del Rey's voice filters through the speakers, and he shoots a look at Giorno, whose face is carefully neutral. He knows this song as well as Mista does — the senior had coaxed him into watching The Great Gatsby at one in the morning with popcorn, on the couch, all the lights off and the flicker of the screen their only source of light. The older of the two tries to ignore the thud of his heart as he recalls the memory of Giorno sitting beside him, stealing pieces of popcorn while he watched, enraptured. He tries to ignore the recollection of Giorno falling asleep that night with his head on Mista's shoulder. Mista especially tries to ignore the way his mind screams warnings from every angle that Giorno choosing this song meant something more than he wanted it to."Put your hands on my hips, like this — " Giorno begins to instruct, taking Mista's hands in his own, and the Italian teenager croaks out a nervous laugh in response. His hands settle carefully on Giorno's waist — so careful, like Mista is afraid that touching the blonde will shatter him like glass and Mista will have nothing but pieces to remember this by. "Good. Now relax. You can't dance if your posture is tense, Mista." His tone is soft, but the scolding hint to it is enough to make the brunette loosen up a little. He tenses once again when Giorno's arms wrap around his neck. Too close, his mind warns as he attempts to focus on the music, or anything else. Anything besides Giorno. You're too close. This is going to end terribly."Now, you don't have to do much else other than sway side to side for this." The eerie calm to the sophomore's voice makes it hard for Mista to breathe, and he sends a silent prayer to the Gods above that Giorno cannot feel how nervous he is. "I'll teach you more intricate steps later on if you'd like, but this is a good place to start for now." Mista nods, afraid to speak as Lana Del Rey's voice rings in his ears, saying, hot summer nights, mid-July, when you and I were forever wild...Giorno is quiet at first, head ducked down in a demure fashion, not looking at Mista while they sway. As the song progresses, though, the beat thrumming softly through the living room, he lifts his gaze to lock eyes with Mista. The motion startles the older of the two, and his grip on the blonde tightens like he fears letting go. The action does not go unnoticed, and cerulean eyes flicker down to where Mista's hands rest, then back up to his eyes with a questioning lift of one thin brow.A nervous smile breaks out over his lips because Mista would rather die than break the silence between them, and Giorno returns it with something akin to genuine fondness. Mista thinks, just for a moment, that Trish might be right. He never catches the underclassman smiling at anyone else as much as he smiles at Mista. It makes his heart skip a beat more than he wants it to, and to distract himself, he tilts forward, taking Giorno with him down into a dip.The surprised laugh that rings out into the room is worth it, and Mista lifts his dancing partner back upright, attempting to ignore the sudden flush of color on the blonde's features. "Trying to impress me?" Giorno teases, voice barely pitching above a whisper. Mista grins in return, a little more relaxed now that the other male seems as flustered as Mista has been this entire time."Maybe. Did it work?" Mista asks in return, momentarily bold. He catches the way that bright blue eyes widen the tiniest amount, as if surprised that Mista would admit his plans, and the longer-haired one laughs softly, nodding. Mista wonder how Giorno can make even a nod seem so graceful and effortless."Perhaps," the blonde admits, and Mista grins at the pink swiped across pale, high cheekbones. Their movements are lighter now, more relaxed now that the tension has eased, and even though the thudding of Mista's heart has yet to decrease in its rapid measure, he feels more confident. More secure. He attributes that to holding Giorno in his arms, even under the guise of practice dancing for the sake of one night. Or maybe he feels secure because of the way the sophomore looks at him now, full of gentle amusement and something close to endearment. Maybe. Who knows."Good," Mista murmurs with a grin, "that's all I wanted." He pulls away from Giorno long enough to hold out a hand to the other with the most dramatic expression he can muster, like something out of a romantic comedy. It makes Giorno burst into laughter while he stands a foot or so away, and the warmth of it helps set the near-graduate's heart alight. And still, the blonde puts his hand in Mista's, shrieking out another laugh as the taller of the two pulls his comrade closer, twisting him so his back is to Mista's chest."You lied!" Giorno declares, pulling one hand away to poorly aim a smack at Mista's shoulder with the widest grin Mista can ever recall seeing from his companion. "You can dance!"Mista looks the tiniest bit smug. "What, that? P'sh." A roll of his eyes and they move slowly together that way until Giorno turns in his grasp, settles his arms back around the brunette's neck, and offers him a smile that could melt the whole of Antarctica. "I just watch 'So You Think You Can Dance' sometimes, is all," Mista reassures him, reaching a hand up to smooth Giorno's hair back. "Really... I dunno the first thing about dancin' with somebody." The song slows to an end, the last bell tolling in the expanse of the senior's living room while they look at one another. Mista thinks as he adjusts his grip on his companion that maybe his heart can stand to ache a little more if it means having moments like these in return. The song that begins next is quieter. The female chorus at the beginning sends a shiver up Mista's spine and he feels his fingers tighten against Giorno's hips. The song is unfamiliar to Mista, but not to Giorno. The blonde's expression turns from amused, to something dangerously soft and he turns his gaze away to mumble the lyrics softly as the now male singer's voice fills the room. The expression on Giorno's face seems almost pained and it forces the brunette to focus on anything else about his companion, and he becomes hyperfixated on the way that Giorno's arms seem to hold on just a fraction tighter.When Giorno speaks up, Mista pretends to ignore the anxiety in his voice. The hesitation. "Mista... do you remember the night we met?" Blue eyes continue to look away from the senior, and the taller of the two feels his mouth dry out at the question. Words refuse to come to him, and he nods just enough for it to be seen. His pulse is thrumming hard enough to ring loud in his ears, and he knows that Giorno can feel the race of his heart now, because the blonde's forehead has come to rest on his collarbone and he is close enough to hear the screaming "thud-thud." The eighteen year old grits his teeth, trying his dead level best to avoid the clench in his gut, his throat, his heart, as he whispers out a hoarse, "yeah." And, just in a moment of bravery — everything about tonight, from seeing Giorno in sweats and a tank top, to holding him in his arms, revolves around bravery — he mutters, "I gotta thank Buccellati for that high school party he threw to welcome our entire group into adult life." The soft laugh Giorno gives in return is muffled, and Mista's hands guide the rest of the near-sixteen year old's body just a little closer. Just a little, and as carefully as he can, just in case the blonde feels differently and wants to avoid this.God, he hopes that dancing in his living room to love songs with his best friend is a sign that Giorno does want this to work as much as Mista does. Giorno lifts his head from Mista's collarbone, and out of sheer luck, the brunette catches the dangerous shade of red that has only grown darker over time. His chin settles on Mista's shoulder now, held as close as he could possibly be — too close for them to just be practicing dance lessons now — and the taller of the two swallows down the catch in his throat. The anxious laughter, however, escapes his lips before he can stop it. Mista thanks his lucky stars that Giorno cannot see his face, otherwise he would lack the bravery he suddenly acquires. "Are ya this intimate with everyone you dance with?" he asks, barely able to hear himself over the music. His dancing partner mutters something unintelligible, and then draws away a little to repeat it. "I've... not danced with anyone else like this. I haven't really wanted to dance with anyone else like this." Giorno admits it even softer than Mista had spoke a second before, and the brunette swears that he has misheard. Slender fingertips stroke through the hair at the nape of his neck when Mista takes in a breath and goes to speak — to ask another question — and the lithe male in his arms mutters, "hush, Mista. Just... Please. Just let me have this.""Okay," Mista breathes, unable to stop the catch in his voice as those fingertips continue to run through his hair. He thinks that Giorno almost misses the way that he whispers, "stay with me." He almost wants Giorno not to hear it, but when their eyes lock again, Mista stares back at Giorno and feels almost as though he might be drowning in the never ending ocean blue of the other teenager's eyes. Just as he begins to let the waves pull him under — just as he finds himself leaning a little closer, unable to resist the way that Giorno's lips part slightly and those bright eyes widen the tiniest fraction — the sudden sound of Giorno's phone ringing on the aux cord startles them both, and Giorno jerks away from Mista as though he's been scalded. Mista recognizes that ringtone long before Giorno makes a dive for the phone. The blonde has an individual one for each of his fathers, and this one... Well. This one belongs to the blonde father that truly wants to murder Mista in his sleep.Brown eyes linger on Giorno as he answers the phone, responding quickly. Curt. Almost... frustrated. There's nodding of his head, and an exasperated sigh, and Mista notes the sudden clench of his comrade's jaw and Giorno turns blue eyes back to the other male. The look on his face is nothing short of angry as he offers a quick goodbye to his father, but it softens once the line goes dead and he turns his phone off from the call. Mista knows what is coming next."I'm sorry," the blonde utters gently, and the genuine remorse in his tone hurts Mista's heart for what feels like the hundredth time in ten minutes. "Father wants me home in a little while and — I — you know how he is." Mista forces a smile and nods, although the motions feel robotic and he feels almost... empty inside, now that he knows how it feels to hold Giorno close — to almost kiss his best friend. Just holding him feels right as it is, like something missing all his life has been given to him. He must look dazed, because the sophomore waves a hand in front of his face after a moment. "Earth to Mista. Are you with me?""I'm always with you, GioGio," he says, and then wants to kick himself at the sheer stupidity of the statement. Something between the two of them shifted in those few seconds, and maybe it is the open anxiety on Mista's face at his own words. Maybe it is the way that he hesitates, just on the verge of trying to retract the statement. Maybe — just maybe — Giorno can see the clench of his own jaw at the prospect of taking back something that he has managed to get out into the open after so long; Mista feels angry. Tired, angry, in love, overjoyed, overwhelmed... An entire list of sensations could describe him, but Giorno's eyes widen just a little, and his face is still that pretty shade of red that somehow makes embarrassment beautiful, too. "Mista..."His heart hurts. He wants Giorno to say his name and sound happy, not as though he has just ruined something good. "Nah, dude, it's cool. Anyways, you gotta go home!" Mista forces a cheerful expression, waving a hand dismissively. What the hell else is he supposed to do? "I don't want your dads coming to hunt me down or something. Then I really wouldn't be able to dance with ya." That brings a little smile to the younger male's lips, and he nods gently. "C'mon, I'll walk ya home if you want.""Ah, you don't need to, but... you can if you'd really like to." Mista ignores the way his mind shrieks in delight, because that means that Giorno wants to stay in Mista's home just a little longer to talk. He wants to stay with Mista just a little longer. "Would you..." The hesitation in the shorter male's tone is evident as he looks to the couch and the coffee table. "Would you like me to help you move these back?"He shakes his head, waving a hand towards the furniture. "Just leave it. I'll worry 'bout it later, when I wanna play my XBox or somethin'." Mista goes off in search of his shoes and returns eventually, now wearing a hat that Giorno quirks an eyebrow about, but says nothing in regards to it. "You ready?" he asks, glancing back to the blonde, who nods quietly. Something seems amiss from a few moments ago, but the brunette chalks it up to DIO interrupting their almost kiss with a phone call, and chooses to keep his mouth shut on the topic. "Alright, let's go."Mista opens the front door, holding it open for Giorno as the smaller male steps through the doorway and onto Mista's porch, waiting. He pulls the door closed, locks it, and they begin the short walk to Giorno's home.It takes all of ten minutes, tops, because they get caught up in conversation about ridiculous things, and towards the end, more serious subjects. But all in all, Mista walks Giorno the entire way home and they stop at the blonde's doorstep. The porch light is on, and it illuminates Giorno's sharp features with a glow that makes him look almost ethereal. Mista does his best to commit the sight to memory. "I had fun with you," Mista offers softly, rubbing the back of his neck. The little smile that Giorno gives him in return is thrilling, to say the least, and he smiles back at the blonde. "I'm gonna get going now, okay?" The words make his soul ache; he hates leaving Giorno, but all good things come to an end, and this, apparently, was one of those things. He starts down the steps before he feels the blonde grab his hand."Mista."The sense of déjà vu catches the senior slightly off guard and he clears his throat lightly once he turns around. "Yeah?" Giorno's grip on his hand loosens only a tidbit, and he steps off the porch so he can be level with the senior."Thank you," Giorno suddenly says, and his eyes are gentle like they were a little while before, and it brings a fluttering warmth to Mista's chest all over again. "For letting me come over today. For... this. It was nice." He nods again, uncertain of what else to do. He expects Giorno to leave, now. To go inside his home, leave Mista behind, and pretend that all of this never happened."No problem."He does not expect Giorno's arms to come back around his neck after a second, nor does he expect the blonde's fingertips to run through his hair once more as they had earlier, lingering just a fraction too long to be considered "friendly." His own arms wrap around Giorno's slender waist and he squeezes gently, tilting his head down and nuzzling into golden tresses. "No problem at all," he mumbles again, this time able to ignore his heart pounding. Things like those are easy to ignore, Mista thinks, when Giorno draws back and the look in his eyes makes Mista's breath shorten. He could blame it all on the walking they did to get to Giorno's home but... sometimes it makes life easier to admit the truth.In that moment, Mista almost does.The entire time their eyes remain locked, Mista searches for all the times that he has seen this look in someone's eyes, staring at him, gently. The entire time he looks at Giorno, Mista can't remember any time in his entire life that someone has looked at him like this. Lovingly. Adoringly, like he's the only thing in the entire world that matters.When Giorno tilts upwards to press the lightest of kisses against his lips, Guido Mista knows for a fact that he is all that matters to Giorno Giovanna. The front door opens right then, and Giorno throws himself backwards in yet another motion like he has been attacked, looking owlishly to see who stood in the doorway. Mista stands there, frozen in shock, and only angles his head just enough to see a flash of navy. He breathes a sigh of relief when he hears Jonathan Joestar's warm voice ring out into the quiet amongst the three of them."Your father wants you to... to come inside, to put it kindly," Giorno's nicest father tells the blonde softly, and Mista sneaks a look, only to see that Jonathan looks amused as he beckons the sophomore inside. His eyes lock with Mista's, and Giorno lets slip a disgruntled noise when Jonathan starts to question if Giorno had a nice date.The last thing he hears as Giorno finally moves to go inside the house, is the blonde calling out to him softly as Jonathan disappears into his home. His attention snaps up to see Giorno smiling widely at him in spite of being so openly embarrassed. "That was a nice first date," the younger one says gently, and Mista finds his own face heating up then. Giorno... thought that practice dancing in Mista's house was an example of a nice first date?!A. Date. Mista and Giorno had done something close to a date. What? How? "Oh — uh, y-yeah. Yeah, it was nice. I had fun." Mista is speaking, but he can barely process what he says. Apparently it is enough to get him by, because Giorno starts to close his front door, but peeks at him from the remaining section left open. The mask that Giorno so carefully wears is crumbling piece by piece, because he says "be safe going home," as he always does, but the airy quality to his voice is enough to make Mista's mind repeat the phrase over and over like a blessing."I will," the eighteen year old says, nodding as he steps backwards off the steps and prays to God that he makes a clean landing on each one. He does, somehow, until the door closes and then he turns around and almost kisses the concrete. Oh, well... At least he managed to look cool in front of Giorno — and he hopes that the blonde actually went further inside, and somehow failed to see Mista almost wipe out in his front yard.When he realizes what has just happened, the giddy laughter that escapes him is something that would put any girl to shame."I love him," Mista whispers to himself. He nearly skips away from Giorno's home, dazed, like something out of a Hollywood movie. And yet, he finds himself grinning the entire time as he dials Trish's number. He listens to the familiar ring, and when she picks up, he says, "I'm in love with Giorno.""Holy shit," she says, laughing at him like she's stunned. "Holy shit, you've got to tell me everything."And Mista begins the long, but delightful explanation of how he realized that he is truly in love with his best friend, kiss and all.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mista's conversation with Trish on the evening walk home is a welcome one. He realizes such as he ventures slowly back home, pausing in his steps every so often as he elaborates on parts of the evening that meant the most to him — looking into Giorno's eyes and feeling his breath being snared in his lungs, dancing slowly with the blonde while love songs played in the background, even down to moments previous, when Giorno's lips touched his and it felt as thought Mista could see color for the first time in his life.Scratch that — it felt as though Mista could breathe for the first time in his life."So does this mean we'll get to see you at prom with him, then?" Trish's tone is sing-song — it has been since Mista began his explanation and he can hardly blame her. "Because if that's what this means, I'm definitely bringing a camera to get pictures."Her excitement is welcome — a far cry from a few days beforehand, where she nearly sabotaged Mista's relationship with Giorno — and it makes Mista pause right as he makes it to his own doorway once more, reaching in his back pocket to retrieve his keys."Yeah, yeah, I think that's what it means. But — I got a question for ya, Trish." The senior's brow is furrowed as he unlocks the door, concentrating on how to word the inquiry posed in his mind. "Giorno said he found two tickets in his locker to prom on Thursday and, I dunno, I guess they left a note or somethin' sayin' that the tickets were for he and I to go together or somethin'. 'least, that's what he said. Did'ja have anything to do with that?"Trish is quiet on the other end of the line for a long moment, and Mista actually pulls his phone away from his ear to see if the call ended by mistake. When he realizes that she is still on the line, the brunette tries again, thinking that perhaps his wording was poor and slightly confrontational without him intending for it to be. "Trish," Mista says softly, "did'ja buy those tickets or what? If it wasn't you, I'm gonna go on a limb and say Buccellati and Abbacchio had somethin' to do with it. If it was you, I ain't mad or anything, I just — ""I bought the tickets." She cuts in before Mista can finish, tone sharp. Her voice is a higher octave than normal — the way Mista recognizes it to be when Trish is anxious about something. He unlocks the door, finally, letting himself in with a heaved sigh. "S'matter, little lady?" The old nickname makes her laugh softly, and Mista wonders offhand if he just delights in hearing people laugh, because it brings a smile to his own lips as he murmurs, "ya sound bugged. Talk to me." The statement is an old one on his behalf — used in countless phone calls with the girl in the past, at all hours of the day and night.Trish clears her throat and Mista hears rustling on the other end of the phone as she says, "there wasn't a note or anything in the locker, Mista. Just the two tickets.""Oh." By this time, Mista has shrugged off his jacket, taken off his shoes, and ventured to his bedroom to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. He barely sees anything, though; his mind has drifted to back when Giorno sat on his bed earlier that afternoon, entirely confident in his words as he declared to Mista, "'Someone paid for tickets for you and I to both go together, and I refuse to accompany someone to prom if they can't dance.'""But I mean, he said someone else got the tickets for he and I, specifically, to go." Trish makes a humming noise to signify that she recognizes what he means, and then she speaks up."I got the two tickets and didn't leave any notes or anything saying that he would need those two tickets for you and him. The implication was there, sure, but... Unless he was already thinking about it, he probably wouldn't have mentioned it to you at all, let alone come over to your place to dance.""God, he's so..." The senior lifts a hand to wave it in exasperation, sighing into the phone. "Just the other day, I was walkin' him home and I asked 'im if what Abbacchio said about him likin' me was true, and you know what he said, Trish?" Without waiting for her reply, he scoffed and said, "he fuckin' said that Abbacchio was wrong. And then the next couple of days go by and he texts me with some shit about, I 'unno, being scared of losin' things that are just within yer reach an' all that.""Mista — "Trish's voice is quieter on the other end, but Mista continues rambling. "And then we're dancin' together and all and he looks at me like he's into me and then he fuckin' kissed me 'fore he went inside tonight. He's so fuckin' odd!""Mista!" The girl's tone is louder and demanding of his attention, so he stops then. "How have you not realized yet?!""Realized what?" Mista asks, squinting at the ceiling that he almost swears is squinting back at him. He feels hilariously exhausted after the day's events, almost tuning Trish out until she says, "it's so obvious that he's in love with you. It's well past liking you!" And the statement is enough to make the near-graduate muster up a tired laugh, along with a yawn."Yeah, right.""Oh my God." Trish sounds as though she is entirely fed up with the senior, who reaches a hand up to rub at his eyes. "You two are ridiculous.""Alright, alright." He groans dramatically into the phone just for the sake of aggravating her. "Ridiculous or not, I'm really fuckin' tired, so I'm gonna catch some sleep in a sec. We got class in the mornin', so you ought'a sleep, too."The pink haired girl seems only slightly put off as she says, "make sure you take a shower in the morning before class. You always smell terrible in first period." Still, the light, huffed amusement in her voice is enough to bring back Mista's grin and he rolls his eyes."I don't smell bad!" "Good night, loser." Trish's voice has softened a fraction and Mista is reminded of the reasons that he cares so much for Trish to begin with. Although annoying at times, she was, without a doubt, like the sister Mista never had. She always gave him good advice, and listened when he needed to rant. Even though they bickered often, in the end, they loved each other dearly and wanted nothing but the best for one another.In truth, Mista loves every member of his circle and considers them to be his family. A... dysfunctional family, but one he loves, and would never be able to live without. With that thought in mind, Mista utters, "g'night, Trish. Sleep tight," and waits for her to end the call.The telltale beep of the call ending results in a yawn from Mista; laying his phone beside him, he flips over to his messaging app and glances to the time at the top of the device. 11:37 pm. Giorno will still be awake, but probably readying himself for bed. A fingertip taps the call button beside Giorno's name and Mista puts the phone on speaker while moving off the bed to shed his clothes for the sake of sleep.Mista lays down, yanking the covers up over himself. The call connects only a moment later and Giorno's voice filters through the speaker, sounding tired, but content — almost as though he expected Mista to call him. He should. Their phone calls in the evening are often enough now that it has become a natural occurrence. Neither of them can sleep peacefully without speaking to the other, and the sound of static. In reality, the eighteen year old should have seen the signs of Giorno's feelings after the first time they fell asleep in a phone call with one another."Hello, stranger." The words send a light shiver up the senior's spine as he lays his head beside his phone, staring at the call time while the numbers increased slowly. Two words — as common as his nickname for Trish — stir a cocktail of emotions that all range from exhausted, to entirely fascinated, in Mista's being and he hums softly.Mista's voice is relaxed as he returns the greeting. "Hi, blondie. What've you been up to since I saw ya like... an hour or so ago?""Oh, nothing much." Giorno hums, sounding closer to the phone now. "I just told father and padre goodnight, and I was just in the process of saying goodnight my long list of people who have crushes on me who I have no interest in. What about you?" His tone is sly — Mista catches it and laughs openly, a throaty, warm sound that he hopes translates well over the phone."I got off the phone with Trish. We were having wicked phone sex since we're dating and all." Giorno's snort is immediate. "I'm sure." The statement is at Giorno's expense, because back upon first meeting Mista and Trish, the blonde thought they were dating, or at the very least, sleeping together. Since Mista found it hilarious, he has used it as an excuse for socializing with Trish ever since, and for whatever reason, Giorno continues to allow him the crude humor time and time again. "How is she? I've not spoken with her in a while."Mista notes the softer lilt to the underclassman's voice and murmurs, "she's good. Found out she was the one who bought those tickets." That earns him a soft noise of acknowledgement on the other end of the line. "She said that they weren't addressed to us or anything. So how'd ya know they were tickets for us?" He pins the question innocently — at least, Mista thinks it is innocently asked. But Giorno, on the other hand, lets out a laugh at the inquiry and the brunette hears shifting through the phone."Ah, I should know better than to keep things from you, Mista. You caught me," the blonde admits. His tone is warm — the kind of warm that Mista thinks about offhand in conversations with Fugo and Narancia, or with Trish and Buccellati; the senior enjoys this type of heartfelt sincerity in Giorno's voice, and it seems that there is a new level of their relationship being approached minute by minute. "There were two tickets, so I knew that I would have to pass them off to someone else. Fugo and Narancia are going together, so I couldn't give the tickets to them, and I know Trish is going to be overseeing the music playlist with Buccellati, so she'll be too preoccupied with that to attend with anyone. Besides, Trish's standards are far too high to attend prom with anyone from our school. You know how she is." Mista wants to point out, gently, that Giorno is carefully trailing off topic the way he does when he politely wants to avoid something."I know how she is," Mista agrees, pulling his blanket over himself and up to his chin. "But what's all this gotta do with me and you goin' together?"Giorno clears his throat with an embarrassed noise that crosses somewhere between a laugh and a grumble. "Ahh... When I asked if you were going, I had also planned to ask if I could accompany you, but then you said that you had no intentions of going without a date. So I thought it better to not ask." By the end of his words, the blonde sounds almost guilty, as if this would surprise Mista, but the eighteen year old only hummed in acknowledgement. Mista almost asks more in relation to the sophomore's desire to ask him to prom, but all that comes out is, "so, Fugo and Narancia are dating now, or what?""Yes, Mista." Giorno sounds amused at the brunette's lack of knowledge, or perhaps just the abrupt change in topic. "I'm certain that they're already spending every moment of their free time with one another as we speak. Doing various... things.""Good for them. They've got the right idea 'bout things." On the other end, the blonde huffs a quiet noise of amusement, shifting once more. Mista lays there quietly, tracing ragged fingernails over the smooth edge of his phone. "So, you were gonna ask me to take ya to prom, huh?" The brunette's voice is swimming with mirth by this point — entirely at Giorno's expense. "That explains the total one eighty you did with yer mood after I said somethin' on the way home. I was wonderin' how badly I'd screwed up with you 'bout all that..."A moment of silence settles over them. It treads the line between slightly awkward and contemplative, and the eighteen year old exhales into the phone softly before saying, "I just dunno how you really feel about me, is all. Yer kinda hard to figure out." He realizes how stupid his statement is — he and Giorno kissed, and yet Mista still has to ask how Giorno really feels. One hand passes over the older teenager's face in confusion and Mista rolls over onto his other side, bringing his phone with him so he can stare off into nothingness while he listens to Giorno's soft breathing.It takes a moment for a decent reply to form on the sophomore's behalf, and when Mista finally earns a response, he feels even more confused. "It's very... difficult for me to explain. But after what Trish said — telling me in class that you were in love with someone, I suppose that I felt like I had something to prove before it was too late.""It's not some random chick or nothin', if yer still thinkin' that," Mista cuts in abruptly, and Giorno goes deathly silent."No, Mista. After tonight, I didn't think so at all."The confession stops the older male dead in his tracks. He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it. And when he does speak again, his voice comes out anxious. "Look, uh... about what I said the other night — about there bein' nobody, and... me just being an ass..."Giorno breathes louder on the other end, something close to a sigh. "I'm still bothered by all of that. I'm still very bothered by it, actually." Another long moment of silence follows, the senior staring downcast at his phone in guilt. "I'll be bothered by it all for a while, but I try to avoid holding onto things that are said in the heat of the moment. Besides," the teenager adds softly, and Mista can imagine the little furrow of the other male's brow while he speaks, "you're a terrible liar.""I... Yeah. I'm a pretty shit liar when it comes to you." Mista sighs, and then hesitates. "So then... What made you text me with the whole 'worried about losin' things' business? What made you decide to come over and... y'know, make all this stuff happen?""Imagine if someone told you that I was in love with someone, and for even a moment, you thought that it wasn't you. I wasn't exactly pleased when you stood right in front of me and told me 'there's nobody,' when it's obvious you are interested in someone. I didn't think it was me, even if I wanted it to be. I didn't even believe I had a chance." Giorno is quieter — more hesitant to say what he has on his mind, but Mista thinks he understands at least a little. "When you walked me home and I stopped to ask you something, I just..."The blonde's voice catches and Mista is instantly reminded of the waver in Giorno's voice on Friday afternoon, when they stood only feet apart from one another. And Mista remembers all too well, the feeling of anxiety overwhelming him. The feeling of sudden loss that day was enough to make Mista go home and want to cry, and then two days later, he and Giorno have made up to some extent and there are... feelings being discussed right here and now. It confuses Mista that all of this has happened, and will keep happening, in the span of a few days... But some of it makes sense, especially since he and Giorno have apparently liked each other for over a year and never acted upon it until recently. Who knew that senior prom would be the catalyst to their relationship finally venturing past their awkward dancing around one another.Giorno clears his throat in a show of whatever dignity he has left since he sounds almost like he wants to cry. But Mista knows he would never allow such a thing. He got close enough on Friday, and that was enough. "I wanted to ask you why you were lying to me. Everyone has told me how you feel, so I've been waiting for you this entire time. I'm more angry that I've known all along and you left me wondering if I'd be waiting forever for you to tell me.""Oh...""And Friday night, I talked to Buccellati. I was angry at you then for the things you said. I still am angry at you... But he talked to me and calmed me down. And a little while later, he suggested that I give things one more chance and then just... leave it alone, I suppose." A strange hitch in the blonde's tone makes Mista pause in his rambling thoughts of guilt and his own stupidity, and he focuses even more on what Giorno says. "I spoke to several people about it, admittedly, because, I — I don't know, Guido. I was afraid of ruining our friendship, and I didn't know what to do. So I thought to myself, maybe if I try to convey how I feel more clearly, things would work out easier for us both or end up terrible. So I tried. I tried with the texts, and they came out jumbled and awkward, and then I tried with dancing tonight... And here we are."The rare usage of his first name makes the senior's breath catch in his throat; suddenly, it feels like a dam of emotion built up has collapsed and he has no way to avoid being caught in the waves. It all makes sense now — the polite distance Giorno attempted to put between himself and Mista at first, and then the change of heart after only a day and a handful of extra hours. All of it was his friends' doing — and where the hell he would be without them, the senior has no idea. Mista worries his lower lip between his teeth for a moment and makes a mental note to thank Buccellati, and the rest of the gang for helping him and Giorno both. Then he speaks up. "I'm sorry." Giorno exhales shakily on the other end as Mista repeats himself."Seriously, GioGio... I'm sorry. I 'unno, I just thought that if I said somethin' about how I felt, you wouldn't feel the same. Buccellati and Abbacchio told me you like me, too, and when we were walkin' home and you asked why I'd been avoidin' ya, I got scared. I thought that there was no damn way that you could feel the same about me, honestly. 'cause, I mean, look at you, an' look at me. Yer way outta my league... And when we had that moment on the porch and all, I realized that I'd be really fuckin' scared of losin' you, so I just... I called and tried to fix it and I made it fuckin' worse, honestly. And then the texts, and the dancing, and the kiss — "Giorno cuts him off, albeit gently. "I was afraid of losing you, too, Mista. Since the beginning of high school, it's been you and I through thick and thin. I'd like to keep things that way, romance involved or not. I just wanted to give it one last try to see if maybe... I did have a chance in that sense, and if I didn't, I would've given the tickets away and never brought any of this up again. I'm usually better at not letting emotions get the better of me, but when it comes to you... things are different. ...Things have always been different with you. I hate that it's taken me a pair of prom tickets to realize just how different things are, but...""So why did you say that Abbacchio was wrong, then, if he's right?" Mista blurts out. The question has been lingering forefront in his mind during the entire conversation, and he cannot help how abruptly he asks. It does, however, earn a little snort from his counterpart."Mista... How I feel about you ventures far beyond liking you. I thought you would understand that by now.""...That makes sense," Mista agrees after a moment, reaching a hand up to scratch at his scalp thoughtfully. Another part of him feels bitter that Trish knew and Mista neglected to trust her belief. "So... if you're still mad, why are you bein' nice to me? Why did ya kiss me?""Those are both good questions. Both of which, I have no actual answer for other than... My father taught me to be graceful and kind in the face of adversity, and padre taught me that open shows of anger are pointless. It helps that I've always been fond of you, and I typically never stay bothered for long as it is."The senior snorts a laugh at that. "Alright, fair enough. How long d'ya think yer gonna stay mad?" he asks, knowing that Giorno's definition of "mad" differs vastly from the actual meaning. Giorno's version of angry comes in quietness and a lack of communication, not outright disgust. The blonde treats anger as something of little importance, only choosing to put it aside in the days following whatever agitates or hurts him."As long as I want to be.""So cruel," the older male teases softly, the anxious twist in his gut loosening only a little when Giorno hums his agreement to the statement. By this point, the blonde is beginning to sound tired. "You sound sleepy. We've only just realized all this in three days when it's been... a thing for well over a year or so and all, but do you wanna talk about this anymore tomorrow, or just... leave it alone? ""Time isn't as important since I know you never meant any of the hurtful things you said and I've known your real feelings all along," Giorno mumbles, shifting again on the phone. "We'll just leave it alone."Mista swallows hard, pressing his lips into a thin line at the statement. His mouth quirks up into a smile at the corners at the words, and he knows that he will think of them for the rest of the night, into the school day tomorrow. "I'm still sorry...""I know. Tomorrow... we'll talk about other things. Better things.""Alright," Mista agrees. "Better things tomorrow." Giorno hums a little noise yet again and mumbles a tired "goodnight" to the senior, who returns it.When the line goes dead, the brunette exhales shakily. Giorno is clearly bothered enough, because by this point, they would still be talking until one or both actually did fall asleep. "Stupid," he mutters to himself, reaching both hands up to cover his face as he turns over, back to his phone. "Stupid, stupid. All this time and you were so damn wrong... Now you gotta fix all this shit in three days. Idiot."At least tomorrow, he can look forward to less uneasiness between himself and Giorno. Hopefully, anyways.With that thought in mind, Mista yanked the covers back up to his chin and closed his eyes with a sigh through his nose. Every upcoming day with Giorno involved would be interesting, but in the wake of this evening's events... Monday was sure to be the most eventful.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Monday morning — around seven fifteen or so — sees Mista dragging his feet while he pulls himself out of bed. The only thing that spurs him to even attempt going to school, is the fact that Giorno is waiting for him, and the recollection of the conversation between them last night. The usual attention is paid to Aria while the brunette readies himself for the walk to school, and while gathering his bag and zipping up the garish white boots that everyone within his friend circle has given him hell over, the sound of knocking at his doorstep makes him pause. Once he gets his boots on completely, he steps closer to the door and looks through the peephole to see Narancia with Fugo in tow, with one looking excited and the other looking faintly put off.Still, Mista swings open the door with little finesse and leans in the doorway with a grin, glancing between the two of them. "Yo. What the hell are you guys doin' here at..." The brunette pulls his phone from the waistband of his pants and glances at the time, "...seven twenty in the mornin'?""We came to ask if you finally sorted shit out with GioGio!" Narancia pipes up, hands on his hips and a shit-eating grin making its way onto his face within a split second. "We sorted things out between us." A back and forth motion to himself, and then Fugo, who still looks annoyed... although a little less at Narancia's mention. In fact, he looks... somewhat embarrassed, and actually refuses to meet Mista's slightly intrigued gaze. "Narancia means," said in a rather curt fashion, Fugo steps up to be more level with Mista and Narancia. He eventually meets Mista's eyes, "that... we addressed our issues from a couple of days ago." The disclaimer, Mista thinks, is Fugo's way of maintaining his dignity; the oldest of the group wonders who asked the other to go out on a date, or whatever. "I'm sure you already know that I have to take him to our prom," and the emphasis on "have to" causes Narancia to turn around abruptly with a scowl."You asked me!" he yells, and Mista winces, raising a hand to rub over his face tiredly while also thinking that it is far too early in the morning to listen to any arguing. Somewhere in the further recesses of his home, Aria mewls softly, and the senior takes the opportunity to slink back inside to pet her while Fugo and Narancia bicker amongst themselves. It never lasts long between them — especially when Narancia realizes that Mista has retreated back into his home and begins to complain about that instead."Mista, c'mon already!"A heaved sigh, and then the brunette in mention lifts himself from petting his cat. "Alright, alright." Offering a soft "goodbye," to Aria, Mista grabbed his backpack again and pulled his front door closed, locking it with practiced ease. "Since I never got to answer yer question earlier, Narancia..."They begin walking in even pace with one another, not briskly, but quick enough to get to their high school without being late. From the far side of their walking line, Mista hesitates for a moment, relatively uncertain of whether or not he ought to bring up the phone conversation last night, before he settles into conversation with, "he, uh... He and I sorted shit out, yeah. We're... figurin' out what to do, but far as I know, we're goin' to prom and all. Trish knows, so I think she's probably told Buccellati and Abbacchio...""She vaguely mentioned it in our group chat last night before she went to bed," Fugo says, and when Mista turns his gaze to the gray haired male beside him, dark brown eyes lock on his hand, which has somehow intertwined with Narancia's. A little grin threatens to appear, and he stills it before he has to deal with his senior companion's temper, rather than Narancia. "Are you planning on telling Buccellati in person, today?"Mista's attention settles on the slowly approaching silhouette of their high school against the morning sun, and it reminds him of the way that the porch light last night illuminated Giorno's features and made him look nothing short of ethereal. "Yeah," he mutters softly, reaching up to adjust his beanie while also being lost in thought. "I'll tell him, if Giorno hasn't already. They're real close, so he might already know. Maybe I'll just save it for when Giorno and I show up at prom together."Fugo nods, and although the remainder of their short walk to the courtyard of their high school is quiet, the sound of quiet breathing, measured footsteps against concrete, and the surrounding noises of school life make Mista feel nostalgic at the thought of leaving it all behind. He often claimed that he could hardly wait to get out of high school, but with his newly developing relationship with Giorno... the brunette felt more than a little anxious over leaving once and for all.His anxiety only amplifies when Jonathan Joestar and DIO Brando arrive only a short distance in front of them, and Giorno steps elegantly from the back of Jonathan's car. DIO steps out shortly afterwards, and just the sight of the vice principal makes his stomach lurch.Fugo, Narancia, and Mista keep their distance, although the look of aggravation on Fugo's behalf towards both principal and vice principal does not go unnoticed by at least one authority figure. Thankfully, Jonathan only offers a little smile to the trio while Mista zeroes in on whatever DIO is saying to Giorno.They are close enough that he can just barely make out a stern conversation going on between the two of them — one where Giorno, to say the least, looks a tad more stoic than what Mista knows to be normal of him. He catches a subdued snippet of conversation; something along the lines of scolding, the conversation causes Mista to frown to himself when he hears the name "Haruno," and notices the way in which Giorno's elegant posture becomes stiffened and suddenly anxious the second the word leaves DIO's mouth.To say that Giorno is uncomfortable, actually, is an understatement.The transition from one state of pose to another confuses Mista, who finds himself wondering who "Haruno" is, and why the mention of them causes Giorno to become so instantly uneasy. He makes a mental note to ask Giorno about it later, but only seconds before Fugo speaks up to tell Mista that he and Narancia are heading the other direction to class. Mista nods and draws his eyes away from the anxiety-stricken expression of his blonde... well, love interest, really, who fails to notice Mista for the time being. Upon pulling his attention from Giorno, Mista begins to focus on his phone instead, glancing at the time long enough to realize that he really ought to be getting to first period. ——————————————— By the time Mista actually gets to his first class, his attention is so hung up on Giorno and "Haruno," that he nearly misses Trish waving him down with a wicked gleam in her eye."I meant to ask you, Mista," she says, one hand on her hip while the other holds her phone, thumb scrolling some social media page or another while she looks down at the screen. "Do you even have a suit for prom?" She glances up at him curiously, blue eyes blinking once while she looks him over, and then she turns her eyes back to the device in her hand. After a moment, she looks to him once more, waiting for his answer when she realizes his reply, or lack thereof.The look of offense that eventually crosses Mista's features is enough to make Trish burst into laughter, lips pulled back in a grin that meets her eyes and only enhances the mischievous sparkle lingering within them. "I just thought I would ask!" she laughs, holding her hands up in a motion of surrender. "I've never seen you in a suit before." Mista nods only for a moment, lips pursed into something reminiscent of a scowl. "'fore you ask again, yes, I've got a suit. But... listen, Trish, you know anyone named Haruno? Anyone Giorno might know, maybe?"The senior hardly intends to ask if Trish knows anything about "Haruno," but the sudden question slips from his mouth before he can stop himself.Trish's expression, previously amused, turns to slight confusion, and then a little annoyance. "Haruno." she repeats it while tapping her chin, although the name is said under her breath, like an afterthought. "No, I don't think I've really heard that name before. Why?"Mista looks vaguely disgruntled before he reaches a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "Alright, I just... figured I'd ask. Just tryin' to figure somethin' out, is all."The pink haired girl glances down at her phone yet again, manicured nails tapping gently against the screen while she writes something on an ambiguous social media website. "Well, I'm sure it's nobody important if I've never heard of them," she declares, waving her hand dismissively before it comes to rest on her hip. "Anyways, you need to get to class, don't you?" And true to form, Trish's inquiry comes only a couple of seconds before the final warning bell for class sounds off, and Mista stifles an unhappy groan."Yeah, yeah, I gotta get goin'," he mutters, motioning to the classroom he lingered only a few feet away from. "We'll catch up 'round lunchtime, okay?""Alright," Trish agrees, turning on her heel with a wave in his direction. "Don't get too lost in thought about Giorno. You'll never pass your classes that way!" That, at the very least, causes Mista to muster a grin and snicker softly as he, too, turns away and moves to his classroom to begin the first course of the day. ——————————————— By the time lunchtime comes about, Mista has completely abandoned any and all hope of figuring out who "Haruno" is. Texting Narancia, and Fugo amidst class has proven a useless effort, and asking Trish in person earlier gave him no leads; the senior thinks, momentarily, that the only person he really has left to ask is Buccellati, who seems to know more about Giorno than Mista does.A quick text is sent to Trish, telling her politely that he may be late to chat with her because he intends to reach out to Buccellati instead. It takes a couple of moments, but the brunette makes his way to the office, where Buccellati is sitting, typing on his work computer with a look of concentration focused intently across his features. The younger male thinks quickly enough to knock gently on the doorway of the open office where the darker haired man sits, and feels a little guilty when his longtime companion jumps slightly and turns quickly in his seat."Ah, Mista," the office assistant says, tone warming to one of familiarity and welcome. Mista gives him a little grin, shifting from one foot to the other before he eventually takes a seat across from his companion. "Everything is alright, I hope?"The brief implication of things being alright with Giorno makes the senior wince and in a moment that strongly resembles his last interaction with Buccellati in regards to his blonde love interest, Mista takes off his beanie and begins picking at the fuzz that makes it up. "I mean, things are good, yeah. Giorno and I... We're goin' to prom together, we like each other... Where I screwed up the other day, he's still a little mad — but you knew that much already. It ain't nothin' that time can't fix." Buccellati nods in understanding, and Mista slouches in his seat with a frown, "I just... Well, there's somethin' he isn't really tellin' me, and I know I ought'a ask 'im outright, but... vice principal, DIO, was talkin' to him this mornin' and mentioned someone named Haruno, and I was wonderin' if you kn — ""And you'd like to know if I know who Haruno is, perhaps?" Buccellati finishes for Mista, who swallows and nods quietly. Expression unwavering, the college student reaches a hand up to tuck strands of inky black behind an ear and murmurs just loud enough so Mista can hear:"Haruno is Giorno."Those three words take Mista aback much more than he expected them to — and really, what did Mista expect Buccellati to say? That he had no idea who Haruno was, just like all of their other friends? ...That was exactly what Mista expected Buccellati to say, but the eighteen year old only sat in his seat, brows furrowed together in confusion while he and the office assistant continue to stare at one another."Haruno," Buccellati continues, tone light with the intent to educated Mista, "is a name DIO uses for Giorno when things are personal. I've only ever heard it once or twice, when Giorno is being spoken to about serious matters — and... while Mr. Brando may believe that everything he discusses with his son is serious, there are certain things that matter more than others, and those are generally the times that I've ever heard his birth name being used." Amidst his words, the black haired male sits back, setting both hands atop his desk so he can interlock his fingers in a stance that Mista knows is openly relaxed on Buccellati's behalf."But... But why doesn't Giorno just go by Haruno?" Mista finds himself asking, and is silenced only by the other male shaking his head gently. "This is something you'd be best to talk to Giorno about, Mista," the assistant tells him softly, offering him a look of brief sympathy and understanding. "I'm surprised you weren't the first to know, admittedly. He often tells you more about himself than any of us, despite how close he and I are. Truth be told, he's never given me details of why he avoids the name, but I've always been curious."Mista opens his mouth to ask something further, but Buccellati cuts him off with a sudden inquiry of, "so, what songs do you have to recommend, since Trish and I are manning the playlist for prom? Narancia and Fugo picked out songs they enjoy, and Leone picked out one that he and I both are fond of so we can perhaps step away long enough to dance with one another. It's only fair that I should ask you, too.""Uh..." The look of embarrassment on the brunette's face is apparent enough to them both, and Mista ducks his head down with a dry laugh and a clearing of his throat. "There's that one song that Giorno likes... I'm sure you've heard it, 'cause it was popular on the radio and he plays it all the time — ""That one song?" Buccellati repeats softly, a little smile curving his lips up at the corners enough to fluster Mista further. "You'll have to be more specific than that, Mista."Brown eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and the brunette scowls at the office assistant. "You know," he continues, exasperated now, "that one slow song.""Mista," the other male says, stifling a laugh at his companion's expense, "I have no clue what song you're referring to. I'm going to need a little more elaboration, please."The brunette yanks his phone from his pocket and flips open to the home screen, then to the YouTube app. "Look," he nearly snaps, scrolling aggressively through his browsing history before he comes to rest on the song that Giorno had pulled up on Mista's phone only a few days before, only for the sake of forcing someone else to listen to the song, too. "This song!" A jabbed fingertip points out the title and Buccellati's eyes light up."Oh! I do recognize this song!" "See?!" Mista puts his phone on the desk triumphantly. "You gotta play this at prom! Giorno loves this song." Buccellati nods, scribbling down the title on a sticky note before turning back to a more serious note. "In any case," clearing his throat, the older of the two leans forward enough to lock eyes with Mista again, "you need to speak with Giorno about all of this, as you know. I don't even believe I need to tell you that. There's only so much that I can do to help you before you need to start figuring things out on your own.""Yeah, yeah," Mista agrees grudgingly, snatching his phone off the table before he eventually places it back into his pocket after glancing at the time. "I really ought'a get going soon... Lunch is a quarter of the way over already, and I promised I'd spend some time talkin' with Trish."Buccellati's attention turns back to the computer momentarily before he nods and offers a little smile at Mista. "How are Fugo and Narancia doing?" he asks, ever the mom-friend taking care of his children. "They've not stopped and talked with me much since their argument the other day, but I know that they've, obviously, made up." "They're doin' well. Came to see me this mornin' and pester me 'bout how stuff's goin' with Giorno." Mista finally pulls himself from his seat, setting the beanie atop his head once more and adjusting it. "They came together, I mean." A brief expression of amusement crosses Buccellati's countenance, and after a moment, Mista exhales quietly and moves closer to the door. "I'm gonna get goin' now. Prom's in a couple days, and I'd rather get shit sorted with Giorno while I got the chance, y'know?""I do know. Believe me, I know very well. Just make sure the two of you sort things out properly before prom," Buccellati warns. "The last thing I want is to have a messy night and two of my dearest friends heartbroken."Mista nods, and then sees himself out after saying his polite goodbye and thank you to Buccellati.As he opens the door, however, he nearly runs straight into Giorno, who looks at him in startled surprise. He seems rather lacking in composure for what Mista usually knows him to be, but Mista neglects to ask why his companion looks so hurried.,
especially when Giorno's speaks up. "Mista," the blonde acknowledges softly. His gaze softens considerably and the younger male offers his older counterpart the faintest of smiles, although Mista can tell a mile away that something is on Giorno's mind. "I was just stopping by to speak to Buccellati..."The brunette's heart seems to beat a little faster when Giorno smiles at him, and he offers a grin of his own in exchange, nodding towards the door. "I just got done talkin' to him." The statement is light, but it reminds Mista of the conversation he and Giorno are due for, either now or later. "Reminds me... Can I talk to you 'bout somethin'?" Giorno nods, and the senior can barely disregard the momentary look of anxiety that flits across angelic features. "Of course," Giorno says gently, moving away from the door of the office with only the faintest shift in his expression from anxiety to carefully composed elegance. "Is something the matter?"Mista swallows hard, and swears that he may throw up, just by the way his stomach turns and his heart begins to race yet again. "Look, I didn't mean to listen in or nothin', but this mornin', I heard you and yer dad — ""HARUNO SHIOBANA."Mista's voice drowns in a shrill yell that comes from neither himself, nor Giorno. And yet, both of them turn look at the source of the offending voice. The tall figure looking closer towards them by the second causes them both to pale once they realize who it is, and Giorno's hand finds Mista's sleeve, tugging him swiftly around the corner from the office.Within a few seconds, Giorno is fumbling with a loudly explained excuse from around the corner that "he and Mista have class and really ought to be going," and Mista is being dragged to — presumed, at least — safety. Both of them glance backwards to DIO, who looks thoroughly enraged at being interrupted mid-lecture — or, in this case, mid-shriek; they duck out of sight, then, only finding reprieve in a nearby empty classroom that Mista prays DIO will not bother to venture into. Giorno, although silent, seems to be in agreement."Um," Mista begins softly, and the stern expression that Giorno offers him quiets him immediately."I'm sorry for that, Mista," Giorno says, voice low and distressed, "but you weren't intended to hear that at all." He bites down onto his lower lip while the brunette stares back at him in open confusion. The blonde starts to speak again, but instantly falls silent when Mista pins him with the immediate question."Why did he call you Haruno?" Their eyes meet, and for just a moment, Giorno's careful composure cracks enough for Mista to feel sorry for asking. He notices the way which Giorno begins worrying his lower lip between his teeth, and how the younger male suddenly just refuses to look directly at his older counterpart, and it tears Mista up. Giorno only ever affords Mista this much attention — more offhanded questions and comments with the rest of their friend circle has proven over and over again that Giorno prefers not to speak too much of his personal life, and yet, Mista knows so much of it.His hands settle on both sides of Giorno's neck, cradling gently. "You don't... You don't gotta answer me if it bothers you this much, okay?" Mista tells him quietly, and the rush of a sigh from the blonde makes him frown further. "I'll just pretend like I don't know." But after what just happened, and with DIO searching angrily for them elsewhere, how can Mista feign ignorance now?"No." The protest is immediate — enough to startle the brunette, who manages to lock eyes with Giorno once more. "No, I suppose the truth will out eventually, no matter how hard we might try to keep it tucked away." A wry smile, and then Giorno draws away from Mista's grasp to sit down on the tiled floor for a bit. The action is so uncharacteristic of Giorno — beautiful, ethereal, pristine Giorno sitting on the floor where students walk with dirty shoes and heaven only knows what else — that it makes the senior wince when Giorno folds his hands daintily in his own lap as a sign that he plans on staying right where he is.Mista follows suit, automatically reaching to grab the blonde's hand as a means of comfort, although the action is gently brushed away with a wave of Giorno's hand. "Haruno," the blonde begins, careful and precise in his words, "is my birth name. Haruno Shiobana." Mista nods at this, brows furrowed in a motion of understanding. "Padre — DIO — is my birth father. My blood. Jonathan," Giorno's expression flickers briefly from composed, to slightly unkempt, as though he intends to elaborate further before he stops. "Jonathan is, obviously, not my blood father... but he is still my father."Mista is quiet for a moment, reaching his hand forward in one more attempt to hold Giorno's hand. The blonde allows it this time, lips curving up so faintly at the corners that it makes the brunette's heart ache. In the span of their friendship, he has become so accustomed to the way which Giorno reacts to things more openly, that seeing him so subdued and... forlorn, for lack of a better term, makes the senior feel a little disheartened. It makes him feel almost as though he is back at square one, where he knows next to nothing about the person he has fallen hopelessly in love with."Alright... that ain't such a big deal," Mista tells him softly, before asking, "why not just take one of your father's names?"Giorno looks almost annoyed at the question, although the reaction disappears quickly. "My mother," he continues, fixing Mista with a look that wordlessly tells him not to interrupt again. Mista obliges. "She isn't a part of the picture. She's Japanese, so when I was born to her and padre... I was Haruno until I got older and realized how truly out of place I was with the Italian culture I grew up in. When padre settled in with Jonathan, I changed my name." The lingering pause after the explanation seems open for Mista to ask anything on his mind, so he does, carefully. Asking the same question twice would either annoy Giorno or force him to answer this time around."Why not take either of your father's last names?" "Mista," Giorno says gently, offering the senior a smile that fails to meet his eyes, "before I came here, I had involvement in certain things, with certain organizations, that I would rather not delve into."Mista's brows furrow before Giorno continues. "I have... family that has done things I would rather not associate myself with, and would prefer to avoid mixing problems from one family name with another, is all. I'm certain you can understand that.""Oh, so you've got some dirty laundry." Mista speaks lightly, almost ignoring the lift of a finely groomed brow on Giorno's behalf and then he offers a genuine grin at his counterpart. "Y'know, like... skeletons in the closet and all." Giorno's coinciding nod makes him continue to smile, and Mista leaned forward some. "That's cool, GioGio. I've got some, too. Everyone's got some." He leans a little closer, resting his forehead against Giorno's after a moment's time. "Dirty laundry looks good on you, though." Before he can stop himself, Giorno snorts a little laugh and draws away from Mista, glancing down in slight embarrassment. Embarrassment, Mista thinks, looks just as pretty on Giorno, who is all sharp beauty, like a stone statue. It puts the warmest touch of color to otherwise pale, beautiful features.Mista tilts in again, though, reaching his other hand up to smooth back Giorno's hair with a softened expression that, hopefully, puts the blonde a little more at ease. "Seriously, though, Giorno," Mista says, more serious than he can really remember being about much anything else. "I don't care about what you did way back then, before you and I met. I only care about what we do."The blonde's eyes flicker with a hint of mirth, and after drawing back just a fraction, Mista pulls himself upright with no grace and offers a hand to Giorno, who takes it daintily — as Mista expected — and dusts himself off lightly after standing upright."Mista, we should go back to lunch. I'm certain that people are waiting on us."Mista blinks once. Twice. When he realizes what time it is along with the fact that they are still in the abandoned classroom to avoid confrontation with Giorno's angry father — or, well, the vice president of their high school — he offers an awkward laugh, along with a shrug of his shoulders. "Yeah... Yer probably right, now that I think 'bout it. Let's go back to what's left of lunch, then... we'll try to finish the day like normal. Sound good, sunshine?"
"That sounds pleasant, yes, but please don't call me that," Giorno acquiesces, reaching a hand up to push Mista's face to one side with his fingertips. Mista thinks offhandedly that Giorno is even more cute when he scrunches his nose at Mista in disapproval.
And after slinging an arm over the blonde's shoulders, they take the longer route to get to the lunchroom, but the time they spend talking makes it all worth the while.