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The radio host announced another song, one Giorno let slip into the back of his consciousness while he kept his nose behind the open textbook in his hands. He tapped his index idly against the book’s spine as he read on and Dio drove them through the sprawling countryside to the sound of synth, thrumming guitar lines, and a cheerful singing voice.That was the summer he and his father took to a holiday resort together for a fortnight, the summer everybody called him ‘GioGio’ and it never occurred to him to mind. It was just when he’d begun to grow into himself, only standing on the brink of adulthood, but not yet having tasted the wilderness beyond the world Dio had kept him safely within his whole life. That was the summer he fell in love.After some hours of peaceful driving Dio’s car - sleek and the colour of dusk – slipped through a tall gate and down the gravel path through the resort’s ground and up towards the towering main house. A small crowd split off from where they’d stood by the front entrance to greet them.“And this fine gentleman-” a man Giorno assumed was the resort manager said as he swung his arm out to indicate the oncoming car. “This will be the renowned and honourable Dio Brando. And his family, of course. Treat him with the utmost respect. I’ll be watching every single one of you brats this week, so you better keep your act up around him.”A metal logo sat on Dio’s car bonnet - a silver five-pointed star. Some of the resort workers eyed it nervously, squinting when the highly polished metal threw back midday sun into their eyes. The car’s windows were tinted and rolled up so while nobody outside could see him yet Giorno had a fine view of the resort people. Most were college-age kids in prim white uniforms, reminiscent of cricket garb, with neatly slicked hair and stiff faces. Some stood off the car path with trolleys, waiting for the next guest to arrive and unload their luggage. A couple were helping a larger family move their junk from their car across the rank. The engine was abruptly cut. Dio got out and rounded the car, completely ignored the manager’s offer of a handshake, paused by Giorno’s window in the back, and rapped his knuckles against the glass. Giorno rolled the window down.“Good,” said Dio. “I thought you might have nodded off back there.”Giorno peered over Dio’s shoulder at the staff. Some were paying an uncomfortable amount of attention to him through the open window.Dio followed his gaze and frowned. “Prissy brats, all of them. They’ll be here because even their parents can’t keep them on a tight enough leash. I raised you better, so you’d know not to get mixed up with their kind. Isn’t that right GioGio?”Giorno nodded. In truth he had no interest in the college staff anyway. They were ivy-league-types, but the worst of the lot. Their parents’ bank balance had most likely been their ticket into those schools in the first place. Giorno climbed out of the car and followed Dio over to a small group of resort officials, one of whom finally got his handshake and slapped Giorno on the shoulder with a laugh. The manager began listing available activities throughout the week: Ping-Pong, softball, dance lessons, still-life art, squash, croquet, the works. Dio nodded along disinterestedly. Then the manager pulled Dio away to reminisce about something that happened years before Giorno was born, something which had allowed both men to become ludicrously wealthy, but nothing Giorno cared about listening in on. He hovered by the parking bay until their car was commandeered by a young man with a staff lanyard around his neck and a glossy smile across his face, as it was driven away out of sight, and then he hovered for a minute longer.Finally, Dio noticed Giorno standing a few feet behind him. “Go and see the main house GioGio,” he told him. “We’ll be attending the dance there tonight. But be back at our lodge on the hour.”Giorno nodded and hopped off the gravel away from the parking rank. Dio was soon pulled away again by another wealthy-looking guest with a stiff and greedy smile, clasping his hands with something between hunger and terror painted across his face. It was a revolting sight. Giorno turned away.The main house was a grand towering thing, red brick and ivy, crouched at the crook of a hill like a sleeping lion between the crowded woods on either side. It cast a small shadow over its front lawns in the early afternoon where some other early guests were milling around to admire the landscape. Giorno skirted the lawns until he reached the back of the building. His primary aim was to find some quiet spot he’d be able to use later in the week to escape from his father and the other guests, somewhere he could hide with a book or two without being bothered for a few hours. He’d study, and nap, and then eventually return to their cabin by the end of the day. Dio wouldn’t mind where he was as long as he wasn’t mixing with the wrong crowd or doing anything dangerous.Giorno swiftly explored the back garden of the main house. It was less well-kept than the front lawns and littered with damp vegetation and spare plastic furniture from events gone by. He got the impression few people came back here, it was cold and uninviting and smelt strongly of rotting leaves. He’d rather keep looking for his hiding spot than linger here.As he hopped over a low wall, he heard laughter coming from inside the building, to his left. A man said something in response and the laughter returned. Giorno crept closer. A floor-length window, with drawn curtains, stood between him and the laughter. There was only a small sliver of a gap between the curtains he could peek through and into the house.Giorno paused – an instinctual bone-deep motion Dio had drilled into him, knowing he shouldn’t be snooping around and eavesdropping on complete strangers – and payed close attention to the voices on the other side of the curtains.“-you’re all assholes.”“You’re the asshole!”There was at least two male voices and one female speaking over one another simultaneously in the room. Giorno crept closer to the window to peek between the curtains, but only got a glimpse of somebody’s elbow. He couldn’t see anybody’s faces from where he was.“Hey, pass me somethin’ from the table, would you?” asked a young male voice.A young woman answered him, tiredly, “This food is for the guests, remember?”“They won’t miss one little slice of salami or some shit, will they?” There was some murmured debate. “Just gimme one, alright? I’m fucking starving.” There was some more murmuring around the room, this time a little more defeated. Then, “Wait! Shit, there’s only four slices on the plate. Fuck that.”“You pussy!” another young male voice shouted out, cackling from a different direction than the first guy. “You’re such a fucking pussy, dude!”Giorno crouched to see through the curtains better, hoping to see exactly what was happening indoors that would cause such an uproar.“I’m not a pussy!” the first guy was shouting back. “I know what’ll fuck my luck up, and that’s just asking for some really bad luck. I’m not eating the fourth slice, one of you lot eat it before me instead. Shut up!” The laughter continued, the girl from earlier now finding it just as entertaining. “Fuck you guys.” Heavy footsteps approached the window Giorno was crouching by. “I’m going for a run.”Giorno scrambled back and away from the window, over a low wall and across the back garden. He ran without looking back. He didn’t think too hard about why he ran, only knowing that he was not meant to have eavesdropped like that; it was poor manners and very unlike him to do something so rude and dangerous. He shouldn’t be here. Dio can’t find out. Nobody should see him.As Giorno skidded around a corner and behind a wall, he heard somebody slide the French window open and stomp out into the back garden. He waited there for another moment and caught his breath.He wondered if he could peek around the wall to see who he’d been listening to that whole time without being noticed…But decided against it. He evened his breath, dusted himself off, and returned to the front lawns.Giorno sat as far into the gloomiest corner of the ballroom as he physically could. If anyone had been paying attention to him, they might have seen the way he was folding in on himself. But nobody made any indication of having noticed his discomfort. He’d only escaped a few minutes earlier from the clutches of one of his father’s colleges by the skin of his teeth and an ounce of luck. Everyone wanted to speak to the son of Dio. Everyone wanted to learn about him. Or dance with him. Or take it further, to Giorno’s growing disgust. He'd spent the whole day rejecting offers from the other children of rich guests to keep him company – a thinly veiled attempt to get closer to Dio and his political ties. They’d probably only been given the idea by their own parents. Dio was notoriously rich and influential, it was no surprise to Giorno that he had been an almost equal magnet for attention that afternoon. But this evening’s event had presented him with an additional reason for rejecting each advance they made; he did not know how to dance.Giorno sipped a glass of water and watched his father slowly waltzing across the floor at the other end of the hall with the fifth woman of the evening. At least he looked content for now. This holiday hadn’t been for the sake of relaxation since its inception; it was merely a glorified business affair for Dio. Giorno recognised almost a third of the men and women in that hall as associates of his father. This was going to be a very dry holiday. But it can’t be that bad, he was thinking, there must be something at this resort he could occupy himself with once Dio inevitably forces him to become…proactive. Maybe he’d volunteer to help with the creche or backstage with the end-of-week variety show.Just as he was mentally planning his coming week, a man split from the crowd and tentatively approached Giorno across the floor. He recognised the man as one of Dio’s colleagues, Pucci, who’d been showing some growing interest in Giorno since their arrival. He may have been here primarily to suck up to Dio, but he’d apparently decided to also suck up to the heir while he was at it.“Are you enjoying the evening, GioGio?” asked Pucci. He stood a polite distance from the table Giorno sat at but watched him with the same quiet eagerness of a well-trained dog.“Yes,” said Giorno simply. He brought his glass back up to his face and stared at an oblique spot in space by Pucci’s left elbow.“How is school? You’re starting university this year, I heard from Dio. How is that coming along?”“It’s good.”“What are you going to be studying there? Will you study Law like your father?”“Economics of underdeveloped countries.”Pucci looked impressed. “That’s… very respectable. I heard from your father that you’ve been taking some interest in charitable work as of late.”Giorno didn’t reply and Pucci began to look uncomfortable. If he was trying to win some sort of favour from Dio through his son, things were not going to plan. Thankfully they were saved the awkward silence when somebody called Pucci’s name from across the hall and he gratefully scurried away from the table.Which left Giorno contemplating his surroundings again. The event was miserable. It was a waste of time. He could have spent this evening comfortably in his room getting a head-start on his course books for the coming year. But instead he was watching a room full of tipsy elites swaying to off-key blues. Giorno dimly wondered if he could sneak out the fire door and back to their cabin across the resort without attracting any attention from the other guests. He could feign a stomach ache or a migraine. He could get away from this sad excuse of a dance. It wasn’t a wholly unattractive idea.But then the music changed suddenly. It had been a slow and gratingly sleepy waltz until now, but the tempo picked up and the brass section onstage flared into life. The lights dropped. Giorno’s attention was drawn to an open door at one end of the ballroom.A colourful pair swept through the doors and across the hall and into a wide clearing the other guests made when they pulled back to the edges to make room. A pretty young woman in a sheer magenta gown struck a delicate pose, one hand on the shoulder of a young man in a three-piece suit and the other held up into the air. The man was tall, broad, and tan, with a mess of greased and curly dark hair. He was grinning from ear to ear. Both dancers brimmed with a barely-contained energy as the mambo music trilled through its prelude.Giorno couldn’t look away once the mambo began and the two sprung into action. The girl moved like a force of nature, bending, spinning, flitting around the dance floor with a stunning effortlessness. She twirled and hopped onto her tiptoes and flicked her arms up over her head, and then fell right back into rhythm on the next beat. There were times when Giorno was sure she should have fallen or slipped based on how she threw her weight around in those glittery high-heels she wore. But she never did. On the other hand, her partner was dancing with a real visible power. He lifted her up, spun her around, matched each of her movements with one of his own, tossing his head back and sliding across the floor with a grin, striking every beat of the mambo, snapping into every pose, with strong movements and more brazen confidence than Giorno had ever seen in anyone else, glowing and buzzing with sensuality. The dancer barely broke a sweat when he picked his partner off the ground and hauled her over his head for an unbelievable move; she stretched herself out in the air before being dipped low to the dancefloor while still keeping the same form. That man must have been incredibly strong to pull it off, Giorno thought. He must be phenomenally strong.Giorno followed the young man’s movements as the dancers passed his table with a series of twirls and stomps. He’d never seen dancing like it before. It made his heart pound. It was mesmerising.He watched, rapt, as the girl lifted one leg up and hooked it over her partner’s shoulder. She went limp and let her partner pull her over the floor then slowly up his body until she was almost straddling him. In a matter of a few more smooth movements, they’d rearranged themselves and the two were delicately turning to each other, placing both hands on the other’s chest, and shimmying their hips in perfect synchronicity.But just as the dance reached the fastest and brassiest part of the mambo, the two dancers halted. They looked embarrassed. Giorno followed their gazes and found the resort manager – the one who’d greeted him that morning with an uncomfortable amount of familiarity – miming a cutting motion across his neck.The music continued but the two dancers split apart. The young woman in pink drifted over to a group of older men and offered her hand to dance meanwhile the man found himself attacked by some women wearing silk and pearls on the other side of the floor.Everything in the ballroom settled back into normality as if a storm had passed through. Giorno’s heart beating furiously against his ribs began to slow to its regular pace.Soon, Giorno had lost interest in the dance and became restless. He could see another of Dio’s colleagues across the hall working themselves up to speak to him. Before he could be trapped once again, Giorno slipped away from his table and through the crowd of swaying guests. He left the hall as the mambo faded back into a sleepy waltz behind him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It was a chilly summer’s night; Giorno pulled his cardigan closer around himself as he crossed the resort. Most of everyone was either in the main hall for the evening dance event or already safely inside their cabin so he only found about a dozen other guests wandering the grounds as he went. Most were drunk. He nodded respectfully to each he passed. With Dio occupied for the next hour at least he had an opportunity to see new corners of the resort he hadn’t seen yet. There was still a chance that he’d find a spot removed enough from the main building where he could hide for the rest of the week. There had to be places in the woods surrounding the property like that which weren’t cold or damp or dangerous. He had his hopes up, being left in an oddly optimistic mood after seeing the mambo performance.The music, and the dance, and the performers had left a sort of warmth in him. A heat. A restlessness. Giorno wouldn’t put a name to the feeling but it certainly wasn’t unpleasant.He passed a sign – Staff Quarters. No Guests Please. It was nailed onto the side of a rough corrugated wall. He was too caught up in his thoughts to process the meaning of the words being directed at him. They were simply letters on a sign and he carried on down the path, thinking about the mambo, and the energy it had left buzzing through him. Giorno wasn’t brought out of his mind again until he’d come to the foot of a bridge across a shadowy trench. Some lamps along the path lit the area; he could see a low building on the other side of the ditch up a slope at the top of a set of rough steps built directly into the muddy bank. Dreamy soul music was drifting over from inside the building.As Giorno leant against a tree for a moment being puzzled by the sounds of a party at this rather derelict corner of the resort, somebody passed him. A young man in a grubby top and a pair of torn jeans hurried along the dirt path towards the staff building. He was carrying three large watermelons, with some difficulty. When he reached the foot of the bridge, he suddenly slipped on the damp planks and almost lost one of his melons down into the ditch below him. He juggled the fruit for a moment as he struggled to keep both his balance and his grip.Giorno jumped forwards on instinct and caught a melon before it could fall again and pushed it back into the man’s arms.“Wh-hey!” The young man lurched away from Giorno, struggling to move with any speed while still holding onto all three melons. “What the shit- what are you doing here?”“I was taking a walk,” said Giorno.“Uh, well…” The man readjusted his grip around the melons. “Then, go back.”“Here, let me help you.” Giorno reached for the melons again. The man complained for another moment before reluctantly letting Giorno take one of the watermelons from his arms. With only two, he stood a little straighter. He was a head shorter than Giorno and about the same age, maybe older. His hair looked like it had been cut in the dark, black and choppy and falling over his eyes. He blew his fringe back as he looked Giorno up and down with a cheeky glint in his eyes.“Guests aren’t allowed down here,” the young man said, glancing around the woods. “Why don’t you go back to the main house? You sure were popular up there, from what I saw. Cheese and wine, that’s more your scene, right? Dancing around with the other rich fo– whoa! Hey-!” He staggered backwards as Giorno dumped the third melon back into his arms and promptly strutted off the bridge away from him. “Wait! Can you keep a secret?”Giorno paused. He turned back to the young man with a blank expression.The young man looked pained. He quietly groaned. “Your dad’s gonna kill you.”Giorno considered this. He imagined Dio’s reaction upon hearing his son had wandered off to mingle with the entertainment staff. He’d have an aneurism. Who knew the consequences of this behaviour? Not Giorno, that’s for sure. He couldn’t begin to predict what would happen. But maybe, in actuality, it didn’t really matter. A little excitement never hurt anybody.Giorno approached the young man and took a melon from him once again. They crossed the bridge and began climbing the rough steps together up the bank, quickly introducing themselves to each other as they went. When they reached the door of the building which pulsed with the sounds of music and stomping feet and cheering, the man - who’d introduced himself as Narancia - shoved through with full arms and nodded for Giorno to follow him inside.Giorno gaped; the scene indoors was almost primal.Giorno gawked at couples grinding against each other to the rhythm of blues, hand on hips, and chests, and thighs. He couldn’t tell where the music came from when it seemed to be bleeding up from the very floorboards underneath his feet. The dancers, however many dozens of them there were in the rooms, moved as one. They moved as one great, sensual, pulsating, beast which thrust and groped and sighed along to the tune of crooning rock music. The air was heavy with sweat. It stunk of the bodies dancing – or whatever they thought passed as dancing – and it was all Giorno could do to stay steady on his feet as he pushed through the room.The watermelons were safely delivered to a bench at the far side by a nearly empty bowl of punch and a stack of paper cups. Narancia noticed the dazed look on Giorno’s face. He grinned and leant over the bench on his elbows.“Can you imagine-” he said, pointing a thumb over at the bacchanalia, “Can you imagine dancing like this on the main stage? The whole fuckin’ resort would get shut down.”“Where did they learn to dance like that?”Narancia shrugged. “Here.”Just then, the doors across the door swung open again. The two mambo dancers from earlier swept in to meet the raucous greeting of everybody else inside. The girl in pink split into a grin and raised her arms with a whoop while her partner next to her was already beginning to move in time with the music. The guy threw back half a bottle of beer someone had handed to him and spun around with a laugh. Both dancers joined the throng as the song changed to one with a quicker tempo.Narancia pointed to the male dancer. “That’s Guido Mista! He’s my best friend!” Mista was bending backwards in a limbo-like move, thrusting upwards with each beat. “He got me the job here.”Mista and his partner wrapped themselves together, running their hands over each other’s hips and flicking their heads from side to side, grinning. As the girl was pulled closer to Mista’s hip Giorno felt something cold and sickly grip his throat. But he couldn’t look away.Giorno pursed his lips and said stiffly, “They look great together.”“Yeah,” Narancia scoffed. “You’d think they were a couple, huh?”Giorno blinked. “Aren’t they?” The two dancers were practically grinding on each other in the centre of the dance room.“Nah. Trish’s girlfriend works across the country in the summer.” As he said this, Trish was hauled up around Mista’s hips. She slung her arms around his neck and began twisting in his lap and letting out a high and tinkling laughter. “And Mista hasn’t dated in years. He’s a total loser.”Giorno hesitated to believe that. Mista was broad and flexible and demonstrably strong. He had to be popular with women. As he though it Giorno let his eyes linger on the slice of Mista’s chest left bare by his shirt, which had become almost entirely unbuttoned since the last time Giorno had seen him. He let his eyes linger on his upper arms. He let himself watch the way his hips moved to the beat of the song. Giorno smiled as he watched Mista dance, in a way that suggested sex in every single movement and found himself wishing he was in Trish’s place. Just for a moment he wondered what it would be like. What dancing in the arms of that man would feel like, with those heavy hands on his hips, and thighs pressed to his, and breath over his neck.Then the song ended and was replaced by a jazzy piece. The room erupted into cheers and the two performers at the centre of the throng broke apart. Trish twirled away to join another group and Giorno quickly lost sight of her. At the same time, Mista moved steadily between the other dancers towards him and Narancia with a mostly empty bottle in hand. Giorno froze up.“Hey Narancia,” said Mista, then took a heavy swig from the bottle. He gave Giorno a wary glance. “What’s he doing here?”“He’s with me.” Narancia was cheerful, too cheerful by Giorno’s guess. Mista looked unconvinced. It was the same kind of look as the one Narancia had given him when they’d met outside. They both knew he was a kid of one of the rich guests. They were going to kick him out. He needed to say something, or they’d kick him out.In a moment of brief panic, Giorno quickly straightened up and told Mista, “I carried a watermelon.”
What?
Mista’s eyebrows rose. He glanced at Narancia once, left the empty bottle on the bench top, then silently turned away from the two of them and re-joined the dance. Giorno was left to curse himself. He’d royally fucked that up.
I carried a watermelon? What kind of-?
Giorno’s furious train of thought suddenly derailed once he spotted Mista strutting across the dancefloor next to Trish. He was doing that thing with his hips again. As Mista came a little closer to their quiet corner of the room, Giorno felt himself tensing. He locked his eyes to Mista’s in an attempt to keep from staring at the rest of him. Mista slid back up to their bench but didn’t stop dancing. He quirked an index at Giorno in the universal signal for ‘come over here’.Giorno kept his expression blank as he let Mista take one of his hands and lead him away from the drinks bench. He was led out into the centre of the room where there was just enough space for the two of them to stand facing each other. The other party-goers didn’t pay them any mind, to Giorno’s immense relief.Mista positioned Giorno before him and motioned for Giorno to pay close attention. “Bend your knees,” he said, and demonstrated. “Down.”Giorno did as he was told. Mista frowned and shook his head but stayed where he was.“Now copy me. Like this.” He began swirling his hips in a slow circle. Giorno tried his best to move the same way. Mista’s face contorted in something like amusement, awkwardly twisting his lips in an attempt to keep from laughing. Giorno scowled and stopped moving. But Mista planted his hands on Giorno waist, and he couldn’t get away. “Like this-” Mista repeated as he guided Giorno to sway in time to his own movement. “Watch my eyes.” Giorno watched Mista eyes. He felt the hands leave his waist, and he kept his rhythm. “Good. Very good.” Mista came closer and fitted their hips together on one side, so that their left shoulders touched. Giorno watched Mista out the corner of his eye. Mista was grinning lopsidedly. Giorno’s face quickly heated up.Just as the music fell into a choppy and lively solo, Mista pushed Giorno backwards and took his hands, and pulled them up to drape around his shoulders. He held Giorno in place while still gently pushing their bodies together in time to the beat. In a matter of seconds Giorno was following Mista’s movement without even thinking. He could feel Mista’s body heat under his hands, and through the narrow space between their chests. He could smell the sweat and cologne coming off him. He could see the stubble on his chin. Giorno ground up into Mista’s crotch purely on instinct. Mista’s eyes widened for a moment, then Giorno felt his hands tighten around his waist in approval.They were dancing together. It felt good. It felt intimate, insanely so, impossibly so.Giorno parted his lips, looking up to meet Mista’s dark eyes, and the music stopped. He snapped his mouth shut.Another song, quicker and brassier, replaced the jazz they’d been dancing to. Mista broke away and turned his back on Giorno and shouted something out to the room around them. Giorno didn’t hear what he said. He stood in the centre of the cheering throng and felt his heart pounding against his ribs. He was almost gulping for breath. The dance resumed around him.Feeling suddenly very out of place and frightened, Giorno wiped cooling sweat from his face and hurried from the staff building and back out into the cold night air. For the second time that evening he left the dance behind. But this time his heart did not stop racing.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Giorno slept very little that first night. He lay on his bed under the blanket with the lights off and thought about dancing. He thought about warm hands on his hips and music pulsing through the soles of his feet and a pair of wide dark brown eyes watching him swing and gyrate to the irresistible rhythm of soul. These thoughts followed him out of bed the next morning, and into the breakfast hall, and out to the lawns that afternoon. Dio must have noticed his inattention, because after sitting next to him for a good while on the mock-beach by the lakeside – the open economics textbook in his hands not having been turned past the same page for at least half an hour – Dio nudged him.“You look distracted,” he told Giorno. Dio wore a hideously large pair of rhinestone-encrusted sunglasses; Giorno found himself squinting back at him to reply.“I’m only tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”Dio lifted his shades up to peer at him. “Why is that?”“It must be the unfamiliarity of the room I sleep in. We so rarely go on holiday. I’ll get used to it, don’t worry yourself.” Giorno turned his attention back to the book’s pages. No more than ten seconds later he felt Dio’s laser gaze still on him. He sighed. “Yes, father?” he asked, not looking up from his textbook.“I think you need to relax a little, GioGio,” Dio drawled. “Try one of the many sports being offered to you perhaps-” he gestured to some other guests flailing around in the shallows of the lake with an inflatable volleyball. Giorno grimaced. “As long as you’re still within my line of sight I don’t see why you cannot enjoy yourself during our stay at this place. There’s plenty you can occupy yourself with…”Dio continued but Giorno’s attention had been drawn away to a small gathering to their far right. By the edge of the forest, under the shade of the treeline, a cluster of folding tables had been arranged up on the bank. Young children were getting their faces painted, older women were having their hair done up, and in the centre a girl with a glossy staff lanyard hanging around her neck was digging through a large crate of cosmetics.“…are you listening to me?”Giorno turned back to his father. “Of course. I understand your concern. So, I’m going to go occupy myself,” he said, pointing a thumb behind him, “Over there.”When Giorno approached the cosmetic station, Trish did a double take. She didn’t appear to recognise him fully the first time. She dropped the costume wig she held down to a table top and quickly weaved between two rows of giggling teenaged girls towards him.“You’re…” she began uncertainly, pointing an index at him. “You were there last night, weren’t you? In the staff quarters.”“I was,” said Giorno. “That isn’t a problem, is it?”Trish folded her arms and cocked her hip. “Not as long as you don’t tell anybody about the party.” Her eyes flicked over Giorno’s shoulder for a moment, towards where Dio was still lounging among the other guests. She sighed. “Sit down, then. We’ll both be in trouble if your dad sees us just chatting like this.”Trish parked him between two older women having their nails meticulously painted. Neither of the guests or any of the other staff payed him any attention as he settled into the folding chair while Trish went off to fetch some gear. If somebody there had tried to initiate a conversation, he may have bailed at once. He couldn’t stand small talk. The only reason he’d approached the beauty station was Trish. After a minute she returned with a plastic case in her arms. Giorno suspiciously eyed the box.“What are you going to do to me?”Trish scoffed. “Nothing painful. I’ll do your hair up. You okay with that?”Giorno nodded, and Trish started carefully pulling apart his braid from behind. There was no mirror on the table in front of him so Giorno could only imagine what she was doing. He wasn’t concerned about the end result, having complete faith in Trish thanks to the impression of a reliable young woman he’d got from her so far, as long as there were no shears involved. He kept a close eye on every tool and product which moved in and out of her hands. Soon Giorno caught himself loosening by a fraction in the folding chair. He no longer felt quite as tightly-wound as he had after his poor night’s sleep. He suspected it was the sensation of a brush being pulled through his hair so gently; he hadn’t let anyone but himself touch his hair since he was old enough to tend to it on his own, so he’d forgotten how relaxing it really was. He closed his eyes.“Looking good,” said a familiar voice.Giorno bolted up straight in his seat, startling Trish. Mista was approaching from up the bank with a violently orange jacket slung over his shoulder and slicked-back hair. He winked at Giorno who instinctively averted his eyes. But after only another second, he looked back up to see that Mista was walking over to greet Trish.Mista looked good today, Giorno noted. Dressed in casual clothing and significantly less sweaty, Mista looked almost professional. There was still a loose charm about him nonetheless. Giorno watched him speak to Trish for a minute, kiss her cheek, and jog back up the beach away towards the lawns. It was then that Giorno noticed a small smile had crept across his face. He cleared his throat and locked his eyes to his clasped hands on his lap.Trish returned to Giorno’s side. “Sorry about that.”“Oh, it’s fine,” Giorno said. “How long have you two been friends?”Trish was silent for a moment, surprised by the question. She twisted some hair from behind Giorno’s ear around her finger and curtly answered, “A long time. We’ve been dancing together since we were kids.”“I think you’re a wonderful dancer.”Trish’s grip on Giorno’s hair tightened for a moment. “Yeah, well I ran from home and my father when I was sixteen. All I wanted was to dance.”Giorno considered this. He turned his head to face Trish, but not enough to pull his hair from her fingers. “Is that your dream?”Trish’s frown deepened. “My what?”“A dream. An idea you chase, no matter what you have to do in order to achieve it.”Trish slipped a tie around the end of Giorno’s braid. “You’re either crazy or stupid,” she told him.“I have dreams too. And yours sounds wonderful, I envy you.”Trish met his gaze. Her eyes went cold. She sighed and turned away, silently packing away her tools and leaving his corner of the makeshift salon behind to attend to another guest. Giorno was left to wonder where he’d gone wrong.That evening Giorno lurked around by the lawns. The event being held there that night was pleasantly subdued compared to the previous kitschy events Giorno had witnessed the resort offer. A gazebo had been strung up with multi-coloured fairy lights and large lanterns. A band played outside underneath the night sky. A dozen guests were slowly waltzing around the gazebo, swaying and giggling with half-empty wine glasses in their hands, more or less following the rhythm of the band’s music. Giorno was only watching the dance. He was paying the most attention to Mista as he guided a woman in her thirties through the steps, one hand on her hip, nodding encouragingly and speaking words to her Giorno could not make out from where he stood. Meanwhile Narancia was flitting between the other couples and cracking jokes, most of which didn’t appear to land, and occasionally joining the dance to keep the spirits high.Perhaps if Dio weren’t standing a dozen feet away with a bottle of wine and a group of cackling work friends, Giorno would have gone up to Mista and asked for another dance. Maybe even ask for a dance lesson under the gazebo lights. There was a part of him sure that a waltz couldn’t be too difficult. The handsy style Mista had demonstrated the previous evening struck him as beyond beginner level. If these housewives and pudgy bankers could pull it off, Giorno was sure he wouldn’t be too terrible under Mista’s guidance.As Giorno slunk around the perimeter of the gazebo – hoping for a better view of Mista’s demonstration of the twostep – his eye was drawn to some movement across the lawn. Dio was approaching the dance. Giorno quickly shrunk away back into the shadows. Earlier he’d told Dio that he would spend that evening studying in their cabin. Dio had believed him. If he saw Giorno skulking around in the dark like this he’d only assume Giorno was out looking for trouble, or worse. Whatever Dio thought, and whatever he decided to do about Giorno’s delinquency, it wouldn’t be good. Giorno left the gazebo and its lights and its music behind and slipped away into the woods surrounding the resort.There was no light here save for the moon through the branches and a faint glow from the buildings beyond the treeline. Giorno kept his eyes wide and groped his way through the woods. This was the shortest route back to his and Dio’s lodge and it saved him any chances of bumping into his father or his colleagues along the pathways around the resort. The only downside was the lack of visibility. But Giorno was confident enough in his general good fortune to not be afraid of an accident.It was about halfway back to the lodge through the woods that Giorno heard a loud crack.At first it sounded to him like a gunshot; he instinctively turned his head toward the source of the noise and froze. But a moment later the tell-tale sound of rustling branches and a muffled thud indicated otherwise.Giorno frowned. He couldn’t guess why a tree branch would have snapped of its own accord. Then, somebody screamed. The scream turned to a low and persistent wail. It was coming from the same direction.He started running, following the sound of sobbing ahead. He didn’t have to look far. What seemed like only a dozen feet away from where he’d been walking when he heard the crack, he found the crumpled body of a girl. She lay by a tree which was almost split in half. Its trunk struck up into the air in a cruel and splintered state, the rest of it now resting innocently on the mossy ground nearby. The girl had her face hidden behind her arms and continued to wail.Giorno crouched nearby and gently touched her arm. The girl flinched back. Giorno threw his hands up in peace and Trish stared back at him in blurry shock. She sobbed and said nothing. Giorno’s eyes wandered over to her legs, one of which was laying at a nauseating angle. It was dark in the trees, but he could just about see the outline of fractured bone and a spreading red welt under the skin. Her leg was broken, and it was broken badly. The staff lanyard was still around her neck.After a moment the surprise of his appearance wore off; Trish went back to wailing and dug her nails into the dirt under her. Giorno gathered himself and took a deep breath. He stood and oriented himself back to where he’d come from, then hurried through the trees towards the lights of the gazebo.Everybody was still dancing when he got back. The laughter and music were like the shock of cold air after a warm shower to Giorno. It was too bright, too drunk, and too happy, when a girl was laying broken and afraid onto a few dozen paces away through the trees. The music from the band was still loud enough to drown out Trish’s cries for help.Giorno sprinted up the gazebo steps and straight up to Narancia, who was counting cash by the bannister, and skidded to a halt by his side. “Narancia,” he hissed, getting his attention. When Narancia saw the look across Giorno’s face he paled and lent in close. “Trish is in the forest. She’s hurt. Her leg is broken. She needs help.”Giorno barely got past his second fragmented sentence – still gasping for breath – when Narancia took off across the gazebo and grabbed Mista away from his dance. He spoke quickly into Mista’s ear and not a moment later both were running from the gazebo. Giorno levelled his breathing for a moment. A couple other guests turned to stare at him for a second before returning to their dance, and it was only then that Giorno thought to check that Dio hadn’t been nearby. He wasn’t. Dio was nowhere in sight, for once. Giorno sighed in relief and followed the other two.He found them at the edge of the woods waiting for him. Mista was pacing and clenching his fists at his sides.“Why was she in the forest?” Giorno asked when he caught up to them.“She sometimes does her practices in there,” Narancia explained, “since it’s the only place she can get left alone at this place. And I’ve seen her up in the trees too. Probably for balance or something.”“Fucking stupid,” Mista muttered through gritted teeth. “This was gonna happen eventually. Fuck!” He turned to Giorno. “So? Where the fuck is she? Where’s Trish?”Narancia made an uncertain motion to calm him, which did nothing at all. He sighed and turned to Giorno and said, “Hey, just show us where you found her. We’ll get her help.”Giorno led the way through the forest. In truth, he wasn’t needed, since Trish’s cries were audible after only ten paces into the cover of the trees. As soon as the three of them reached her Mista jumped forwards to scoop her up into his arms. She coughed and complained when he adjusted her weight, before looping weak arms around his neck and hiding her face in his shirt as he carried her away.The rest of that night was blurry. Mista drove off with Trish in his backseat to deliver her to the hospital. Giorno waited with Narancia for news to arrive. After almost an hour Mista returned with a haunted look, saying they’d hear about her condition eventually, but none of them could do anymore for now. They occupied the reception of the main house, taut and sick with anxiety. Mista paced the hallway while Narancia sat nearby and Giorno hovered at a safe distance. Each time Mista passed the only phone in the room – built into the wall with a phonebook on a string nailed alongside – he paused for a few seconds and stared at it, like he was daring it to ring, before returning to his pacing. Giorno watched this without a word.Midnight struck and a heavy bell toll from somewhere upstairs startled the group waiting in the reception. Mista froze and stared directly up at the ceiling above him. Giorno made to approach him, hoping to speak some comforting words, when the front door opened.A young woman in black fishnets and an oversized band shirt strode in. Both Mista and Narancia stood up at once in recognition.“She’s out of surgery,” the young woman announced. She glanced briefly at Giorno as she passed him, curiously, before joining the others across the hallway.Mista rushed forwards to hold her still with wide and desperate eyes. “Surgery?” he repeated, almost whispering.“Yeah.” The girl shrugged his hands away. “Her…leg bone, whichever fucking bone, was snapped clean in two. Though apparently, it was a good break. Trish was lucky,” she said. The others stared at her in horror. “Hey, that’s a good thing. That means she’ll still be able to walk after this. Once they put her bones back into place…or whatever, she’ll recover in no time.” The young woman’s expression and posture radiated assurance, but her voice wavered a little as she spoke. “Trish will be okay. I’m going to head back to the hospital to check up on her again in a couple hours. You can come with, if you like.”Mista nodded mutely. He still stood in front of the girl in fishnets with the same anxious energy as before, looking only a little more reassured by the news. The girl raised a hand, then paused like she was unsure of what to do with it, then settled on awkwardly patting Mista’s left shoulder.“You okay there, big man?”“…yeah. I’m just scared.”“No shit,” the girl chuckled. “You’ve had a bad night. So, you gonna tell me who the blond twink behind us is?”Mista started. He glanced over at Giorno like he’d forgotten he was even there in the reception with them. “Oh, uh. That’s…” He did not know Giorno’s name. Giorno tried not to be hurt by that, despite not having had the chance to give his name yet anyway.“That’s GioGio,” Narancia supplied. “He’s a guest. He found Trish in the woods.”Giorno offered a small wave to the girl in the fishnets, who gave him an unconvinced look in return. She approached him and put her hands firmly on her hips. “You found Trish?”“I did,” Giorno replied.“Thank you.”Giorno nodded politely.“Name’s Sheila. I don’t know what would’ve happened to her if you hadn’t found her and gone to the boys. I owe you a big one.”“It’s what anyone would do.”“No, I-” Her voice broke and he bit her words short. Sheila took a shaky breath then said slowly, “Trish doesn’t have many people, like you might. She doesn’t have a family. She only has us. If you’d told the staff about this shitshow then the hospital probably would’ve tried to call her fucking father and… Look, I just want you to know that you probably saved her life back there. So you kinda saved mine too.”Giorno nodded again, finding himself at a loss for words. He’d always been poor at handling emotional matters. Fortunately, Mista saved him the pain by coming over and speaking to Sheila again.“Her leg,” he began to say, unravelled, “It’s broken.”Sheila raised her brows. “Sure is. I’m glad you payed attention.”“She can’t dance.”“No. She might be walking again soon with a crutch, but she won’t be doing anything more than that for another couple of months.”Mista raked his hands through his hair. “Do you see the problem here, Sheila?”“I’m seeing several problems. Be more specific.”“We have a dance on Thursday. In the next town over, at a big fancy fuckin’ hotel. If we cancel, we’ll lose our season’s salary and next year’s gig. We’ve always performed our mambo act there.”“Can’t somebody else fill in?” Giorno asked.“No. No they can’t,” Mista spat. He was entering a certain kind of panic which Giorno recognised; Mista didn’t mean to insult or scare anyone, he was only feeling terror creep in on him. He was only lashing out. “No one’s free to fill in for us, everyone’s working here. Sheila works across the country, the others have their own acts, and Trish’s leg is fucking broken. There’s no one to fill in. It’s over! We’ll be out of a job, both of us, this is it. It’s all fucking over. Fuck!” Mista paused for breath and laughed dryly. “What? You wanna do it?”“It’s not a bad idea,” Narancia said from across the reception.Mista glared at him. “I was joking.”“He can move.” Narancia motioned to Giorno, who was frozen in shock. “You saw him dancing the other night. He wasn’t too bad. You were leading him.”“That’s the dumbest fucking idea you’ve ever had, Narancia.”“Can he dance?” asked Sheila.“No,” said Giorno. “I cannot.”“Sure you can,” said Narancia.Giorno began to wonder if the panic had wormed its way into everyone’s minds, if maybe they’d gone mad. This was madness. “I can’t even do the merengue.”Mista pointed at Giorno. “See?”But Sheila was looking Giorno over with a dangerous look in her eye. Giorno could see the cogs begin to turn in her head and doubted that he was going to like what she’d suggest. Sheila narrowed her eyes and turned back to Mista with a delicately raised brow. “You’re a dance instructor, aren’t you?” Mista didn’t answer her. He only buried his face behind his hands and shook his head in defeat. “You’re a strong partner,” she continued. “You can lead anyone.”Mista groaned. “He can’t even do the merengue.”“Then teach him!” Narancia bounced forwards. “Teach him, and you two can do the mambo routine together on Thursday instead.”Giorno watched the three bickering in front of him. He didn’t want to cut into their conversation just yet but felt it important for everybody to know that he really really could not dance, no matter how good (and attractive) his teacher may be.“He looks nothing like Trish!” Mista was desperately trying to remind Sheila and Narancia, who had ganged up on him in one corner of the reception. “My partner has always been a girl. It’s always been Trish. They’ll know he’s not my partner, they’ll know Trish is gone, and they’ll drop her from the line-up. This is gonna end us both.”“He’s about Trish’s height, right?” Sheila squinted at Giorno. “He’s not super brawny either. And he’s already pretty enough, if you can just put him in a dress or something...”Mista suddenly looked ever at Giorno. He looked desperate, and sorry. Giorno felt a pain in his gut when Mista looked at him like that - like he was apologising for something which hadn’t even happened yet - and took a deep breath.“If you can’t perform on Thursday,” Giorno began carefully, “You’ll lose your job here, yes?”“Me and Trish, yeah.”“You won’t be able to work anywhere else?”Mista looked embarrassed. “We might, but we’ll run outta money before we can start work again next summer.”“I’ll do it.”Mista blinked. A second passed before he met Giorno’s eyes again and appeared to process what he’d said. “You’ll…you’ll do it?” he asked, in complete and bleeding disbelief.“I will. But you’ll have to teach me everything from scratch.”“You’ll do it?” repeated Mista. His mouth hung open.Sheila had a similar slack expression to Mista. Narancia looked ecstatic. “He’ll do it,” Narancia cried, punching the air above his head. “He’ll fucking do it! This is gonna be awesome!”“Uh-” Sheila’s shocked expression softened and turned into something resembling relief. She blinked a few times, like her eyes stung. “Oh, okay. Thanks. That’s-” She quickly looked away from Giorno. He got the impression she wasn’t awfully good at putting feelings into words, not unlike himself sometimes. “Thank you.”While Narancia continued to hop around grinning from ear-to-ear, Mista remained in a dazed state. Sheila came up from behind Mista and dropped a hand onto his shoulder.“Guess you won’t have time to visit Trish tonight afterall, buddy,” she told him. “You should get some rest. You’ve got a big day ahead of you. And a busy week, from what I can tell.” Sheila smiled sympathetically over at Giorno. “Give him a moment,” she told Giorno. “He’ll be his usual unbearable self again tomorrow morning, so be at the studio as early as you can.”“Yeah,” Narancia added, pausing his celebration. “You’ll have a lot to learn before Thursday if this is gonna work.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When Giorno woke up the next day the first thing he had to do was lie to Dio. It wasn’t particularly hard for him to, since Dio had never been given any prior reason to suspect Giorno of ever lying to him. Giorno had simply never lied to him before now. It was almost thrilling, looking into his eyes and saying “I’m going to attend a squash lesson today. I will be gone until four and the lessons run all week.” The lie had been easy for one primary reason, it being that only one word out the whole excuse was technically inaccurate. If it had been a more elaborate lie Dio may have been suspicious of him. But being as it were, he barely even looked up over his newspaper as Giorno said it.This led to Giorno standing on the top floor of the entertainment staff dorms. The whole upper floor was a single sports studio lined with tall windows to let in the sunlight and ringed by a rickety wooden catwalk. Giorno knocked experimentally at the door. After a moment he heard somebody approaching from a far corner, then then the door swung open to reveal Mista in a tight white shirt and workout shorts, holding an apple. He looked Giorno over and took a bite from the apple.“That what you’re planning on wearing?”Giorno blinked and looked down at himself. He’d arrived in his usual clothing – blouse and cardigan like the day before, this time in white and a powder yellow. He hadn’t put much thought into his clothes. That may have been an oversight, on reflection.“I’ll give you something to dance in,” said Mista. “Get inside before someone sees you.”Ten minutes later Giorno had emerged from the small bathroom adjoining the studio in the most uncomfortable outfit he’d ever worn in his life. The top was clearly intended for an individual with wider shoulders than him; it hung over his chest in an awkward baggy shape and the shorts were made from the sort of fabric which clung to his skin like nothing else. He felt cold. And a little naked.Mista looked him over and appeared to notice the same issues. “Hm. We’ll find you something else to wear tomorrow. I’ll talk to Narancia and see if he had any practice clothing left over. This’ll do for now.”Giorno had no choice but to smile stiffly and agree. He was herded into the centre of the studio, given some basic and familiar instructions, and soon enough Mista had slid a cassette into the radio balanced on a desk in a far corner of the room.“One, two, three, four! And you’re starting on the two, remember,” bellowed Mista. He clapped along to the song as he circled Giorno. “Now! One, two, three, four!”Giorno took a step forward and -“No!”“Oh, sorry.”“Not on the first beat. You start on the second.” Mista took his wrists and brusquely pulled his arms up, then adjusted his shoulders. He grumbled, “And your form’s all wrong.”“I’ve never done any of these dances before,” said Giorno apologetically. The music was winding his nerves up.“Yeah,” said Mista, “I can see that. It's one, two, three, four. When the music starts, you don't dance until the two. Got it?”“Got it.”“Relax. Breathe.”Giorno put his arms up into position again, listened closely to the song, counted each beat, took one step forward –“Nope.” Mista strode forward and took Giorno’s hands, fitting their palms together this time. He took the position of Giorno’s partner. “Try again.” Giorno counted one, two, then stepped forwards. Mista nodded in approval, then lead him effortlessly into the next step. They moved back and forth for a number of beats. Despite the inexperienced stiffness and awkwardness in Giorno’s movements, he found that following Mista’s steps was as just easy as it had been the first time they’d danced together. As long as Mista was touching him, Giorno had no fear of what he was doing.Until he stepped on Mista’s foot.“Ah, fuck!” Mista let go of Giorno, leaving him mourning the reassuring touch of their hand contact. “You’re doing this on purpose?”“Of course not,” Giorno said, getting frustrated. “I’m clumsy, I’m new to dance, of course I’m going to step on your foot.”“You could try not to!”“I’m trying my best!”Before they could raise their voices any higher, the studio door opened. Sheila stood on the deck outside, looking entirely unimpressed by their display. Mista instantly straightened and cleared his throat.“How’s Trish?” he asked innocently.“She’s doing fine,” Sheila answered as she closed the door and crossed the room, peeling off her leather jacket. “Woke up this morning. Called you an asshole for carrying her so roughly.” Mista opened his mouth, closed it, and looked embarrassed. “And she wanted me to thank you again, Giorno,” she nodded at him. “She says she was an idiot for falling out of the damn tree in the first place. But she wants you to know how important it is, what you’re doing right now. What you’re doing for her and Mista.”Not for the first time, Giorno felt a deep and heavy pity for these people. Not because they needed the help, but because they acted as if his choosing to help them made him some sort of hero. It didn’t. It was what anyone should have done in his situation.“She said all that to me with a straight face,” Sheila continued, smiling, “And then went on to call you her hero, and an angel, the only man she’s ever had any real respect for, and the future godfather of her children. She’s tripping balls on painkillers right now.”“Oh. Good for her.”Sheila turned back to Mista. “Now are you ready for the bad news?”Mista sighed and crossed his arms. He looked like he’d been expecting something like this. “Yeah,” he said, “Go ahead.”“Her bills are stupid big. I can’t cover more than half of it, by my maths. With what’s left of her savings…”“We’re not using her savings.”“How much can you afford?”Mista covered his mouth and stared at the waxed floor. He swayed a little, tapping one finger against his cheek. He mumbled from behind his hand, “I don’t think th-”“I can pay for it,” Giorno interrupted. Sheila and Mista turned to him, confused and shocked, respectively. “I’ll pay her medical bills.”The two remained shocked into silence for another beat before Mista quietly spoke up. “You’ll…” Mista took a step closer, one finger pointed at Giorno. “You’ll pay for Trish’s medical bills?” The corner of his is mouth twitched up into a crooked grin, then dropped back into disbelief. “You don’t even know her.”“She was kind to me. I may have said something that hurt her without intent when we met yesterday afternoon, but she was never anything but kind to me. I will get her the money.”“You met her two days ago,” said Sheila. “You’ve spoken once.”“That isn’t important,” said Giorno. “She needs help and I can give it to her – with my father’s money, I will concede that – but I must give her that help if I can.”Mista was giving Giorno another incredulous look. He blinked at him for a few seconds, like he was making his mind up about whether or not Giorno really was a certified lunatic, and then finally nodded dazedly. “Alright, go run to daddy and get the money from him. He’s loaded right?” Sheila smacked Mista on the shoulder and gave him a sharp glare. He shrunk back. “…whatever. Do whatever you want. Meet me at my lodge once you’re done.”Even after quickly changing back into his own clothing and leaving the dance studio behind him, Giorno still heard the sound of samba ringing through his head. He could hear sax and percussion as if it were following him down the wood path like a phantom parade. He figured the intense focus he’d had during his dance lesson had drilled the very sound of the music into his skull.Checking nobody was nearby, Giorno paused on the wooden bridge at the base of the bank the entertainment staff’s building was perched on. Once he was sure no one was around to see him he held his arms up in the correct position – certain of his posture this time – and took a careful step forward, then back. He raised his chin, took the next step, and decided he’d messed it up.Frustration burst through him. Giorno hissed and kicked at the nearest wooden post along the bridge.After calming his breathing, he shook his shoulders out and raised his arms again. He remembered what Mista had been telling him. He remembered the exact sensation of Mista’s hands on his body, where those hands would guide him to stand, how they would push him to move, to sway, to spin. It felt odd not to have Mista nearby or under his hands, but the practice felt good nonetheless. Giorno moved back and forth across the bridge’s planks to the rhythm of a mamba playing in his mind. He got the other side, paused, turned his head to either side, struck a leg out, then continued onward in the same poise. He was getting the hang of this now.Giorno repeated the moves Mista had taught him for as long as the shelter of the woods allowed him, before they began to thin, and he worried somebody might spot him. Once the gazebo came into in sight, he quickly dropped his arms, straightened himself out, and strode onwards towards the main resort grounds as if nothing out of the ordinary had been taking place at all.Giorno found Dio halfway down the resort’s own mini-golf course.His father stood before a dainty pastel-painted windmill, giving it the sort of razor-sharp look that made most other men in his profession shit themselves on the spot. He’d lined up to the small ball-sized opening at the base of the windmill, feet planted on either side of his golf club, flexing his hands around the grip, and readied himself to take the shot. He lifted the club up behind him and -“Father.”Dio swung around with the club still raised above his head. He recognised Giorno, and casually spun the club down to rest against the plastic turf and lent an elbow on the tip of the grip. He cleared his throat. “Ah, GioGio. I didn’t expect you to be back from your lessons so soon.”“Yes, my squash lesson.” Giorno primly folded his hands behind his back. “According to my instructor I have talent. She complimented my quick progress and reflexes. According to her I already have the skills of an experienced player.”Dio beamed. He dropped the golf club into a nearby caddy and crossed the narrow stretch of turf towards Giorno, stopping by a hip-height and poorly-painted plaster diplodocus whose neck and tail formed a narrow bridge from one section of the course to another. “Well of course,” said Dio. “Being the son of me, Dio, you would be a natural. A quick learner, a genius, the best at whatever you should apply yourself to. No meagre ball sport would ever be a match for your superior genes.”Giorno kept his eyes lowered to the glassy gaze of the diplodocus. “Indeed.”“So why are you here now, GioGio? I was under the impression that your lesson would be ending at four.”“Yes,” Giorno began, tilting his head as he fixed the plaster dinosaur with his best conniving look. “But…this morning I happened to overhear two of my instructors discussing an upcoming local tournament. It takes place this week. Later I asked them about it, and they told me that the tournament is often attended by all sorts of important and influential people…” he paused for effect. “Once, a girl taking part was headhunted on the day by a modelling agency. Another was given a sports scholarship. My instructor’s niece knows somebody who is now studying in Washington, after having met a board member at the very same tournament.”Giorno was aware the story was beyond unbelievable, but he also knew that the most bizarre tales are sometimes the most convincing. Sure enough, Dio’s eyes were sharp as he listened. Giorno continued with a theatrical sigh.“But they also let me know that the tournament is very popular, with good reason. Admissions ended weeks ago. As much as I wished to take part-” he looked away sadly, meeting eyes with the plaster diplodocus once again. “I cannot.”Dio’s eyes had turned from sharp to deeply shadowed.“I cannot take part in this tournament, unless…” Giorno met Dio’s gaze and cocked his head knowingly. “Something is done to assure my admission before Thursday night.”A smile crept across Dio’s darkened face. “Of course,” he said lowly. “It would be shame if something were to happen to one of those children participating which kept them from playing on Thursday.”Giorno started, threw his hands up to his chest and desperately shook his head. “No! Not that, I didn’t mean that.” Dio looked disappointed. “I was only suggesting that I convince one of the organisers of the tournament to let me play. A simple bribe.”“A simple bribe,” Dio repeated. “Yes, that should work.”Giorno sighed and lowered his arms. He and Dio had always had alternative methods when getting what they wanted, and perhaps it was a particular blessing in this scenario that Dio never did understand Giorno’s manipulation tactics.The lie was in theory flawless; Dio already had a business meeting planned for Thursday evening which would occupy him from trying to attend this “tournament” or from noticing Giorno slip away to perform the mambo across town. All Giorno had to do was return from his performance that night and inform his father that he had unfortunately not come into contact with any wealthy head-hunters during the squash tournament.“So, GioGio,” Dio said, looking rather proud of his son for the suggestion of bribery, despite some remaining underlying disappointment. “How much money will you be needing?”Giorno smiled up at his father. As it was, things were going perfectly to plan.
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Mista had never remembered finding his tiny cabin at the fringes of the resort particularly unpleasant. It was much larger than the shitty motel rooms he and the others had to live in most of the year round, with good light and comfortable clean bed. It even had an outhouse only ten paces from the door. And though he could hear insects buzzing at the window all through the night, at least they were on that side of the window. He liked the room, he liked the bare wooden walls, and the dusty rafter beams, and the cheap lost-and-found decoration, and the view of the lake from a distance. He liked how it looked once he’d moved in at the beginning of every summer and he’d dumped his clothing and magazines about into every bare corner. He liked the cabin.But for the first time ever he was finding the place claustrophobic. He couldn’t sit still with a magazine for more than three minutes without losing his place; the words would slip away from him and he’d find himself staring through the page and thinking about…something else. It was driving him up the wall. He felt closed in, frustrated, confused. It was Trish, Mista was quite sure. He was worried about her. As much as Sheila had tried to assure him that Trish would be well enough to leave the hospital by the end of the week, he was still worried. Trish had never liked being left alone. She was probably just as unhappy as him about the whole thing. Although, they would have been much worse off if it hadn’t been for all the help given by GioGio.Mista’s heart leapt in his chest. Just by thinking of that guy, a nervous buzzing filled his head like he was about to walk out onstage. He lost his place in the magazine again.Mista tossed the shitty magazine aside and rolled off his bed, crossed his room, gruffly dropped to the floor, and started some frantic push-ups. His heart was pounding, and he was still too distracted to do anything more, so he figured it to be the best way to pass the time until his next responsibility. Maybe the exercise would clear his head of…whatever it was which was bothering him.Only ten push-ups later a polite knocking came at his cabin door. He quickly wiped his face down with the hem of his shirt and answered it. GioGio stood on the small porch, back in his usual loose pastel clothing, and holding a bulging envelope in one hand.“Uh, hey,” Mista tried, raising a hand in greeting.“Hello,” GioGio replied stiffly. “I’m sorry I took so long. I had to ask around to find where you were lodging.”“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Well, now you know.” Mista sensed GioGio was being made somewhat uncomfortable but couldn’t guess for what reason. Maybe he was still gross and sweaty from the push-ups. Maybe he smelt bad. That seemed likely. “D’you wanna come in?”GioGio nodded and entered the cabin. He took the small and fairly cluttered room in with one sweeping look and grimaced. There were instant-noodle boxes crammed into one corner. One table was dedicated to an array of sewing stuff – alongside a pile of worn out clothing. Threadbare blankets covered the floor as makeshift carpets to hide the splintered planks and unidentified stains. Mista cringed as GioGio gingerly stepped over a stray sock into the centre of the room; he knew he was a kinda messy guy and if he’d been even remotely fore-thinking he might’ve cleaned up in advance. “It’s a mess, I know,” said Mista. He shoved his hands into his pockets and surreptitiously kicked an old sweater away beneath the bedframe. “I don’t get many visitors.”GioGio shook his head. “No, I don’t hate it. It’s…rustic.”Mista snorted. The rich kid was finding it hard to be polite to somebody who lived like this, and it was almost endearing. “So, what’ve you got there, huh?” He nodded at the package in GioGio’s hands.“This? This is Trish’s hospital bills.”Mista didn’t believe it. He laughed again, spinning on his heel and throwing his head back. “Nice one! So what? You’re making fun of me now? Making fun of the guy who can’t afford to miss a single day of work, or real food, or new clothes? Nice one.”GioGio still held the envelope out, stone-cold sober.“Heh…” Mista’s grin faded. “Wait. You’re not fucking with me, are you?”GioGio shook his head.Mista blinked at him. “How much money is in that envelope?”“Enough. More than enough. You’ll have plenty left over to afford her painkillers and recovery leave over the coming weeks.”Mista was still blinking vacantly. He couldn’t be serious. Mista took the envelope from GioGio. It was heavy in his hands. He peeled the paper back only to see what he had always imagined to be what an inordinately large stack of cash to look like. He calmly placed the package behind him on a table surface and turned back to GioGio.“You’re…you’re somethin’ else.”GioGio uncertainly rubbed his hands together. He wasn’t meeting Mista’s eyes anymore. Thinking that he’d somehow insulted GioGio, Mista felt a little sick. He’d been pretty fucking rude to the guy earlier, while still thinking this was a sheltered and naïve rich kid who’d decided only on a whim to shadow the poor entertainment staff, to see what that world really looked like, to fill up an otherwise boring holiday. That may have been short-sighted or closed minded.Mista decided he had to apologise. But before he could open his mouth to speak, a shrill noise ripped through the room.GioGio jumped in his place, started by the sound and his eyes darted around the cabin to find the source. Mista swore under his breath.“Uh, okay, it’s alright,” he said, disarmingly waving his hands about as he backed away towards a corner of his room where a cabinet-shaped object had been covered by a thin blanket. “I’m not supposed to let anyone see these…shit…alright.” He paused by the blanket-covered shape. GioGio watched him a few paces away, his fright now having turned to startled curiosity. “Just don’t tell anybody, okay? I’ll get in so much trouble. They’re usually pretty quiet this time of day…fucking hell, of course they’d start screaming now. Promise you won’t tell anybody!” Mista snapped, pointing at GioGio, who quickly nodded in reply.“Of course. I won’t tell anyone,” he said. He eyed the blanketed shape again. “What’s underneath that?”Mista sighed. He tugged at a corner of the blanket and pulled it away to reveal a tall cage about the size of a small wardrobe. The bars were close together, white, clean, and tapered towards the highest point to form a sort of palace-like rooftop. Inside a series of levels and ladders crossed the cage in a complex network. Miniature mirrors, bells, and hollow tubes hung from ropes. Several of the levels held trays of some varieties of grain, bread-crumbs, or torn up bits of salad. GioGio crept closer to inspect the cage and was instantly greeted with a flurry of custard-yellow wings and shrill crying. He jumped backwards. Mista laughed and flicked a finger against the bars, being met with another cacophony of feathers and noise.“These little bastards are gonna be the end of me,” Mista chuckled, popping open a small gate near the bottom of the cage and reaching in. He plucked one of the loud yellow blurs as it darted past his hand and pulled it from the cage and quickly shut the gate before another could slip through. Mista brought his hands together, momentarily shielding the cheeping yellow blur from his guest. “The resort doesn’t ever allow pets, let alone allow the staff to keep them onsite,” he explained.A tiny orange beak prodded between his thumbs and chirped out a question. GioGio furrowed his brow and crept closer, as Mista slowly opened up his cupped hands. He held a small yellow-feathered budgie who was making the most noise a creature of its size could ever hope to create on its own.“You keep birds.” GioGio stated, a little stunned.“Yeah.” Mista let the budgie hop along his hand and get a closer look at his guest. “I call them the Sex Pistols. Don’t ask, I’ve got a shitty taste in music and I’ve had these guys for a long time. There’s six of ‘em. This is number 5.” He held number 5 out. GioGio crouched and gave the bird a comedically solemn inspection. “He’s the most well-behaved of the lot, but fucking hell is he loud.”“He’s very pretty.” As GioGio said it, number 5 leapt up from his perch on Mista’s index over to land on GioGio’s shoulder. GioGio froze. Without hesitation, 5 nuzzled into GioGio’s neck above the collar of his cardigan and closed his little black eyes, quite pleased with himself.“He likes you,” Mista scoffed. “I bet it’s your hair. He thinks you’re his mum or something.”GioGio uncertainly brought a finger up to stroke 5’s little head, then to ruffle his downy yellow stomach. Number 5 cheeped out his approval. “He’s cute. I’ve never met pet birds before.”“Most people aren’t a fan. They’re an acquired taste, I wouldn’t probably wouldn’t have even introduced you if you hadn’t heard them,” admitted Mista. “You got any pets of your own?”“I have a snake. A royal python. I’ve had him since I was fifteen. He’s back at home though, no pets allowed, remember?” GioGio flashed a surprisingly warm smile at Mista, who then felt his face quickly heat up. The guy had a nice smile.Mista had used the Pistols as an icebreaker before, usually in a lame attempt to pick up girls from whichever town he and the others stayed in during their months between jobs. It had never worked out too well; the birds were loud and sharp at both ends and some girls were allergic. Most times they didn’t even want to touch the poor things. Mista had had a little more luck with guys when it came to his birds; most dudes were impressed by the Pistols’ energy, though some still refused to hold them thanks to fears or allergies. Mista had decided some years ago that nobody could ever have him without the Pistols. They were a package deal: claws, beaks, and all. If you couldn’t handle the six noisy little budgies, then you almost certainly couldn’t handle the one noisy man who fed them.It was then that Mista was reminded of this doctrine as Number 5 nestled himself underneath GioGio’s jaw and nibbled harmlessly at his fingertip. GioGio was enjoying the attention just as much as the budgie. Both were happily cuddling, humming and cheeping respectively, and getting along better than any of Mista’s flings had ever done with the birds before. It made Mista’s chest tighten, in a sort of exciting way.GioGio paused the tickling. “Is something wrong?”“No, I’m just surprised,” said Mista. “I guess I thought you were…” He shut his mouth before he could finish the sentence.“A snob?” GioGio offered.Mista quietly groaned and covered his face. “Yeah, maybe,” he said, and pulled his hands down to peek over his fingers at GioGio, who was watching him coyly with one index still idly scratching at the budgie’s stomach. “I was quick to judge, I guess. Most of the kids who come to these resorts…they kinda are snobs. I’m sorry.”“I forgive you.”“We’re cool?”GioGio’s eyes flickered over him, reminding Mista yet again that he was in his workout clothes, flushed from the exercise, sweaty, and gross. While GioGio looked as radiant as ever. His piercing blue eyes raked over Mista’s bare arms and neck, only making Mista flush harder. A daft voice in his head suggested that he should be presenting himself a little more consciously around this guy. “We’re…cool, yes,” GioGio eventually answered, wearing a somewhat smug expression. “I may have got the wrong impression of you too at first.”“That so?”“I’d thought you were so smooth, with your leather and your hair and the way you dragged me out onto that dance floor. But now I know you’re nothing of the sort.”Mista chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I’m not as cool a guy as I let on, so what?”“So nothing,” GioGio mused as he let the budgie hop along his outstretched arm back over to Mista. “I quite like this side of you. I like your birds. I don’t think it’s something you should want to hide.”The tightness in Mista’s chest quickly turned into a sort of floaty dizziness. He felt like he was swimming, or maybe drowning. By the time Number 5 settled onto his shoulder and beeped a happy note into his ear, Mista realised he was grinning like an idiot at GioGio. “Uh, thanks,” he said. He instantly wanted to punch himself for how lame he sounded.But GioGio wasn’t fazed. “I’m generally a very good judge of character. I think you’re a good man, Mista.”“Well, I think you’re a little weird, but I appreciate the compliment,” laughed Mista. He resisted the urge to nervously rub at the back of his neck. The way GioGio was looking at him was making that floaty feeling in his gut so much worse. “So…back to the studio?”“Sure. Back to the studio.”GioGio had been improving at a staggering rate, learning the basics and tearing through the steps of the mambo like he was born for it. If Mista hadn’t been the one teaching him he might’ve believed GioGio had been dancing his whole life. He was more than just a quick learner - he was an almost terrifying student.Mista dumped the rest of his water over his head. He dropped the empty plastic bottle among the rest of his shit on the table by the radio – playing songs from a mixtape Mista had brought with him from the cabin – and joined GioGio. They were both sweating like animals. It was hard not to when repeating the same mambo over and over like toy dancers in a music box. GioGio’s hair clung to his forehead and his face was stained by the exertion of keeping a rhythm for so long in that sun-baked dance studio. Mista almost felt sorry for him, but the effort was paying off already. He was dancing with incredible grace.A new song began playing. The tempo was quick; Mista guided their position into one that let GioGio twist and sway with his back pressed to Mista’s chest.“Are we movin’ closer together, or is it gonna take for ever and ever...”As the first verse rose to its final lines Mista was struck by inspiration and planted his hands on the sides of GioGio’s thighs. To his relief GioGio didn’t flinch away; instead he took the encouragement and raised his hands to hold Mista’s wrists then guide his arms up over his hips to rest on his waist and rolled his narrow shoulders in a quick and confident motion.“Let it go, let it go, let it flow like a river…”The chorus burst out. GioGio abruptly turned around and draped his arms over Mista’s shoulders and stepped promptly into his space, forcing Mista backwards, with a slight smile tugging at his pretty pink lips. Mista felt a smile spreading across his own face in return. This was new.“…let it flow through you…”But before GioGio could derail their dance any further, Mista seized GioGio around the middle and pushed him downwards towards the studio floor. GioGio yelped as he was slid quickly between Mista’s knees – his arms still stretched up behind his head – before being pulled back up onto his feet once Mista had turned around to face him and was thrust into the mambo position again.“Don’t wanna preach it, push it or teach it…”GioGio looked a little peeved. Mista only grinned back at him. The point of these lessons was to learn afterall, not just to have fun.“Alright, looking good,” said Mista. He spun GioGio around and dipped him. “You’re doing great.”“I’m filthy,” GioGio muttered as he was swung around and back up onto his feet. “Trish made dancing look so delicate and elegant, but I hurt all over. I feel somewhat lied to.”Mista scoffed. It came as no surprise; Trish was an incredible dancer, she made everything look easy. “That shows you how much she’s practiced over the years.” He lifted GioGio off his feet by an inch and swung a quarter turn around. “Dancing is a sport. You might not be able to tell just from looking but she’s just as strong as I am. If she weren’t then her dancing wouldn’t be anythin’ near as graceful as it is now.”GioGio seemed to consider this, still being held tight to Mista’s chest and up off the ground. “I’m not as strong as her,” he stated after a moment.Mista abruptly dropped him back onto his feet. GioGio stared up at him, uncharacteristically morose, and crossed one arm over his chest. For the first time since they’d met GioGio wasn’t glowing as bright. “Hey,” Mista began, “What happened to your energy? You can’t dance like that.”“Maybe I shouldn’t be the one doing this.”“Bullshit! You’re dancing fine. You’re learning faster than I ever did.”GioGio’s pressed his lips together. “But I’m not made for this - for dancing. And I cannot allow myself to let you down.” He clenched his fists by his sides. “I’m too in my own head to even follow your rhythm correctly.”“It’s okay,” said Mista, tipping forwards to meet Giorno’s distracted gaze. “It’s normal to be afraid, but I don’t think you should be putting so much pressure on yourself. You don’t need to be perfect. Understand?”No reply from GioGio.“Will you still dance with me, GioGio?”A pause. “Yes.”Mista gingerly put one hand on GioGio’s ribs and the other into the palm of his right hand. He took a slow step backwards and GioGio followed, still avoiding eye contact. They gently moved together for a minute or so before Mista noticed GioGio’s steps were now stiff and awkward. He was holding back for some reason, embarrassed or uncertain.This wouldn’t do. He stopped. GioGio slipped out of his grip and waited for instruction.Mista crossed his arms. “It’s not just the steps, GioGio,” he began with a sigh, then moved to turn the music off before returning to the centre of the room. “It’s more than that. You can master the steps of a mambo and still be an awkward dancer. There’s more. It’s a feeling - a heartbeat.” He put one hand over his chest, where he’d loosened his button-up, and mimed his heart beating to the rhythm of their dance. After a moment GioGio uncertainly put his own hand over his chest to mimic him. “Don’t try so hard. It’s in here that the dance happens, not just on the stage. It’s not the steps. It’s not the music. It’s not all those other people watching you from below in the audience. You’re the one dancing, in here-” he took GioGio’s hand away from his chest and out it to rest over his own hand, still beating with his pulse. “You feel that?”GioGio nodded dreamily, eyes on Mista’s chest.“Now close your eyes.”GioGio did as Mista told him. His face relaxed, and his body lost the awkward tension he’d been holding onto earlier. They beat out their rhythm together quietly for a moment.Then, Mista took a silent step forward. And GioGio followed. They moved back one step, and returned, and took a gentle turn clockwise. Through the whole thing GioGio kept his eyes closed and face slack. Mista watched intently as GioGio’s lips parted in surprise when their movements became more fluid and their steps gained some speed.“Breathe-” Mista whispered and put out a hand to rest under GioGio’s left arm, shifting their position slightly. “You’re doing great.”GioGio opened his eyes. The glow was back, his clear blue eyes sent a shiver over Mista and he almost bit his lip to keep from flinching.“I understand,” said GioGio.“Huh?”“You said it was a feeling. I understand what you mean by that now.”
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The next morning Giorno lied to his father again. Plates of fried eggs, bacon, fruit salad, toast, black pudding, jams, coffee and tea spread out between them. Dio had decided on their first morning at the resort that a simple breakfast would never befit his tastes and so opted for more of a banquet-style. This required two tables in the food hall to be pushed together in order to accommodate the grand size of the selection.“GioGio, eat away,” Dio said with a slice of buttered toast held delicately between his index and thumb. “You’ll need the strength for your lesson today. Don’t hold back.”Giorno nodded and disinterestedly pushed a particularly greasy sausage around his plate with the tip of a butter knife. “Yes father.”“I expect you to show them the true superiority of your upbringing, son,” he went on. “I expect you to take every chance you get to seize victory. It should be a moment of epiphany for your foes, realising the true hopelessness of their endeavour. To take arms against you is a sure path to defeat.”“Yes father.”“Whether it be a game of squash or any other undertaking in your life, GioGio, you will never taste failure so long as you keep your head up and your wiles sharp.”“Yes father.”“How I would love to see you play.”Giorno froze with his fork hovering over a bowl of chopped fruit. “Will you?” he asked hesitantly.Dio hummed and sat back, crossing his arms in consideration. “I could perhaps make time for it.”“But you shouldn’t, father,” Giorno asserted, keeping his face very neutral. “I wouldn’t want you to take time away from your work for me. Watching the practice would be very boring, I promise you.”Dio appeared to think about this. Meanwhile, Giorno focused his attention on confidently skewing a cube of pineapple. After a moment Dio softly grunted. “Perhaps it would be wise for me to leave you be, GioGio. I do not want you to be distracted by my presence even if I do mean well by it.”Giorno chewed on the pineapple, nodding in agreement, and mentally sighing in relief. He swallowed and said, “That’s a very good point, father.”“I am nothing if not keenly observant.”Just then, Giorno noticed some worrying movement from across the food hall. Pucci was approaching their table. Giorno’s heart sank. The conversations between this man and his father over their dinners the past couple nights had been nauseatingly boring and philosophical. It was all ‘Do you believe in gravity?’ and abstract talk about fate; it made Giorno want to claw his way through the floor in frustration. Those sorts of ideologies never seemed to get anybody anywhere as far as Giorno was concerned.Before Pucci could get close enough to start a conversation or catch Dio’s attention, Giorno quickly put two more slices of apple into his mouth, excused himself from the breakfast table, and hurried out of the food hall.The first piece of good news Giorno received upon his arrival to the studio was that Mista had finally found some suitable training clothes that fit him. He’d been sweating through his own spare tops at an astounding rate and was about to run his holiday suitcase dry. Some of Trish’s old work-out clothing had been about the right size, to everybody’s relief, so Narancia had brought him out a small nylon top which ended at his ribs, hot pants made from the same breathable fabric, and a pair of tights. The training clothes were a little worn and very pink, but they fit him well and even let him move and sweat easier while dancing, so there was not much to complain about. He found the feeling of dance clothing rather freeing instead. By this point in the training Giorno had become entirely unbothered by his legs, arms, midriff, and shoulders being bared to Mista and wore the clothing without embarrassment. The novelty had worn off some time ago.He took a few experimental spins around the dance studio while Mista set up the cassette player with another mixtape. While everything was comfortable, the tights were an unfamiliar feeling; Giorno knew he’d have to wear them on the day too but was trying not to think too hard about that. The dance on Thursday night still felt a long way off.“Jack's in his corset, Jane is in her vest…”Mista’s ‘lesson’ yesterday had left quite the impression on Giorno. The idea of dance being not a science, as Giorno had thought previously, certainly widened the lens as he slowly but surely worked his way out of clumsiness and fear. Today the feeling of dancing without worrying about rhythm was freeing. Giorno let the music guide him, let it instruct his steps and timing. With each strum of the guitar he twisted, lifted his hips and shoulder. But repeating the same movement while keeping his hands busy was a challenge. He settled for running them over his thighs and flicking out his wrists at the end of each line.“And those ladies…they rolled their eyes.”The chorus was jubilant. Giorno an arm up - perhaps some of him hoping that the improvisation would impress Mista - and put it behind his head and pushed at the bundle he’d tied his hair up into. As he then trailed the hand down over himself, he carefully kept the swaying of his hips and rolling of his shoulders in time with the vocals.“Oh!” Mista shouted out, and the music abruptly stopped. Giorno paused his dancing and turned to find Mista across the studio floor peering out one of the large windows. A cold and heavy feeling washed through Giorno at the thought of dancing like he had with the hope of attracting some attention from Mista, and that Mista hadn’t even been watching. “There they are!” Mista laughed. “Come see this, GioGio.”Giorno joined him. Down by the foot on the staircase leading up to the entertainment staff building, Trish and Sheila were being greeted by Narancia. Trish was in crutches. As Giorno and Mista watched, Narancia hurried away with an apologetic look and a wave and then the two girls began slowly making their way up the stairway and Mista hurried over to open to the studio door.It was a slow process for Trish to climb the steps. But from the moment that she looked up to see Mista waiting for her with a cocktail of anxiety and patience painted across his face she instantly picked up the pace. Mista fidgeted in the doorway, clearly unsure whether or not to hug her. But once Trish reached the top, she fell forwards heavily into his arms with a loud groan.“Holy shit…” Trish’s voice was muffled by Mista’s embrace. “That felt like weeks.”Mista chuckled, bouncing Trish in his arms. “Nothin’ can take you down,” he told her. “You’re damn near unbreakable!” Mista held Trish’s shoulders and pushed her to arm’s length and beamed at her. She looked pretty worn-out, her leg was in a heavy cast and a crutch was clamped under one arm, but she had the same furious light in her eyes as the first time Giorno had seen her. Mista looked at her as if she was returning from a battle victory. “How are you feeling?”“Well enough to check up on you,” she said. Sheila slipped into the studio behind them carrying a large boxy shopping bag in one hand and Trish’s second crutch in the other. She nodded respectfully to Giorno as she came in, then helped Trish down onto a nearby seat. Trish added as she eased onto the bench, “I was worried you might’ve given up on GioGio since Sheila’s last check-up.”“Nah, he’s doing great. My lessons are totally paying off.” Mista puffed his chest out.Trish turned her attention onto Giorno. “And how are you?”Giorno smiled weakly. It was funny; Trish had been the one in hospital and yet she was worried about him of all people. “I’m well,” he answered. “Mista is a fantastic teacher.”“Hear that?” Mista laughed. “I’m a fucking fantastic dance teacher!”“Alright, that’s enough,” said Sheila, punching Mista in the bicep as greeting. “I got what you asked for. They should be the right size.”Mista took the bag from her and peeked inside. “Sweet. That’s looks great, thanks Sheila.”Giorno looked between everyone’s faces. Everybody except him seemed to know what was in the bag.Sheila flopped down into an old wooden chair by Trish and cracked her knuckles one by one, saying leisurely, “No matter how this shit ends, it’ll be interesting that’s for sure. Can’t wait to watch. You two are a fucked-up pair to say the least.”“Don’t say that,” hissed Trish, lightly slapping Sheila’s knee.“I’m right.” Sheila shrugged.Trish raised one brow and hid a small grin behind a hand. “That right? Just this morning you were telling me how quickly GioGio’s been learning,” she said, grinning wider. “It sounded an awful lot like you have plenty of faith in him already.”Judging by the way Sheila scowled and turned away to hide her embarrassment, what Trish said was true. But Giorno was almost flattered. Knowing that at least one person genuinely believed in him staved off that nagging feeling in his mind that he may not be the person for this job. That shining hope in the eyes of Trish and Mista whenever they looked at him only fed his strength.Giorno was quickly brought out of his thoughts when Mista dropped a hand onto his shoulder. He glanced up to find Mista dangling the mysterious shopping bag before his nose with a smug look. “So, GioGio,” he began, clearly entertained by whatever was coming next. “Have you ever worn heels before?”The painful truth was that Giorno had not. He’d never been in a situation where he’d needed to wear them before, or even had the passing opportunity to try them out. Which meant he had absolutely no idea where to begin with them. He didn’t know how to stand, how to walk, let alone how to dance while wearing an almost three-inch spike strapped to his feet. Once they were buckled around his ankles – the right size thanks to Mista covertly checking out his shoe size earlier in the week without him noticing – Giorno remained firmly seated by Trish and Sheila. He pretended to admire the shoes. They were a pretty colour: a pale peach, almost white, and sparkling with large rhinestones near the toe. The straps wound partway up his shin. He imagined they’d make his legs look good if he ever were to walk in them.“Ready?” Mista stood before him with one hand outstretched.Giorno regarded the hand suspiciously for a moment, then went back to admiring the shoes.“Hello? Earth to GioGio?”“I don’t want to fall.”“Then we’ll take it nice and slow.” Mista carefully snuck a hand underneath one of Giorno’s elbows and lifted it upwards. “I’ll make sure you don’t trip, okay?”“Keep your weight on your heels,” Trish added helpfully by his side. “You’ll hurt yourself if you try to walk on your tiptoes, as much as you’ll want to in those things. And go slowly at first. They’re a piece of cake once you know what you’re doing.”Trish’s words urged him on. He couldn’t let them down and trying was the only way for him to learn anything after all.Giorno took a deep breath and finally stood up. It wasn’t easy; he instantly panicked at the height and quickly put a lot of his weight onto Mista’s arms as he took his first few steps forwards. He remembered what Trish had told him and deliberately adjusted his balance accordingly.“Looking good, looking good…” Mista’s attention was on his legs, probably making sure he wasn’t bending his knees on instinct. “Now try to straighten up. Up straight now.”Giorno straightened his back and focused his eyes onto Mista’s, trying his best not to think about how much taller he was in comparison to where he’d previously lined up beside Mista. They were almost the same height now.One of the girls behind them whistled.“You look fantastic, GioGio!” Trish called out. “Don’t worry, they suit you great!”Giorno elected not to point out to her that it wasn’t him suiting the shoes which was a concern, but rather his general sense of balance. He was struggling to follow Trish’s earlier instructions to keep his weight at the back of the shoe.Mista gave him a gentle smile. “You’re doing great,” he assured him. His wide brown eyes were so warm, Giorno almost believed him. “D’you think you can dance in these?”Giorno blinked rapidly. “I could certainly try to.”They took the first few steps slowly. While their backs were turned, one of the girls must have turned the cassette player back on. The song from earlier resumed.“I’ll tell you something now. Jack, he is a banker. And Ja~ne, she is a clerk.”The heels forced Giorno to move differently than before; he could feel his hips swaying a little more, his spine straighter, and even his shoulders were held differently. It was more than a little startling.“And both of them save their monies…when- ha! When they come home from work.”But very soon his calves began to ache from the effort of keeping his careful balance. His newly exaggerated movements became painful.Sheila appeared to have noticed his discomfort and got up from her seat across the studio to help out. She shuffled in behind Giorno and followed their movement for a couple steps, then put her hands on Giorno’s hips and guided him through the motion from behind. It helped; Giorno quickly noticed his pace realigning with Mista’s.“Oh- woah! Sweet Jane…”Meanwhile Mista looked like he was having the time of his life. The song’s heavy beat fit well with his style of dance; he was practically strutting opposite Giorno. He grinned that usual blinding grin. The way his dark brown eyes glowed when he smiled almost distracted Giorno from the way he was moving his hips. The three of them dancing at once was wholly strange and erotic, as if their moves were triply sensual due to their positions. Each shift of Mista’s shoulders and twist of his hip echoed in Giorno’s own movement.“Some people they like to go out dancin'. And other people they have to work. Just watch me now.”They moved a little closer together. One of Mista’s hands migrated around Giorno’s waist to rest on the small of his back instead, and Sheila moved over to accommodate it. Soon Giorno was pressed between them. He squirmed a little, only to be pushed from both the front and back into his next step. Sheila moved his hips and legs and Mista held his arms and shoulders. It was both suffocating and intoxicating.“Careful, babe,” Trish said from her seat. “You’re making me jealous.”Sheila chuckled. When she twisted her neck to face Trish Giorno was pushed aside a little. The spell broke and the odd heady sensation faded. He blinked a little and refocused on Mista’s steady gaze.“I’m doing this for you, remember?” Sheila said to Trish with a smile audible in her voice.“Do you dance too?” asked Giorno, without taking his eyes off Mista.“No, I’m a bouncer. Dancing isn’t my thing. Trish has taught me some of her moves though, just enough for me to know you were losing your rhythm.”“Is my dancing really that bad?”“Nah, but you’ll need to get the hang of it in these shoes,” Sheila said, guiding him through a quick turn to rock back onto his right foot without a wobble. “See? It’s not so bad.”“She’s right,” Mista piped. “You’re a natural.”Giorno huffed and fixed him with a dry look, still very much pressed up against his chest. “Flattery isn’t going to teach me how to dance in these things.”“Maybe I do want to flatter you, though.” Mista grinned, that same odd lop-sided grin he’d given him when they first danced together. “Maybe I think you’re cute when you’re flustered like this.”Giorno pressed his lips together. Before he could come up with a witty response however, Sheila had slapped Mista’s shoulder. Their hands broke apart.“Stop flirting for one moment if you can, idiot,” Sheila scolded Mista. “It’s distracting him.”Mista rubbed at his arm and shrunk back from Sheila. He shot a meek glance at Giorno before clearing his throat and saying, “I’m just being nice. He dances better when he’s being encouraged.”Sheila scoffed and drifted back over to where Trish sat, throwing her hands up and shrugging in defeat. The cassette player rattled into silence as the song came to its end. “I know what encouragement looks like, and what flirting looks like. You’re terrible at both. It’s pretty embarrassing.” Mista scowled at her but appeared to have decided against speaking back. He was a poor arguer in any case.Meanwhile, Giorno fiddled with the hem of his one-piece. The flirting had been effective, one way or another. He wasn’t overly fond of the heat spreading over his face that Mista’s words had left him with.Flattery was useless, it goes nobody anywhere, and only ever put Giorno in an awkward position. He raised his gaze back to Mista – who was now being relentlessly teased by both Sheila and Trish - and felt his heart jump in his chest again. Mista was flushed from the exercise and heat. His broad shoulders were bare, and Giorno could make out the muscles shifting under his shirt as he turned between the two girls and barked out a laugh. He was a deep caramel colour all over, tell-tale of years spent living and working under the sun, and every inch of him was beautiful. His cheeks dimpled when he laughed.Useless, Giorno thought, I can’t be distracted. He’s pretty and very sweet to me and a fantastic dancer, but this is isn’t the right time to fall for anyone. I should focus.The four of them made little more progress together. Instead Trish teased Sheila, who teased Mista, who was finding himself in a tricky situation while receiving no support from Giorno. It was a somewhat unfamiliar situation for Giorno to be in, surrounded by people his own age who he got along well with. He did his best to act the part.An hour or two after Trish and Sheila had left them, giving the boys their good luck and a number of enthusiastic hugs, Mista got back to teaching his lessons.With the heels still strapped to his feet Giorno was unsteady but slowly getting used to the new balance he had to maintain in them. He’d even begun to enjoy the way his hips swayed even just walking across the room in the shoes. Dancing, on the other hand, was getting no easier. To ease some of the pain – since Giorno was still breaking the heels in and blister plasters could only do so much in the meantime – Mista shifted his attention to teaching some signature moves from the mambo. He explained to Giorno that he and Trish never just danced the mambo onstage. To keep the guests buzzing the dancers must show them something more. This ‘something more’ boiled down to a few straightforward sounding steps within in the dance: one lift, and a move Mista described as the ‘armpit tickle’.“Do I want to know why you call it that?” asked Giorno, letting Mista position him.“Well, we start by standing like this,” Mista explained as he gently guided Giorno’s left arm upwards. “And you keep your arm up here, up around the back of my neck, okay? And I slowly drag my hand down your arm like this. And then when-” Mista was cut off by Giorno flinching away from him and clutching his chest. “What? What’s wrong?”Giorno bit his lip and straightened up. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly. “You tickled me.”“Now you know I gave the move that name,” huffed Mista. “Let’s go again. Try to hold in your giggles this time.”They tried the move a second time, but again Giorno broke down the instant Mista’s hand even got close to his shoulder. It did tickle a little and he couldn’t help but shudder when those trailing fingers brushed past his armpit or the sensitive skin beside his ribs and nothing was going to stop that. Giorno had always been ticklish. It didn’t help his case that Mista had ditched his workout top over an hour ago due to the heat, opting for a bare chest, and resulting in an increasingly flustered Giorno. And being pressed up against him like that while practicing this particular move… Perhaps it was a blessing that the worst side effect was only a light bout of giggles. He had been getting better at controlling his blushing.“A third time,” Giorno said, clearing his throat. “I will control myself.”It took them over half a dozen more attempts to perfect the move; each of which ended with Giorno doubling over and biting back laughter. Mista became increasingly weary. But with the patience of someone who appeared to be finding Giorno’s short giggling fits endearing, Mista let him try the move again and again and again.But the final attempt was a magical moment. Giorno had held his breath during every attempt before it but had finally allowed himself to relax this time. He let Mista’s fingers trail their way down his arm and over his ribs, then down further to rest on his hip. Giorno turned his head minutely; he caught Mista’s heavy-lidded gaze as their hands met at his waist. Just as their eyes met – and warmth bloomed once again in Giorno’s chest – he turned away and spun out, their arms unfurling until he stood a step away, then smoothly moved back into position.Mista’s eyes were wide when they faced each other again. He swallowed thickly and told Giorno, “Good. That was perfect.”In spite of himself Giorno looked away. “I’ll do my best not to giggle onstage on Thursday. Or fall.”“I should hope not. I don’t need two injured partners.”“Speaking of which, are you going to teach me lifts yet? I believe that’s the last thing you’ve been holding back from me.”Mista grimaced. He sighed, wiping his hands off on his trousers, then admitted, “After seeing how wobbly you still are in those shoes, I was thinking maybe we should cut the lift from our routine. It’s pretty dangerous to try if you’re not totally sure of yourself or if you don’t even have your balance.”Giorno glanced sourly down at the heels. He couldn’t stand the idea of being held back by a pair of shoes. “I’m getting better,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too whiny. “If you would just teach me-” he cut himself off after looking back up at Mista, whose face was stricken. “What’s wrong?”“Uh, it’s just…” Mista fidgeted. He seemed to be struggling to put his thoughts in order. But Giorno couldn’t find it in him to think of it as anything but entirely adorable. “I don’t wanna let you get hurt. The lift is pretty dangerous if you’ve not practiced it properly. Even experts can mess it up sometimes and you can injure yourself pretty badly. You can end up hurting me too. I don’t want- hey, look GioGio, I’ve already let Trish fuck herself up this week so there’s no way you’re getting hurt on my watch too.”“But you didn’t let Trish get hurt. You didn’t break her leg, that wasn’t your fault at all.”Mista opened his mouth to protest again, but Giorno shut him up by firmly planting one hand on each on his shoulders. “Whatever happens to me is my own responsibility,” Giorno told him. “I am accountable for myself, Mista.” He stared into his wide dark eyes. “You’re a fantastic teacher, remember? Teach me. I want you to teach me everything, no matter what you might think of me. Teach me everything.”Mista was speechless for a moment with Giorno bracketing his shoulders and gazing back up at him almost unblinkingly. Giorno had always been aware that he was sometimes hard to read, sometimes intimidating, and almost always a very hard man to say no to. But from time to time these characteristics came in awfully handy.After blinking and clearing his throat Mista finally replied, “You need to work on your balance.”“That I do,” Giorno confessed.“Then let’s get outta of here,” said Mista quickly. He backed away and went for his leather jacket slung up on the wall. “Come on, GioGio,” he said as he pulled the jacket on. He held a hand out to Giorno and lifted the corner of his mouth in an easy smile. “Let’s go.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
To GioGio’s immense entertainment Mista had forgotten his keys in their hurry to leave the studio. Without missing a beat – having had it already lodged in his mind that they were leaving right now – and rather than turning back Mista thrust his elbow through his car’s passenger window and wrestled the door open from within. GioGio watched this with what looked to Mista like barely contained delight. Some minutes later in the car and flying down country backroads, he still gave GioGio no hints as to where he was taking them. He hoped the surprise would be good for him, just as much as the change in scenery would be. The studio had become stale and oppressive for the both of them.After driving for about twenty minutes Mista suddenly left the main road and plunged into the treeline. Instead of a smooth road they drove down a narrow and rocky forest road, flecked with shallow potholes and crisscrossed by knotted tree roots. GioGio clutched the inner door handle as the whole car violently jostled and rocked under them.“You’re wild!”“What?” Mista glanced between the dirt road ahead and GioGio next to him.GioGio shook his head. “You’re wild,” he repeated, struggling to keep looking serious and put-together while being tossed about by the car’s momentum. Seeing GioGio so dishevelled entertained Mista more than he would like to admit.Looking back to the road and laughing quietly to himself, Mista lightly applied the brakes for GioGio’s sake, and drove for another couple hundred feet before finding a good spot to leave the car. Mista pulled into a small clearing and parked in the shade. GioGio gave him a suspicious look as he unbuckled and got out, then folded his arms over the car’s roof and rested his chin on his palm.“You’re not going to kill me all the way out here and hide my body in the underbrush, are you?” he asked Mista, as the driver’s door was slammed shut.“We’ll see how the lesson goes first.” Mista grinned at him.GioGio tiredly shook his head and rounded the car. Mista led him into the shade and down a thin footpath, following the gentle but noticeable slope downwards. The air was cool, the sun edging towards the horizon, and daylight began to turn pale golden. Where the woods were the densest, they found a small stream cutting through the hill scape. It was barely a burn, only a measly trickle at the bottom of a muddy and overgrown ditch. A tree had fallen over the trench some time ago to create a natural bridge about two hands wide.Mista kicked his shoes off and climbed up onto the dead tree trunk. Once he reached the middle of the bridge he turned around and faced GioGio, rigid arms held out either side, and carefully crouched down into a bow for effect.“It’s all about balance,” he told GioGio while wobbling a little. “That’s what you need to learn, yeah? Balance. And then…” he jumped once, rattling the tree. “Then you’ll be able to dance and do whatever you like in those shitty heels. You’ll fuckin’ ace the lift.”GioGio didn’t respond. He was giving the tree bridge an uncertain look from where he stood on the far end. His shoes were off, but he made no move to join Mista over the ditch. Mista eagerly jumped again, the tree bounced and groaned, and GioGio shot down to crouch as close to the trunk as he possibly could. Mista laughed and feigned losing his balance, carefully balancing on the tip toes of his left foot in a mock-ballet posture. GioGio watched him twirl on the spot with a mixed expression.“Where did you learn to be a dancer?” asked GioGio after a moment. He didn’t move from his spot at the solid base of the tree trunk.Mista shrugged and ambled down the trunk towards GioGio. “I was nobody special. No job, no proper home. I lost contact with my family after some stupid shit happened when I was a kid. Was in prison for a hot second so I didn’t have job opportunities growing on trees or anythin’. I was barely living, just beating people up who pissed me off outside the cinema and taking their wallets,” he said, lowering to a crouch with his arms still stiffly held out. “Then one day this guy walked into the bar me and Trish were hanging out in with our mates and… He was super cool to us. I’m not used to people not treating me like shit or like I’m an idiot. It was a real breath of fresh air, you know? So, this guy, he offered us a test for dance instructors. He told us it would land us a job. They’d teach us all these sorts of dances, how to break em’ down and teach them. None of us had any money and we were doing fuck all anyways, so we took it. We took the test. Turns out dancing comes to me better than stealing wallets off of smug assholes.”The exact circumstances of Mista past were in reality…perhaps not as glamourous as Giorno might have been imagining. The man who saved Mista, Buccellati, had been pretty blunt about why he’d wanted to hire him. Mista had always been heavy-built, average height but with the broad shoulders and long legs that dance often called for. Buccellati had explained this upfront to Mista. He’d then gone on to honestly describe Mista’s other option – to carry on scraping by with his small group of friends, hounded by the bad luck brought by a stupid crime he’d been accused of years ago.Exactly how Buccellati had known about Mista’s criminal record, he did not know. He’d also chosen not to ask Buccellati about it. Instead, Mista had taken the offer practically on the spot. It had almost been too good to be true at the time.GioGio nodded understandingly. “You struck lucky.”“I did.” Mista held out a hand to GioGio. “Now, are you going to stop stalling and get over here with me?” GioGio sighed in defeat and stood. He didn’t look pleased by the idea of joining Mista on the old rotting trunk but Mista took him by both hands and slowly walked backwards, leading him away from the bank. “Good. Now don’t look down,” Mista said, nudging GioGio’s chin upwards. “Look at me.”GioGio’s wide blue eyes latched onto his, and he visibly relaxed a little. They made it to halfway down the tree and Mista shifted his hands to hold GioGio in their usual position. GioGio understood and began moving in time to their mambo steps. The bark bit into their bare feet as they carefully stepped back and forth over the tree trunk.Then Mista slipped. The world tilted around him. He seized up and instantly tightened his grip on GioGio’s right hand. They didn’t fall, but GioGio yelped in surprise and shouted out, “Careful!” They wobbled. Holding his breath and trying not think about the air beneath them, Mista struck one leg backwards. After quickly regaining his balance, Mista looked back up at GioGio.He looked genuinely terrified for Mista. Mista snorted, which earned him a sharp glare from GioGio. But the glare melted away quickly. GioGio sighed in relief and let a small smile spread across his own face.And not a second later GioGio almost fell too. One of his feet lost grip and his eyes went wide, and both his hands shot out for Mista’s shoulders as he jerked downwards. Mista grabbed him before he could drop any further. He pulled GioGio close and shifted to keep their collective weight from tipping sideways again.Mista heard an odd huffing sound. GioGio pulled back with a relaxed grin, the widest Mista had seen yet, and let out a quiet laugh. Mista couldn’t help himself. He laughed too, letting GioGio free himself from his grip and stepping backwards. He kept grinning as he put his arms back out and started dancing again, keeping his feet in the middle of the trunk width. GioGio watched for a moment before easily joining him and performing a sweet little jive that Mista would have loved to see in a real dance hall.They carefully danced for a minute like that, as Mista hummed a jaunty blues song he half-remembered, and as GioGio lightly bounced back and forth along the trunk swinging his head and his hips to it.When they came closer to each other GioGio leant in and winked at him, then shimmied back down the bridge with a bright smile. Mista snorted and swung his arms up to move his hips in a slow circle. GioGio laughed back at him. It just might have been the most ridiculous moment of Mista’s life thus far. And he loved it.Once they’d eventually tired of the tree trunk they went in search for a larger flat space to practice in. They soon found a wide and flower-speckled meadow spread out a few hundred metres from one of the many lakes in this area. It was mostly flat and had a barely noticeable slope to it. It would do well for their purposes, all they needed was enough space for GioGio to practice. They started with only a small lift; GioGio was given a large run-up – much more space than he’d be given onstage – and Mista caught him by the hips to use his momentum and lift him off his feet by a few inches. Mista had decided wisely to steadily build up to the full lift. When Mista suggested they start lifting higher, seeing as the lift in the usual routine required GioGio to be held up above Mista’s head for at least three whole seconds, GioGio tentatively agreed. But their first try was worrying; GioGio wasn’t putting his full weight into it.“If you don’t trust me, you’ll hurt us both,” Mista warned, finding his footing again after being knocked off balance by a previous attempt. “Trust me. I’ll catch you. Bend your knees and then go up.” GioGio looked apologetic, but no more assured by Mista’s words. Mista began to worry again if this was a good idea but quickly put the thought on hold when GioGio began his run-up.GioGio reached Mista’s open arms, hopped, and Mista caught his hips and lifted him up, but the momentum wasn’t quite enough and-They toppled to the ground with a loud yelp and a series of curses. Once the world had finished spinning around him Mista swore again and rolled onto his side to assess the damage. His ass was muddy and one of his elbows was stained green, but he’d not been injured. By his side, GioGio was lying flat on his back and glaring pointedly up at the sky.Mista sighed. “I told you,” he said, shuffling closer through the grass. “You need to trust me otherwise this’ll happen.”“I do trust you.” GioGio turned his head by a fraction. There was a dandelion caught in his braid. “I trust you, and I know that you’ll catch me.”“But you’re holding back.”“Maybe it’s that I don’t trust myself. I worry I’ll topple you.”Mista sighed. There was no chance of that happening; GioGio was no heavier than Trish and he’d only dropped her a couple of times before, both times back when they were still newbies to dancing and Mista hadn’t yet built up the muscle he had today. As long as GioGio did his part there was no chance of him falling, Mista dropping him by accident, or anything else of the sort. All GioGio had to do was jump.“All you have to do is jump.”GioGio pressed his lips together and averted his gaze. A chill breeze – warning them of an approaching sunset – pushed through the meadow and rustled the grass they lay in. Wildflowers bobbled sleepily around their heads, and the dandelion in GioGio’s hair slipped free.As it usually happened when Mista spent long enough looking at GioGio, something warm stirred in his chest. It was the same feeling he got when struck by inspiration. It felt like the excitement of trying out a new dance, or hearing a new song, and the crackling energy that filled him as he began to move in time to music. But it was more.He was quickly overcome by the beauty of it. GioGio’s beauty demanded attention. Laying there in a meadow less than an hour from sunset in the middle of buttfuck-nowhere, he looked like part of the landscape itself. The grass and wildflowers and tiny insects among the undergrowth were a gilded frame for him in the moment - the centrepiece, nature itself, a muse of natural and breath-taking beauty. Mista struggled to understand it. The messy mix of metaphors falling through his mind each cried for attention, and when he finally gave up trying to make sense of his feelings, they all pointed to one simple conclusion: You’re probably falling in love.“The lake,” Mista croaked out, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We’ll try the lake.” GioGio frowned a silent question at him, but Mista quickly got to his feet and spoke again. “The best place to practice lifts is in the water. If you’re still afraid of falling, this should help. You can swim, yeah?”After a moment of silence GioGio nodded. Mista offered him a hand, GioGio took it, and Mista pulled him to his feet. They brushed themselves free from blades of grass and stray flowerheads.Before GioGio could change his mind, Mista set off downhill towards the lake. It was much larger and deeper than the one by the resort. The water would be colder too, since it was so deep, and the sun had begun to set. Forest surrounded it on all sides before a band of rough and unforgiving pebble beach which bit into the soles of their bare feet as the two of them paddled into the shallows after leaving their shoes on top of a boulder by the shore. Once the water reached their stomachs, Mista halted.“How you feeling?”GioGio turned a dry look over him. “Cold. I’m feeling cold.”“Good! You’re about to get even colder if you mess this lift up. Now, come ‘ere,” he said, holding his hands out like he was greeting a pet dog.GioGio’s expression went from miffed to irritated but he took a heavy step backwards anyway. The water didn’t allow for much of a run up, so they could only stand at arm’s length from one another. Which wasn’t a terrible thing seeing as it was about how much space they’d have onstage. GioGio shivered once, then hopped up into Mista’s waiting arms and-The cold water hit Mista like an electric shock. He gasped and instantly got a mouthful of foul-tasting water in return. He thrashed his legs and one heel kicked something sharp – it stung like the skin had been split – and finally his head breached the water. Mista blinked and shook his head, clearing his sodden hair away from his eyes. The water around him was white and choppy from their collapse, too disturbed to see the rocky bottom anymore. He paddled and turned around. He couldn’t see GioGio.“GioGio?” he called out. Nobody answered. Mista spun, still bobbing a few inches under the surface treading with his hands and saw nobody else in the lake. He stood – and was quickly reminded of the cut on his foot by a sharp sting in his heel – and called out GioGio’s name again louder.A shape emerged from the lake surface directly beside him. It looked to Mista like a pile of pondweed, until a pair of pale arms emerged from either side and pulled at the dripping and shapeless mess. What Mista thought had been weeds was only hair, a lot of it, very wet, and laying over GioGio’s very damp and very angry face.“Oh, there you are,” Mista said brightly, trying his hardest not to laugh at GioGio, who was reminding him somewhat of a cat who’d fallen into the bathtub. GioGio delicately pushed his dripping hair away from his face and fixed Mista with a withering look. “You’re a buffoon.”“You’re still holding back.”GioGio looked away. A droplet of water fell from his chin back into the lake. Mista sighed, sensing that they weren’t going to make progress arguing, and heavily waded through the water towards him. He put his hands lightly on GioGio’s shoulders – cold and clammy, unsurprisingly – and tried his best reassuring voice.“You don’t strike me as somebody who gives up.”“I’m not,” GioGio said. He stared at a spot on the lake’s surface to the side. “I always find a path through the darkness.”Mista frowned over GioGio’s head. “Well, whatever that means, I don’t think we’re gonna stop trying either. If you’re not giving up, neither am I,” he said. GioGio met his gaze, and Mista grinned back at him. He rubbed some warmth into GioGio’s upper arms as he spoke. “You’re gonna get it. I know you will. You’re like…you’re like a light, leading me…somewhere. I don’t know where yet, but I’m not done following you. You’ll do anything you put your mind to eventually and I’m on the edge of my fuckin’ seat waiting to see that happen.”The creases over GioGio’s brow faded. He flexed his jaw for a moment, then nodded and backed away. Mista let his hands drop from GioGio’s arms. This time, as GioGio stood waist-deep in water with his hair hanging cold and dark and dripping past his shoulders, he looked stronger.GioGio pushed through the water. Mista put his arms on either side of his waist yet again, hauled him up in one smooth motion, and for once the ground didn’t fall out underneath them.Mista could have cried with relief. He held GioGio up, his hands supporting his hips from below, and GioGio was in perfect form above him; his arms were held out, his legs together and straight and pointed, and he barely quivered. As much as he wanted to see the expression on GioGio’s face, trying to bend his neck much more during a lift would have been dangerous. He imaged it would have been an expression of pure glee, or shock, something staggering and incredible. The moment called for an expression like that. Mista guessed Giorno looked gorgeous up there.It had to have been because the view from where Mista stood was immensely beautiful. GioGio’s form was perfect; his silhouette cut clean against the sky stained by a pink-golden sunset made Mista’s heart swoop painfully in his chest. GioGio was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, like some sort of angel, and here he was, finally flying.But when he felt the trembling in GioGio’s thighs get worse, his heart sunk, and GioGio violently wobbled in the air above him.Mista swore and shouted out, “No! Hold it, GioGio! Hold it! Hol—!”Suddenly GioGio went toppling over, dragging Mista backwards and into the water again. This time once he emerged and shook his hair from his eyes, he found GioGio confidently treading water close by with a meek smile on his face. Mista couldn’t help himself from smiling in return and swum over to join him. GioGio broke out into a quiet laugh and hooked an arm around Mista’s, pushing his hair back. He didn’t seem overly bothered by the cold and wet this time.Mista pulled him closer. His arm wound around GioGio’s back, pressing their sodden chests together as they treaded water side by side. GioGio blinked up at Mista with that same flickering smile, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to find the situation funny or not. There was drops of water on his reddened cheeks, hanging off his lashes, falling from his chin. If anything, the absurdity of the moment only made him more beautiful.“See?” Mista laughed, bending over by a fraction to meet GioGio’s eye-level. “I knew you could do it.”GioGio huffed out another laugh in response and shook his head in mock-disbelief. He wiped a hand through his ruined fringe, combing water away from his face. He made no motion to pull away from Mista just yet. The proximity set Mista buzzing with a gleeful nervous energy. Holding GioGio in his arms, like this, Mista felt like he could burst.“Let’s do it again,” said Mista.Almost an hour later they sat together in Mista’s backseats. The sun had set. The car was still parked in a field far from the resort in the shade of oak trees. GioGio was ringing out his hair with a towel they’d found in the boot and Mista was carefully sticking a bandage over his foot where he’d cut it in the lake. They couldn’t return to the resort together looking like they’d gone swimming in case GioGio’s father got suspicious, so a change of clothing and a quick shower once they got back to the studio was in order. For now, they both stunk of mud and lake detritus.It was then, sitting together in the back of that car as he watched GioGio strip off his sodden tank top out the corner of his eye, that Mista first thought that he might want to kiss him.The thought fell into his mind like a pebble into a pond, each subsequent ripple further wiping his mind of any other idea, and it shocked him into perfect stillness for a moment. But after some further thought he decided it should come to him as no surprise. This boy was doing something incredible; he was brave, and he was beautiful, and Mista had fallen in love with him. He felt something when dancing with GioGio that he hadn’t felt dancing with any other partner before - with Trish or his students or even any of his past flings. He wanted to hold his face and look into his eyes and kiss his perfect mouth softly, slowly, desperately, passionately, roughly, for as long as GioGio would let him.He wanted to kiss GioGio. Mista understood a simple concept like that, since he was a simple man afterall.He also understood that GioGio wasn’t doing this for him. He was only dancing with him to help Trish and the others, so they wouldn’t lose their jobs, so it was nothing special. Even if Mista did think that this was special. It wasn’t. GioGio wasn’t going to return his feelings and Mista was okay with that.So, it was then, sitting together in the back of that car as he watched GioGio tie his hair up into a messy bun out the corner of his eye, that Mista accepted decided, very simply, to keep this to himself. Messing up this arrangement between them wouldn’t be worth the trouble anyhow.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Giorno kept his eyes on the pretty flower print of Trish’s blouse while she happily dabbed all sorts of powders and creams onto his face. They were alone for now. Mista was getting himself ready in another changing room behind the hotel’s event hall and had left Giorno to Trish’s whims. His face itched, but he couldn’t touch it until everything was set – according to Trish – and he had yet to get a good look at himself in a mirror. It was probably a good thing; seeing his reflection might just push him over the edge, to think of leaving Trish and Mista to fend for themselves and render the past week an entire waste of time. He didn’t want to run. He never would. As uncertain as he was, as clammy as his hands felt clasped on his lap, as itchy as his face was, as uncomfortable the dress hanging off his body was, he was not ever going to even consider running away.After what seemed like hours of Trish poking around at his eyelids and cheeks and smearing on lipstick, Trish took her hands away from his face brought out a pair of fake eyelashes. She noticed Giorno’s look of apprehension and only laughed, assuring him that it won’t hurt while holding one of the offending lashes between thumb and forefinger. Giorno sighed and relented, thinking that any new thing was bound to make him uneasy at first. As Trish applied the tiny strips of wire and plastic to his face, she giggled at how he flinched and grimaced at the foreign sensation. Giorno tried his best not to be disheartened by it and sat very still and patiently while she worked.Once Trish finally announced that she was done, she motioned for him to stand and check himself over. Giorno cautiously approached the small grimy mirror set into the wall by a row of lockers.The boy staring back at him was unfamiliar. His hair was swept up in a flurry of curls and metallic pins and expertly kept away from his face and neck. His earrings were large and glittery, resembling water droplets suspended below his earlobe. Gold dust coated his eyelids. His lips were painted a delicate pink and shimmered like satin. His freckles were no longer visible. Though the makeup was flawless, the dress he wore was hanging loose around his torso since the final zip was still left gaping open. Trish appeared over his shoulder in the mirror and beamed.“I don’t look anything like you,” said Giorno, still admiring the reflection. He marvelled at how he could possibly look both older and younger at the same time.“You don’t need to look like me,” Trish told him. “All you need to look like is Mista’s partner - the pretty girl they expect him to dance with and spin around and lift up in the air and whatnot onstage.”Giorno raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow at Trish’s reflection. “A pretty girl,” he repeated.“The prettiest girl,” Trish amended. “They won’t know what hit them.”She shuffled back to let Giorno retrieve his heels from their bags and begin strapping his feet into the horrible things on a low bench. Trish watched him from a corner, supporting her weight against the wall and a crutch clamped under one arm.“Thanks, GioGio.”Giorno looked up from his shoes. “For what?” he asked.Trish was confused. She shifted her grip on her crutch and frowned. “What do you think? Everything. The dancing, the lying, the heels, everything you’ve put yourself through over this past week. You didn’t need to do any of that.”“Of course I did,” said Giorno, not understanding what she was getting at in the slightest. He tugged gruffly at a buckle around his ankle. “If I didn’t you would have lost your jobs, both you and Mista.”Trish stared at him. After a moment she broke into a smile and breathed out a laugh. “I thought you’d changed,” she said with a sigh, “since I first talked to you at the lakeside. I thought all this…this whole shitshow - it must have changed you somehow. You look so much…older, I suppose, or more mature today than you did back then. When I see you dancing with Mista you look stronger. And you make him look stronger too. The both of you look so…happy. I thought you might have grown out of that naivete from back then. But you didn’t, you’re just as much of a dreamer now as you were then, GioGio. I was wrong.”Giorno thought for a moment on what she said. He hadn’t put much thought into this sort of thing before.“It’s a good thing,” she reassured him. “I’ve decided right now, right this second, that I’m glad you haven’t changed. I wouldn’t be standing here today if you weren’t exactly the way that you are.”Giorno listened. And he thought.“But maybe I have changed,” he said quietly after a moment.Trish tilted her head, smiling knowingly down at him. “It’s not my place to be prying into your business or anything,” she said as she shuffled closer and began fiddling with the zip in the side of his dress. Giorno stood up straight to let her pull the dress closer around his chest. “And I promise you I do not care even the slightest about Mista and his drama. He’s an idiot, and I gave up all hope for him years back. But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed that you’re just a little bit interested in him.”Dimly, Giorno recognised that he should be embarrassed by this. But he wasn’t embarrassed. If anything, he was relieved that somebody else knew and that they didn’t seem bothered by the fact.“He’s cute,” Giorno admitted. “And when I dance with him, I feel warm, and nervous, and a little sick. I love dancing with him. And I love being around him. He makes me feel like more than what my father thinks I am. I don’t want Mista to know about this though.”Trish stuck her head around from behind his shoulder. “Why not?”“Once the performance is over, we won’t have to see each other again. He’ll work and I’ll return to my father. And next week we'll leave the resort. If I continue to keep him company, I’ll only be risking him losing his job all over again. I don’t want that to happen. I want him to be safe.”Trish hummed but said nothing more. She disappeared behind his back again and tugged the bodice up and snugly into place. A final clasp was secured under his arm. Trish motioned for Giorno to check himself out in the mirror.When Giorno looked into that mirror again he took a moment to appreciate the dress for what it was. Mista must have picked this out himself, Giorno thought as he eyed the small heart-shaped opening over his chest – covered only by a pale shimmering piece of gauze - and gratuitous golden applique. The dress fit him both literally and stylistically to a tee. It left his shoulders bare and ended just below his knees. When he walked it swished about his legs in a way that promised an impressive effect once he would start dancing. The bright pink colour matched his heels and the details matched his earrings. On second thoughts, Giorno mentally revised, Trish had probably helped Mista out.Right on time, Mista popped his head into their dressing room. “Decent?” he asked cheerfully.Trish crossed her arms and scowled at him. “You’re meant to ask us that before you look inside, idiot.”Mista grinned and apologised then quickly shut the door behind him. When he turned back to the dressing room his eyes fell on Giorno and he froze suddenly in place, eyes wide and raking shamelessly over Giorno’s body and face.“He’s pretty, right?” Trish asked, glowing with barely restrained pride. "Our boy's ready to take the show by storm."Mista blinked dumbly at Giorno for another few moments. Giorno began to feel his arms traitorously itching to fold over his chest in a vain attempt to cover himself. He’d never felt insecure about himself, not in the slightest, not before now. He hadn’t even felt so naked in the dress until Mista had walked in. It was almost embarrassing.“Hey, you two will be onstage soon, won’t you?” prompted Trish. She glanced between the boys -both just as quiet and awkward as the other - with an odd glint in her eye.Mista finally snapped out of his daze. “Uh, oh-right, yeah.” He cleared his throat and beckoned for Giorno to join him by the door. “We’re gonna be on in a couple minutes.”Mista was in black 3-piece, strikingly formal. His hair was pushed back from his brow and glossier and curlier than usual. As Giorno took him in, quietly appreciating the suit’s effect on his figure, following the lines of his shoulders and waist and hips, Mista looked away with a noticeable red colour dappling his cheeks. He cleared his throat again and combed his hands up through his hair, frantically pushing it around and into shape. The motion only served to make him look more frazzled.“You ready?” Mista asked a spot in the air two inches to the left of Giorno’s head. He shook his hands out and planted them firmly on his own hips, probably trying his best not to fidget any more.“I am,” Giorno told him, putting out a hand. Mista took it in his own. “Let’s dance.”Trish waved her crutch at them. “I’ll see you two back at the resort later tonight. Break a leg.”“That’s not funny,” said Mista.“Yes, it is. Shut up.”“The Sheldrake Hotel is proud to present Guido Mista and partner... in ‘Mambo Magic’!”When the first stage lights slammed on, Giorno was almost blinded. He successfully resisted the urge to squint through the beams of bright white lights out and into the audience but could already feel the fresh terror creeping up his spine.He swallowed that first spike of red-hot panic down, and the music flared into life. Mista spun him around. Giorno snapped into his first pose. He was stiff. Awkward. Their first few moves were technically fine, but Giorno knew he was moving inelegantly.One, two, three, four… One, two, three, four…The music seemed to only get louder and louder in his ears as Giorno moved robotically through the first steps of their mambo. He was sweating. Mista pulled him in and crossed their arms over Giorno’s chest. Giorno stared blankly out at the shadowed audience. The music was so loud. The rasping trumpets and drums and percussion and piano rose and warbled and filled the air and swallowed him up.Mista pulled Giorno’s quivering left arm up around his neck and began trailing his hand down towards his ribs. Giorno stared out into the void of the audience like a deer trapped in headlights.“Relax,” Mista whispered into his ear. “Relax. Now follow my lead.”Giorno forced himself to relax. He twirled away from Mista and-“Wrong way,” hissed Mista. “Over here.”Giorno froze and turned the other direction. He tottered over and locked hands with Mista and gave him an apologetic look, but Mista only raised his brows and nodded encouragingly.They took some quick steps back and forth while neatly shimmying to the bouncy rhythm of the trumpet. Their dance began to move a little smoother. Giorno was still not perfect – he’d been dancing for less than a week and his first few moments of panic on stage had left a slight tremble in his arms – but their dance no longer felt like it was frantically hurtling towards certain disaster.Halfway through the dance routine, and with a steadily slowing heartbeat, Giorno met the gaze of a familiar-looking man in the audience.It was only then that his eyes had finally adjusted to the stage lights. It was only then that Giorno recognised Pucci sitting below them. Pucci was watching them dance. He was looking directly up at Giorno.Then, Giorno was swiftly spun away before he could make another judgement. There was no way to tell yet if Pucci had recognised him in return through the makeup and bright stage lights.The next time Giorno faced the audience - quickly trotting back and forth with his hands on Mista’s shoulders and Mista’s resting securely on his hips - he caught sight of Pucci again. He didn’t appear to be all too interested in the dance performance. Instead, Pucci was engaged in an argument with a young freckled man standing nearby.Giorno swallowed his worry and turned his full attention back to the dance at hand.“Ready?”It was time for the lift. And Giorno’s mind went blank. Right as he ran into Mista’s arms something brave inside him crumbled; he stiffened and Mista’s grip tightened around his waist. They flubbed it.“Keep going,” Mista told him under his breath.Even then, even while Giorno felt as if everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong, Mista was whispering encouragement into his ear. He muttered more sweet words of reassurance to Giorno as they pulled close together again in the front centre of the stage. Mista hadn’t given up on him. It made the affection in Giorno’s chest burn brighter. And thanks to that sincerity the blaring trumpets and percussion began to sound less like a chaotic assault, just as terrifying as Giorno’s spikes of panic were, and more like all it was: music. It was fast and frantic, but with Mista’s guidance, his hands and his eyes, warm and reliable, it was not quite so impossible for Giorno to follow.“Keep going, GioGio. We’re close now.”For the remainder of the dance Giorno cursed himself as he questioned why he couldn’t pull off the lift once the time came. At first, he assumed it was the shock of seeing his father’s associate in the crowd when there shouldn’t have been anyone familiar at this hotel in the first place.But as the dance came to a flustered but satisfactory close Giorno determined that it wasn’t that; it was that he’d doubted his plan for even a moment. Everything was perfect until Giorno was faced with that one tiny crack in the veneer of his grand design. And a crack will always spread. Knowing this fact, Giorno then had an awful creeping cold suspicion that more failure was to come for them soon.Mista snapped to attention at the edge of the stage holding Giorno’s left hand proudly up in the air, where the lights cut through their intertwined fingers and blinded Giorno once more.They stood together as the audience gave them their applause and cheered and clapped and the music fell silent. In that roaring darkness Mista squeezed Giorno’s hand minutely; it helped.Sitting in the back of the car while driving back to the resort Giorno stole glances at Mista in the driver’s seat. As he took off his heels and dress and got back into his own clothes, he quietly stared at the back of Mista’s neck. There was something unspoken, trapped behind his lips, but Giorno couldn’t put his finger on what it was. He wanted to…thank him perhaps. Despite the terror Giorno had felt while up on that stage, and despite the speed at which they’d had to leave the hotel afterwards like Cinderella after the ball, Mista still felt like a rock to Giorno. Because unlike Giorno, Mista wasn’t taut or aloof. He exuded something entirely differently as they drove. Something like faith.“You did good,” said Mista. He met Giorno’s eyes in the rear-view. “You worked hard.”Giorno shook his head and pulled on his cardigan. “I saw a friend of my father’s in the audience, Pucci, and thought that was it for us. He was near the front.”Mista barked a laugh. “Yeah, me too, me too. I guess your makeup did the job. And people don’t usually pay much attention to us staff anyways – I don’t think he’d have recognised me. But you know, GioGio, by the second turn you really had it. You pulled it together back there.”“But I didn’t do the lift.”“You did real good.” The look Mista gave Giorno in the mirror whilst saying that was too soft. Giorno felt his throat closing up.“Thanks.”Fully dressed again, Giorno carefully clambered between the seats to drop into shotgun next to Mista. The radio played some sleepy love song and they fell quiet side-by-side for the remainder of the trip.Every now and then, Giorno glanced over at Mista. They didn’t need to talk; the quick looks Mista gave him in return were enough. A nervous smile would tug at the corners of Mista’s mouth and Giorno would be forced to duck his head when their eyes met. He cursed the radio for playing that sweet music and putting silly thoughts in his brain.Mista pulled up by the entertainment staff building. Most lights were off. The top floor, the dance studio Giorno had spent the past week sweating away in, was only a looming bluish shadow against a spotted starry sky. Giorno thought, resting his folded arms and chin against the dashboard as Mista parked, that he’ll miss the lessons now that it’s all over. He’ll struggle to find something as invigorating as dance, as poor as he was at it. And he’d never find somebody like Mista ever again. He was sure of that.Giorno joined Mista outside by the bonnet. Mista looked thoughtful, and he chewed his lip. Tossing his car keys from one hand to another he pulled a breath in through his nose. But before he could say anything to Giorno, a voice cried out to them from the building.“Mista!” It was Narancia. He sprinted from the front entrance to where Mista parked and shouted out again, “Mista, have you seen Trish?”“What? No, she left before we got onstage,” Mista answered. His face darkened as Narancia skidded to a halt by them. “Why? What happened?”Narancia caught his breath, sucked in a lungful of air, and shook his head. “Nobody’s seen her. She told me she’d be back half an hour ago. I called Sheila but I can’t reach her either. Nobody can find Trish anywhere.” Mista was standing as straight as a board. His fists were curled tightly at his side as he stared wide-eyed at Narancia, who looked close to tears. “I don’t know what to do, man.”Giorno’s heart had already begun racing. He knew very little of Trish’s past, but understood that she had escaped something awful before having the life she did with Mista and the others. She’d run from something. Giorno worried whatever she’d run from might have finally caught up to her this evening.“Sheila was supposed to drive them right back here,” Narancia was rambling to half to himself, half to Mista, pacing back and forth across the grit. “They should have been back by now. What happened to them? Are they okay? Is Trish okay? Her leg is already fucked up, what if she’s hurt again?”As Narancia’s voice became quicker and shriller, Mista grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to stay put. “Hey, calm it,” spat Mista. “Panicking won’t do us any good.”“He’s right,” said Giorno. “We don’t know anything yet. For all we know they might have got lost on the roads. We don’t know for sure that they’re hurt.”Narancia’s eyes widened. “But they might be!”Before either Mista or Giorno could try to calm Narancia anymore, the sound of a car crunching over grit towards the staff building silenced them.A dirty and elderly pickup was speeding up the narrow dirt road. It roared into the small parking area, and before it had even slowed to a halt Sheila fell out of the driver’s door and scrambled towards where the boys stood. She had a nasty-looking welt over one cheekbone which would soon bloom into a black eye.“He fucking took her!” Sheila cried as she stumbled into Mista’s side and desperately tugged on his jacket. “He took her! I tried to get her into the car, but they were waiting for us!”Mista pried Sheila’s hands away and ducked to look her in the eye. “Slow down,” he said to her. “What happened?”“Trish’s father,” she gasped. The colour left Mista’s face. “Him and that creepy little minion of his. They took her and drove off with her. He knew where to find her. I couldn’t fight them off so we could get away in time, and her leg – it wasn’t enough. They took her. Oh god…” Sheila sunk down to her haunches and covered her face. From behind her hands she whispered, “I couldn’t do anything. I lost her.”Giorno joined her on the ground. He put a hand on her shoulder.“Sheila?”She raised her head. Her panic-fogged eyes cleared minutely when she recognised him.“Are you absolutely sure that it was Trish’s father who kidnapped her?”Sheila nodded tiredly.“Why would he?”“He’s super-rich,” said Sheila, gesturing half-heartedly. “He only wants her back to save face after she ran off back when she was a kid. He doesn’t give a shit about her.” Her lip quivered; she quickly ducked her head down to hide behind her folded arms, shoulders shaking. “She’s...I can’t think…shit—”Giorno fell silent.These people are terrified, he thought. Trish is probably scared too, wherever she may be, and entirely helpless. But there is something he could do for her. Just one thing that might work.“…GioGio?” Mista’s soft and unusually quiet voice broke through Giorno’s thoughts. “Are you- What are you thinking?”Mista was watching him, Narancia too, and neither looking any less frightened than Sheila. They watched him with wide eyes full of fear and expectation.Giorno stood up. He didn’t say anything. The idea was rooted in his mind now and he had no time to stop and explain. He turned away from the three of them and ran down the path into the resort woods. If any of them shouted out after him, Giorno did not hear it.As he ran towards the cabins Giorno couldn’t help but imagine Trish, with her broken leg, being carried off by a man she’d run away from years ago. Trish, who he’d promised to help. The girl who’d been so unnecessarily sympathetic to him. So Giorno ran.He knew only one man with the power and influence to fix something like this at such short notice. If Trish’s father truly was as rich and influential as Giorno had been led to believe, no standard legal procedure would get Trish safely home in time, if at all. But there was very little Dio wouldn’t ever do for his son. In the past he’d pulled strings in the highest places to allow Giorno to achieve anything he ever wanted. He’d ended careers on a moment’s whim. He’d probably even kill if the situation called for it. Dio let nothing stop him.It would hurt like hell to ask for his father’s help after all of the lies, but Giorno had no other option to choose from. Dio was his, and Trish’s, only hope.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Giorno was well out of breath by the time he reached his and Dio’s cabin. He paused by the door long enough to level his breathing and push strands of hair away from his face. He felt a little nauseous - not just from the thought of confronting his father - and knew any expression of weakness in front of Dio would be a bad way to begin this conversation. But he couldn’t stand outside forever. Giorno, still panting and dizzy after running across the resort, mentally readied himself and opened the cabin door.He found Dio in the lounge room with a book in his hand underneath a single lamp. Dio looked up from the page and shot up to his feet in an instant.“GioGio?” He tossed his book aside and crossed the room in two long strides. “What’s wrong?” his father asked him, looking positively murderous. Giorno clutched his knees and pulled shaky breaths into his lungs. While he recovered, Dio crouched down to his level and sighed. “Who do I need to kill?”“No-one,” wheezed Giorno. He shook his head. “No, I need your help, father. Someone is in danger because of me.”Dio gently led Giorno over to sit on a heavily quilted sofa. It was rare for them to talk so seriously like this and it made Giorno’s stomach feel as if it were turning inside-out. The great heavy shame of it all was weighing Giorno down like an iron anchor. It was finally time for him to explain.So Giorno told Dio about what had happened. He did not explicitly lie but he did refrain from telling the whole truth, partly to protect himself from his father’s rage and partly to save time, knowing Trish could not wait forever. Giorno told Dio about finding Trish injured in the forest, how he’d befriended a handful of the entertainment staff afterwards, where Dio’s money had truly gone, that instead of learning squash he’d been loitering by the resort’s dance studio, that Trish had been kidnapped, and that nobody else would be able or willing to help her. Giorno explained the horrible situation he’d put himself and his new friends in. Giorno begged for his father’s help. As he did, Dio’s face went cold. His expression did not shift into fury or betrayal but only froze in a sickening unreadable mask.Once Giorno eventually fell quiet, Dio stood from where he’d sat next to Giorno. He strode silently to the phone on the lounge’s wall, dialled, and began speaking quietly into the mouthpiece. In the meantime, Giorno buried his face in his hands. Some minutes passed.“Son,” Dio’s voice came stiffly from across the room. “You will stay here. You will not go anywhere else tonight. And for the remainder of this week you will not be…fraternising with those new friends of yours who got you into all this trouble in the first place.”Giorno looked up. “What?”“You are not the person I thought you were, GioGio,” Dio bit out. “I'm not sure who you are. I don't want you to have anything to do with those people. Nothing. You're to have nothing to do with them ever again.”“Father!” Giorno raised his voice to match Dio’s. “I never meant to lie to you! All of this – I was only trying to help them!”“Absolutely not.” Dio quickly came closer. “Do you understand what you’ve done, GioGio? This is beyond what you can understand. This is our family’s name at stake. This is your future at stake. You’ve become tied to a girl’s kidnapping. You’ve associated yourself with this weak rabble, for what? Because you were bored?” Dio caught the flash of sharp indignation cross Giorno’s face and quickly held a pointed finger up to silence him. “No. Say nothing. You will not speak back to me tonight, GioGio. I want you to understand the utter mess you’ve managed to get yourself into.”Giorno bit down hard on his lip. There were many words bubbling up in him like bile, but he pushed them all down. It would not be worth fighting back against Dio, especially since he was Trish’s only hope that night.“I understand.”“Then act like it.” Dio pulled a dark pea-coat down from the pegs by the door. He held the coat folded over one arm, gazed coldly down at Giorno, and sighed. “I expected better of you GioGio. Now…I’m asking myself, is this truly the boy I raised?”Giorno said nothing.“I expected so much better,” breathed Dio. He opened the cabin door and stepped out, then looked back one last time at his son sitting hunched over on the sofa. “And wipe that crap off your face before I get back.”The door thudded shut. Giorno was left alone in the cabin. The sound of wind rattling the windowpanes eventually overtook the rumbling of Dio’s car engine as he drove off into the night. Giorno sat very still and very quiet for a while. There was nothing else for him to do; it was out of his hands and all he could do now was hope that the help he’d payed for with his pride would arrive in time for Trish.After what may have been three minutes or three hours, Giorno finally stood up from the sofa. He washed his face clean in his small ensuite bathroom and combed out his hair and changed into thin cotton pyjamas.Giorno paused between his room and the adjoining bathroom. He considered taking a shower. And then after the shower, burying himself in his bed and falling asleep fitfully but eventually. The next day he’d wake up clean from all the filthy business he’d become wrapped up in over that past week. His father would still be furious, but the fiasco would be done with. Giorno would be free from all of it and would turn his attention back to what was important and appropriate as Dio would describe it.But he was stuck firmly in place on his bedroom floor as if his feet were rooted into the carpet.The others had been so afraid. Giorno couldn’t stop thinking about them; Sheila’s seemingly unending strength crumbling so suddenly, Narancia being unable to think straight at all, Mista looking at him like the world was ending.Giorno felt sick.It was no longer a question of what was the ‘right’ thing to do, because the ‘right’ thing had been rendered obsolete from the moment Giorno was first dragged out onto that dance floor. It wasn’t a question of where he should be, because he knew where he needed to be. And that place was not in this cabin and it was not underneath Dio’s thumb doing as he was told and being who he was told to be.Faster than Giorno even thought was possible, he changed back into his day’s clothing, threw on a jacket, boots, tied up his hair, grabbed the spare keys, and ran from the cabin and out into the cold and quiet night.He didn’t know what time it was. The sky was clouded, the moon was hidden, and the woods were heavy with blue shadows. It may have been past midnight. He could barely see the paths beneath his feet. But he ran. Giorno ran across the resort towards the staff quarter to where he remembered one particular cabin, small and unassuming, had to be. He’d been there only once before but knew the way. He didn’t know for sure that Mista would be there but, with a steadfast and bone-deep feeling, Giorno knew that there was nowhere else for him to go that night.Almost every other staff cabin Giorno passed was dark and silent. From one or two he could hear a radio playing muffled music, or others the sounds of conversation and argument. The door to Mista’s cabin was closed, the lights were on, but it was perfectly quiet. Giorno wondered if Mista had gone to sleep already.His closed fist hovered over the door for a moment. Shaking away his doubt, Giorno knocked quickly thrice; it opened before his knuckles could land a fourth time.Mista visibly lit up once he recognised Giorno standing in his doorway. “GioGio?”He was shirtless again and held two budgies on one cocked arm, both of which regarded Giorno on the doorstep with alert and curious gazes. The cabin was empty behind him. A single light in the corner cast a muted reddish shadow over the room. Mista looked as if he’d been crying and had tried to hide it quickly before answering the door. The slight blurriness of his eyes gave it away.“Can I come in?” asked Giorno.“Yeah. Of course,” said Mista, a little shakily. He held the door as Giorno hurried inside. “Your dad…he-”Giorno spun around. “He spoke to you already?”“Uh.” Mista fretted between Giorno and the large birdcage in the opposite corner. He cursed and plucked the two budgies off his arm and crossed the room to their cage and spoke quickly as he guided the birds away inside. “He found us by the staff building. Asked us some stuff before heading off. But- is he really going to help Trish? I mean… from what I could tell he isn’t- it’s not like I’m doubting your plan or anythin’ but…” He trailed off with a couple fingers hooked limply on the cage’s bars.Giorno screwed his eyes shut and collapsed into a nearby wicker chair. He pulled off his jacket and slung it over the back of the chair, then ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head. “Mista, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry if he said something horrible to you.”“Hey, it’s okay-”“No, it’s not.” Giorno lifted his head and met Mista’s gaze. He took a deep breath, remembering the rage Dio had left the cabin in. “Dio will do anything for me. He will help Trish, but… Mista, what did he say to you?”Mista looked uncomfortable. “Nothin’. Listen,” he began while carefully coming closer. He fidgeted, folding and knitting his hands together while speaking very softly to Giorno. “I don’t care what he thinks of us. If he’s going to help Trish, I really could give a damn what he calls us. I mean – shit, I could never do anythin’ like that. I’m real pathetic sometimes.” Mista shook his head. His bottom lip was trembling dangerously. “See, GioGio, people treat me like I’m nothing ‘cause I am nothing.”“That’s not true,” Giorno said, raising his voice.Hearing it had been like a nail through the heart; Giorno couldn’t stand it. He always saw Mista as something incredible, beautiful, unstoppable. Mista was so steady. He kept Giorno standing. He kept Giorno moving when things became uncertain. If they hadn’t met, without Mista, Giorno may as well have missed out on life itself.“You’re everything, Mista,” he said.“No, GioGio. You don’t understand.”Giorno had had more than enough of being told that he didn’t understand. The strange pressure building up in him grew with each one of Mista’s words.“Last month, almost every month, we’re barely making it by,” Mista continued. “We’re sleeping in a different bed each week. We eat just enough to stay on our feet. But this month women are stuffing diamonds in my pockets. This isn’t a life, GioGio, I’m balancing on shit and as quick as that it can all come tumbling down under my feet. I can end up right back where I started before I know it - wasting away in a juvenile prison or starving in an alley somewhere, god fucking knows. I’m nothing!” He threw his hands up in the air and choked out a laugh. There were tears clinging to his eyelashes. “She’d be dead if it weren’t for you and long gone and lost if it weren’t for your dad.”“Please don’t say that, Mista.”“But it’s true. You wouldn’t know— you don’t know, GioGio. See, shit, when I was your age, what…three years ago, I had no job. I had no family, no rich dad, nobody to help me out when I got chucked into jail for a crime I didn’t even commit. That’s what it’s like for us. I almost lost twenty years of my life for trying to do something right for once. And that’s where I ended up. I only got out because of somebody like you, somebody who sees the good in people. But I’m not like that. Bad shit follows me. I’m nothing, GioGio.”“It doesn’t have to be that way!”Mista scoffed and pulled a heavy hand down his face. He shook his head slowly. “I’ve never known anyone like you.” His voice was so gentle, Giorno’s breath caught in his throat. “You think you can make the world better. Somebody's lost, you find them. Somebody's bleeding—”“I go and get my father. Very brave of me,” sighed Giorno.“Hey!” Mista bent down and gruffly took Giorno by the shoulders. “That took guts!” he said as his hands shook Giorno a little, endearingly insistent. “Talking to him, asking for his help like that after everything you’ve hidden from him, that’s brave as shit. You’re so fucking brave, GioGio, please believe me when I say that. You’re incredible. You’re not scared of anything.”Giorno stood from the wicker chair and carefully pushed Mista’s hands down from his shoulders. He squeezed Mista’s hand, the same way Mista had done for him when they had been up on that stage together. Those wide and honest brown eyes watched him.“That’s not it, Mista. I’m scared of everything.”Giorno held Mista’s gaze, even when his heart felt like it was about to tear itself into pieces inside his chest. It was always so hard for him to put his feelings in order. Feeling were slippery complex things and Giorno had always preferred keeping his life and relationships on strict and manageable terms. But for Mista he’d do anything, even if that meant baring his soul for the very first time in his life.“I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve always been so safe, under my father’s wing, under his thumb, in his shadow. I never did what I wanted to do- what I really wanted to. I held myself back. I pretended I was happy that way. And now… I’m so scared. I’m scared of what has happened to Trish and what might be happening to her right now.” Distantly, Giorno heard himself gasping slightly between words and speaking louder to hide the tremble in his voice. He was starting to crack under his own anxiety. His chest pounded. “I’m scared of what I’ve had to do, of the consequences, of my father, what’s going to happen, and who I am. It’s terrifying, Mista. And most of all I’m scared of walking out of here and – and never feeling for the rest of my whole life...”Giorno’s voice cracked. The pain in his chest burst like his heart was weeping.“…the way I feel when I'm with you.”Mista froze up.Instantly, Giorno regretted speaking. He regretted saying what he had said and speaking the truth for once. It had felt good in the moment but the unreadable expression across Mista’s face frightened Giorno. He didn’t want this.He dropped Mista’s hand. Giorno blinked quickly a few times and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning away. “I shou—”Mista took Giorno’s hand again. His grip put no pressure on Giorno’s wrist but the touch stuck Giorno firmly in place.Giorno stared at Mista’s fingers around his wrist. He couldn’t raise his eyes to meet Mista, not now, he couldn’t bring himself to see what expression was painted across his face. Confusion, maybe, or pity. It didn’t matter which. Giorno only wanted to be free of that horrible sick feeling filling him up that he’d ruined something precious between them.“GioGio.” Mista’s voice was barely there. After a moment his hand dropped away. “Wait, please.”Giorno finally looked up. What he saw in that face certainly was not pity. Mista’s eyes were wide, lashes still speckled with unshed tears from earlier. His mouth worked around nothing with no words managing to make it out.The poor boy was lost. It was all Mista could do to stop Giorno from leaving and now he had no idea what to say.Giorno sucked in a shallow breath and wet his dry lips. Mista’s eyes flickered down to his mouth for just a moment, before returning to meet his gaze, still wide-eyed and desperate. Not saying a word, Giorno lifted a hand to Mista’s cheek. He was warm under the touch. And after a heartbeat, Mista let out a shaky breath and leant minutely into Giorno’s palm.“Dance with me,” whispered Giorno.Mista blinked back at him. “Here?”“Yes.”Giorno traced his thumb down over Mista’s cheek, where a small damp trail led from the corner of one eye to his chin. His hand came to rest against Mista’s neck. His pulse fluttered underneath Giorno’s fingertips like a rabbit’s heart.“Right here.”Not for the first time that week, music began to play in Giorno’s mind. As he came closer to Mista he could hear it clear as day. The kind of music that always made them want to press together, hold each other, and move.So, without a doubt in his mind Giorno put both his hands to Mista’s bare stomach. He drew them up over his broad chest and shoulders and gently draped his arms around Mista’s neck as he began to slowly sway in time to the beautiful music he heard.Giorno gently kissed Mista’s neck once, twice, three times. Each time as careful as he could press his lips to the skin. Then without missing a beat he shifted over and kissed the other side of his neck. Mista tipped his head away, silent as his hands slipped behind Giorno’s back and pulled him in closer. Still embracing, they swayed one way and Giorno let his head fall back. He followed the arc of the swing and was dipped deeply down until Mista held him suspended with only one arm, the other hooked underneath Giorno’s thigh, and Giorno was staring up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Mista watched with heated concentration as Giorno pulled himself back upright in his arms.Giorno placed his hands on Mista’s shoulders to lean in closer to his face and to those eyes that he couldn’t ever bring himself to look away from. And he could feel how badly Mista wanted this. How badly he wanted him. He could feel the heat rolling off from Mista’s skin, see tiny beads of sweat on his brow, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, a nick where he’d cut himself shaving the other morning, his throat bobbing, the way his sweet dark brown eyes flickered back and forth between Giorno’s while they stood so close to each other.A nervous but unignorable warmth flickered deep in Giorno’s gut. Seeing this incredible, beautiful, unstoppable man look at him this way was…Giorno searched for a word to describe the feeling. Delicious perhaps. He wanted more of it.Giorno tore his gaze away and slid his hands along the firm slopes of Mista’s shoulders. He dragged his lips over the skin there, taking note of each and every shaky heavy breath Mista drew in as he did. Once he was behind him Giorno planted one deep kiss between Mista’s shoulders blades. He felt the muscles of Mista’s upper back shift under his palms, flexing involuntarily, and it set Giorno on fire. He moved back around Mista’s side and let one hand drop down the dip of his spine.Meeting Mista’s heavy gaze once again, Giorno slid his hand over the curve of his ass and Mista took a sharp inhale.Then it was Giorno’s turn to gasp. Mista had taken his wrists and pulled them up. He pressed a kiss below Giorno’s palm then dragged his lips and hands slowly down the length of Giorno’s bare arms. When Mista reached Giorno’s shoulder his hands fell to where Giorno had tucked in his blouse, tugged slightly at a corner of loose fabric, then pulled it free from the hem of Giorno’s trousers. As Giorno’s shirt was slowly lifted up over his head and outstretched arms he lent forwards, grateful for the removal of that last boundary between them, and fully embraced Mista. Now with his arms around Mista he felt--- something new. It was something he’d wanted for a while. Every inch of him was thrumming; he could have laughed, or cried, or held Mista tight enough to shatter something. But all he did was bury his face in the crook of Mista’s neck and think about how good it felt to have Mista holding him so gently and so close.They swayed in each other’s arms with chests pressed together and hearts almost bursting behind their ribs. Giorno thought he could live the rest of his life like this – held like this, like nothing else in the world mattered and like music hung in the air around them while small shaky breaths fell from his lips. He could have stayed that way, wrapped in warm strong arms, slowly dancing, listening to Mista’s breathing, knowing that this man wanted nothing more than to be with him too, maybe forever.But Giorno raised his head and looked up at Mista through his lashes. Mista seemed to understand. He lent down just enough for the tips of their noses to brush, and Giorno watched his gorgeous brown eyes close, and they kissed. And they kissed again. And kissed again.Mista had experience, Giorno could tell, but he didn’t have the same surety as Giorno who pressed forwards and ran his hands over Mista’s shoulders and upper back, still desperate for proximity. The kiss quickly deepened. Mista hummed and he pushed a hand up into Giorno’s hair for a better angle, and Giorno gripped Mista’s biceps to keep from losing his balance. Then, Mista appeared to remember that they were in fact still dancing. He broke away from the kiss – momentarily stunning Giorno with how pink his face and lips were – and dipped Giorno slowly in a wide languid arc around himself. Giorno was almost limp in his arms. When Mista eventually lifted him back upright and they were face to face once more, Giorno did not hesitate for a moment before crushing their lips together again.Mista hands guided him gently backwards. After two blind steps, shamelessly groping whatever parts of Mista were in his reach, something hit the back of Giorno’s leg – the bedframe. Giorno grinned against Mista’s mouth and pulled him swiftly down. Mista shuffled forwards to bracket him onto the mattress with his arms and resumed kissing messily at his neck and jawline.“Shit, you’re beautiful,” Mista murmured against Giorno’s skin. “I think you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met, GioGio.”Giorno shivered, sliding one hand down along Mista’s bare side, tracing the dips and planes of muscle, until it reached the hem of his jeans. “I think you are too,” said Giorno while he sightlessly fumbled at the fly. A moment later Mista had shuffled off his jeans – Giorno pulled him in close again and groped his ass through his underwear with a free hand. Mista groaned into his mouth.Giorno knitted a hand up into Mista’s tousled curls, cradling his head, as his other slipped under the hem of his boxers. At the touch Mista grunted and pushed his hips forward. Giorno gasped – Mista ground slowly against him through their underwear.“You know,” said Giorno weakly, “you’re a remarkable teacher.”Mista laughed from under Giorno’s chin. The sound was so breathy and low, Giorno wouldn’t take it. He felt like he could shatter any second.“I didn’t teach you this,” Mista quietly pointed out.“I’m a quick learner.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Breakfast was a bitter affair. Dio didn’t seem to want to eat anything and instead sat silently across the table from Giorno, staring out the nearby window at the lawns sprawling down to the lake, and emitting the kind of menacing aura that made it very difficult for Giorno to breathe, despite not even sharing eye contact with his father. It’d been a stroke of sheer luck that Giorno had been able to return to the cabin that morning before daybreak and find the place still empty. Dio had returned around an hour later, giving Giorno enough time to hide any evidence of that night’s events and feign sleep in his bed. The close escape set Giorno on edge the next morning but his father’s ominous attitude only made things worse. He was unbelievably anxious.It was because of this that Giorno did not notice Pucci approaching their breakfast table this time. A hand suddenly came down on Giorno’s shoulder from behind and he almost bit the end of his spoon off in shock.“Good morning, Lord Brando,” said Pucci in a hauntingly polite tone. “I‘ve heard of preparations for the end of season show. Will you and your son be attending?”Dio didn’t turn away from the window. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” he said. Giorno was careful not to react. A low hum of frustration began in his gut, spreading to his clenching jaw and brow. But he said nothing. Dio added, “We’ll miss the weekend traffic.”“But weren’t you planning to stay until Sunday?” asked Pucci. He was still hovering by Giorno’s shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the barely restrained tension rolling off of him in seething waves.“We’ll be leaving,” Dio reaffirmed. He was unmovable.“You’ll miss the show.”“I wouldn’t have attended anyway.”“I was under the impression that your son was helping prepare the show’s props.”Giorno had almost forgotten about that promise. It had been one of the many small things he’d considered doing at the very beginning of the week, before he had any interest in any other activities offered by the resort. Before he’d met Mista and the others. He’d been far too busy since then.“He’ll let them know that he is unavailable,” said Dio to Pucci’s growing disappointment. The man was determined to maximise his time with Dio, that much was clear, and the challenge of convincing him to stay was beginning to show on his face.“If it’ll be anything like the Sheldrake’s level of production, I’d guess you’d at least be able to find some entertainment in that,” said Pucci. Then with a subtle glint in his eye he told Dio, “Hearsay is that your old friend Polnareff will be performing on the night. He’ll be singing… something, and perhaps also dancing. It sounds quite intriguing to me.”Dio had perked up at the sound of that. He slowly turned his head towards Pucci, narrowing his eyes as he told him, “Go on.”“Unfortunately, that is all I have heard,” sighed Pucci. “The gossip is that he lost a bet earlier this week, but others believe that he is genuinely enthusiastic about the performance.”As the two men spoke, Giorno sensed a dawning interest in his father. He was no longer sitting with his arms stiffly crossed, for one thing. Giorno kept quiet.“Pucci, my dear companion,” Dio drawled. “You know how much I love to see a fool who has crossed me in the past humiliate themselves.”Pucci adopted a similar serpentine smile. “Of course. It is why I mentioned it to you, Lord Brando.”“Please, Dio is just fine,” said Dio as he stood and slid an arm over Pucci’s shoulder. Giorno watched the two men hopefully over the rim of his teacup. “Perhaps I will indulge in two more days at this miserable resort, if only for the satisfaction of seeing this…talent show.” The two men walked away from the breakfast table. As they went, Giorno could hear Pucci laughing at something Dio said to him, then his father crying out, “I didn’t even know that French bastard was here!”Giorno remained seated at the breakfast table for another quiet minute or two. He waited long enough to be sure that Pucci and his father had left the food hall before standing, grabbing his bag from below the table, and hurrying away.There was no way to know for sure how long Dio would be preoccupied, but for now he had seemingly forgotten about his promise to keep Giorno in his line of sight at all times. This opportunity may not happen again, so Giorno didn’t think twice about breaking his father’s rules once more.It was still the morning and the day’s events were just starting up. Some groups of guests were already playing croquet on the lawns, about a dozen were being led through a dance by Narancia nearby, but Mista was nowhere in sight. Giorno turned on his heel and rushed away from the main building. He decided the next place to check out was the staff house and studio.The entertainment staff building was horribly quiet when Giorno jogged up the embankment steps. Usually there would have been some music playing from the upper floor or some kids smoking and laughing out back, but no one was in sight. Giorno dithered for a moment. He considered instead heading over to Mista’s cabin but suspected that Mista would be too busy to only be lounging about in his room this time of day. Instead, he climbed the wooden stairway up around the building towards the studio floor, hoping to find at least some confirmation that Mista had yet to be kicked off the resort for last night’s antics.About halfway up the stairs, Giorno heard somebody call his name. He paused on a landing and lent over the railing. Mista stood below with his hands on his hips and a delightfully innocent smile across on his face.“GioGio!” he called again. He beckoned for Giorno to get back down the stairs. “I got a call from Sheila! It’s good news!”Giorno’s heart jumped. He hurried down the stairway and jumped the last step, falling into Mista’s arms at last. “Thank goodness,” he said, pressing his face into Mista’s chest.A hand gently ran up and down Giorno’s back while they hugged. “D’you wanna go see them?”Giorno lent back. “Where are they?”“Trish’s cabin,” Mista replied, beaming at Giorno. “Or, they will be. Sheila called me just now saying Trish is on her way now.”“Then what are we waiting for?” Giorno untangled himself and straightened up. “We should meet them. It’s been tough for them both, I must be sure that they are safe and sound.”Mista laughed, pressed a kiss to Giorno’s forehead, and said lightly, “That’s my GioGio, so serious.”Giorno let Mista guide him away from the staff building and down one of the wooded paths. “I mean it,” he said, frowning slightly.“I know you do, GioGio. I love the way you talk. Like you’re the boss, like you’ve got this under control no matter what.”Something about that made Giorno blush. He remained very flushed and quiet until they reached the area of the resort where the staff’s cabins were. There were about a dozen of them on either side of a dirt path bisecting one of the narrow roads cutting through the resort; Giorno remembered Mista’s being one of the first in the line. While they passed the cabins Giorno noted that most of them were identical save for some odd decorations on the doors or a wicker chair on the porch. The one Mista led him to was small but tidy, near the very end of the line, and was barely decorated on the outside save for its door, which had been painted a vibrant fuchsia pink.Sheila was standing on the porch of this cabin. She lit up at the sight of Giorno and Mista approaching and practically vaulted over the railing and sped towards them across the grass.“Mista! GioGio!” She slid to a halt and seized Giorno’s hands. “I can’t thank you enough, I don’t know what to say – I- I can’t – I couldn’t have lost her if it wasn’t for you and your father, GioGio,” Sheila said all in one great rush. “I don’t know what I’d do without her, if I knew she was out there alone and terrified trapped with her father again. I might have just died knowing that. GioGio, I really don’t know—”Giorno gently shushed her. “Hey, it’s okay. She’s safe now, isn’t she?”Sheila nodded. Her eyes were wide but still dry. “I owe you twice now,” she said.“You don’t owe me anything.”“You’ve saved her life twice already. All I did last night was get myself a black eye.”Giorno shook his head. He placed a hand over hers and met her gaze, hoping to bring back her usual stoic self-assurance. “Believe me, Sheila,” he told her. “I may not have been there last night when she was taken, but I know you. I know you would never have let her go without a fight. And you didn’t, did you? You fought for her because you are not as weak as you seem to think you are, not in the slightest. You love her and that made you strong. Losing a fight doesn’t ever make you weak.”Sheila took some slow shaky breaths. “…You believe that?”“I know it.”Out the corner of his eye Giorno caught Mista smiling at him. While he’d spoken to Sheila, Mista’s expression had been something resembling pride, or love, with the softest smile imaginable directed at Giorno. The glint in Mista’s eye said something along the lines of ‘I told you so. Like you’re the boss.’Their attention was drawn by a car approaching the cabins. A police vehicle - the sight of which made Mista visibly tense up for a moment before seemingly remembering himself - slid down the grit road towards them. The windows were tinted.Sheila held her breath, still holding Giorno’s hands tight. She only let go once the vehicle parked and the back door opened up.Trish emerged from the backseat, haggard and unfocused, and looking somewhat worse than she had on her way to the hospital earlier that week. She took one shaky step out of the car, holding the edge of the window for support, blinking over at the three of them and –Sheila had already scrambled towards the car as soon as Trish was visible. Before she could react at all, Sheila had practically thrown herself bodily onto her.The girls sank to their knees. Sheila was gasping into Trish’s neck, not quite crying, maybe holding tears back, but far from being able to bring words forward at the time. Trish was wide eyed; she clutched at Sheila’s shoulders with one leg splayed out in its cast and the other folded awkwardly under herself, staring out at nothing while heavy tears silently rolled down her cheeks.Giorno looked away. His eyes landed on Mista who had his lips pressed tightly together and his brows drawn in the way that one looks when trying very hard not to cry.The car quietly pulled away from the cabins and down the road out of the resort. After a minute Mista walked over to help Trish back onto her feet and led the girls into Trish’s cabin. They lay her down onto her bed, fetched some blankets, and got her as comfortable as possible. They didn’t ask her any questions about what happened last night. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all. Without very little words shared between them Giorno helped draw the room’s curtains while Mista brushed hair from Trish’s brow and Sheila held her hand at her bedside. Soon Trish fell into a peaceful sleep.On their way out, Mista holding the door open for Giorno, Sheila hurried forwards. She silently pulled Mista back inside. Mista met Giorno’s gaze and nodded sideways, motioning for him to wait outside the cabin.Giorno closed the door quietly, careful not to wake Trish, and lent against the panelled wood wall on the deck outside. The cabins on the other side of the dirt path were quiet. There were a couple further down the line that Giorno could hear music coming from and saw a handful other young members of the entertainment staff hanging around on the decks and dancing, laughing, or talking to one another in the shade.While he waited, he heard Mista and Sheila speaking in hushed tones on the other side of the door.“So, how did it go last night?”“Good,” Mista answered softly. He still sounded shaken up. “He didn’t do the lifts, but it was good.”A pause. “That’s good,” she said. “I’m glad. You two have been working hard.”There was another pause. Giorno could easily imagine Mista smiling one of his crooked smiles after hearing that, flustered but always happy to have his ego stroked, the kind of goofy smile that made Giorno want to kiss him.“She’s gonna be fine, yeah?” asked Mista, still quiet to not disturb Trish but not quite quiet enough for Giorno to not overhear.“Of course. You know her, soft but unbreakable. She’ll be okay.”“She’s gonna lose her job here.”A long pause. Giorno dug his nails into his palm. It had been one of the things left unspoken as they’d brought Trish inside. As much as Giorno wished he could help her, as much as he’d already done to help her and the others, this may be one thing he couldn’t do anything about.“We’ll make it work someho—”Mista interrupted, “I’ll tell them her grandmother died or something.”“No,” Sheila whispered, “That’s- no, Mista, don’t try. This is it for us. We’ll have to go somewhere else for work next year. That’s just how it is.”“But—”“There’s nothing we can do. They might let you two stay on until the end of the season if you behave but there’s no chance of her recovering from this. It’s been a nightmare; you can’t deny it. Anything that could have gone wrong for us, went wrong, and more.“But everything GioGio did…”A pause. When Sheila spoke again to Mista, it was very slowly and carefully. “He can’t help us again. He might want to and maybe I’d want it too, but it can’t happen. For our own safety at this point, Mista, we can’t let it happen.”There was a very long pause. Giorno wondered what was happening. It didn’t seem like anything good; Mista wore his heart on his sleeve and hadn’t fared well in the past facing up against Sheila.“And you two…” Sheila began. She sounded glacial. “You and him…what do you two think you’re doing?”Giorno’s heart dropped. Part of him wanted to leave, to stop listening in, but his feet were stuck in place. He could only stand and listen to the rest of their conversation while his blood turned cold.“How many times have you told Trish never to get mixed up with them? Or told me you never would?” Sheila hissed. “You’re afraid of the rich ones, I know you are, as much as they love you, how cool and suave and wild they think you are. You’re terrified of what’ll happen if you ever slip up around them.”“GioGio’s different.”“Maybe.” Sheila sounded pained. Her voice wavered a little as she spoke. “I don’t think- He’s not – It doesn’t matter. Even if he loves you it doesn’t matter. The guests around him, his father, that priest who followed the both of them around… It’s too dangerous. We’ve been hurt enough already. Trish has been hurt enough already.”“I know what I’m doing.”Mista’s voice was so level, it hurt Giorno. It hurt so much he shivered where he stood against the cabin’s wall.“You listen to me, Mista, you’ve gotta be careful. Be careful please. You leave that boy alone, or he’ll be hurt too. If you care about him, you’ll leave him alone. God knows what GioGio’s father will do if he finds out what you’ve been doing to his son.”A couple seconds passed in silence inside Trish’s cabin. Then the door opened by Giorno’s side. Mista stepped out, his face drawn tight. He closed the door softly behind him. Mista fidgeted, clenching and unclenching his hands as his eyes flickered between Giorno and an obscure spot to his right.“Look, I’ve gotta run,” he told Giorno. There was no secret between them; he knew Giorno had overheard. “I’ve got a lesson in three.”Giorno nodded. “Of course. You’ve got to go.”Mista took a deep breath. He opened his mouth, closed it, rubbed his arm, and said quietly, “Yeah. See you.”Mista stepped off the deck. Giorno watched him go, feeling each breath burning in his chest while Mista walked away down the path.“Mista, wait!”He hadn’t meant to speak, but the words fell from his mouth. Mista stopped in his tracks only one house down the row. He turned back towards Giorno with a painfully serious expression.Giorno swallowed any other words he might have accidentally spoken in the heat of the moment. He wanted to say a lot. But he couldn't be rash again, not if he could help it. He pressed his lips together and shifted his weight. As some moments of silence passed Mista did not move from that spot on the gravel path, he only stood patiently still watching Giorno as he always did - like he expected Giorno to do something incredible.Maybe there was something Giorno wanted to say more than anything else. He parted his lips to say it drawing his brows together, shaping his mouth around the beginning of the words, but still saying nothing. Mista had understood. His expression cleared, a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and he turned fully to face Giorno. Slowly, as if time moved gradually just for the two of them, Giorno watched as Mista brought a hand up to his face, pressed the tips of his fingers to his lips, and then pushed his hand out into the air towards Giorno.If Giorno had learnt anything that past week, it was that sometimes words weren’t needed to get the meaning across to somebody. Undeniably, Mista had told Giorno in that moment, “I love you too.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Dio remained distracted enough by Pucci’s flattery to forget about his promise of leaving the resort for the rest of the day, though was still wary of his son’s movements. After dinner and congregating in a lounge backing onto lawns outside the main house, his father and Pucci talked amicably about philosophy, the arts, much they hated Giorno’s extended family, how glad they were that those fools weren’t here at the resort too, the weather, and the glee of soon seeing the man ‘Polnareff’ humiliate himself onstage. Giorno was disinterested in these conversations as usual. He answered questions meekly when asked, and nodded when appropriate, and acted as the Good Son for as long as he had to. He was very careful not to nudge conversations in a direction which would anger Dio or remind him of the other night.Giorno had been seated next to his father on a long plush couch like a loyal puppy and in plain view of the other guests sitting around Dio. Tea and biscuits and a jigsaw puzzle were laid out on a low coffee table before them. They would have been outside on the veranda playing croquet or bocce if it hadn’t started raining heavily an hour ago. Instead, Giorno busied himself by methodically completing the jigsaw while ignoring the many pairs of eyes sliding over him from around the room.People often looked at Giorno as something pretty and marvellous. It usually made Giorno sick. But there was only one man who looked at him as something pretty and marvellous and didn’t make him want to shrink into himself, and Giorno wanted nothing more than to see him right that minute.“I’m sick of this rain,” Pucci was saying. “We’ve been stuck indoors all day because of it.”Dio said something in return, but the words slipped past Giorno who was not listening. He slotted the final puzzle piece into place and stood.“GioGio?” Dio lowered his teacup. His face darkened.“They’re having charades in the west lobby,” Giorno told his father. “I’ll be back before dusk.”Dio looked between Giorno and the other guests he was holding symposium for. He did not want Giorno to wander off on his own, but on the other hand he did not want to make a scene. The carefully crafted façade he’d maintained that he and his son were on perfect terms, that his son would never step out of line, and that he was in complete control, apparently meant more to him than their reality.“Be careful,” said Dio finally, narrowing his eyes at Giorno. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t want you to.”Giorno nodded and bowed politely to Pucci and the others before excusing himself. He knew these disappearances of his were becoming increasingly risky, but there was no getting around it. His conscience would never let him sit idly still by his father’s side.The rain was not letting up just yet, so Giorno rushed to the staff lodges with his cardigan pulled up over his head. It had been almost nine hours since Trish had been returned to the resort and settled into her cabin and Giorno was relieved to find a light coming from inside as he jogged along the rows of staff lodges. Her cabin was silent, and nobody stood on the porch, but one window shone through its drawn curtains. Giorno knocked quietly on the door.“Who is it?” said Trish’s voice from inside.“GioGio.”“GioGio?” she gasped. “Come in! Please, it’s not locked.”Giorno slipped indoors. Trish lay on the bed just as the last time he’d seen her, under a blanket and somewhat blurry at the edges, although the harsh tired shadows under her eyes had faded. She shuffled herself upright as he approached the bed and shook off some rainwater from his sleeves.“How are you feeling?” he asked her.Trish smiled. She held out a hand for him to take and said very seriously, “Like I could throttle a bull with my bare hands. I’m fine, GioGio.” She patted the back of his hand. “Stop looking at me like I’m an injured kitten.”Giorno blinked. He sat on the edge of her mattress, trying his best not to budge her injured leg. “Are you sure?”“I’ve had enough of this from Sheila and Narancia already,” said Trish with a sigh. “Narancia almost cried himself unconscious when he came around earlier. Be glad you weren’t there to see it.”“Did your father—” Giorno cut himself short and didn’t miss the way Trish’s expression froze at the mention of that man. He started again carefully, “You weren’t hurt at all, were you, before my father sent help last night?”Trish shook her head. “No. He mostly ignored me. It was his sidekick’s job to keep watch and stop me from running off.” She chuckled dryly. “Like I could even try to.”“Sidekick?”“Doppio,” Trish explained with a dismissive wave. “He follows my dad around like a shadow. Weaselly little thing, vicious and stubborn, despite the freckles and sweet demeanour. Looks just like my dad did twenty years ago before he got tattooed and addicted to embezzlement and crack cocaine. I’ve always thought of them as two halves of the same bastard.”Giorno thought all this over. “You’ve had a difficult life,” he said.Trish chuckled under her breath. “You could say so.”“I’m sorry for how I spoke to you the first time we talked. I don’t think I’ve had the time to apologise for that yet, I was insensitive.”The hand Giorno held tightened. Trish grinned up at him, suddenly more alert and healthier than she’d looked all week. “You take yourself so seriously,” she told him. “It’s sweet. I can see why Mista likes you so much.”Giorno looked away. A warm blush crept up his neck, possibly still hidden by his collar. “You shouldn’t encourage him,” he said, remembering the conversation he’d overheard between Sheila and Mista.“Why not?” sighed Trish. She flopped back onto her pillows and watched Giorno sideways. “You two are so perfect together it makes my teeth ache.”“Sheila told us—”“Oh, let me guess,” Trish drawled, rolling her eyes. “Mista’s a hypocrite, your father and the other rich guests you hang about with will only get us in more trouble if they find out about your relationship, this is all a terrible idea, you two should just ignore each other. Am I close?” She raised her eyebrows at Giorno, then continued before he could respond. “She was upset, GioGio. Honestly, I expected much worse. She takes it out on Mista all the time. She doesn’t mean it; she’s just worried about me.”“I’m worried about you too,” said Giorno.“I can take care of myself.” She squeezed his hand again. “And more importantly, we take care of each other. Maybe you should let other people help you for a change too.”The door to the cabin opened and Mista stepped into the room with his arms full of groceries. He locked eyes with Giorno and broke into a wide smile, dropping his bags nearby.“GioGio!” laughed Mista, a second before freezing and turning from delighted to anxious. “Uh, you sure it’s okay for you to be here?”Giorno nodded. “Dio won’t miss me for the rest of the evening.”“Oh, cool.” Mista nodded in return, rubbing the palms of his hands over his jeans. His eyes were darting all over Giorno as if they’d been kept apart for more than just one afternoon. “That’s uh…that’s good.”Trish looked between the two of them. She yawned loudly. “Oh my,” she said, theatrically fanning her mouth. “I’m suddenly feeling very tired. Maybe I should go back to sleep. Right now. I will go back to sleep now.”Mista caught her drift, as did Giorno a moment later with a violent flush. Together they said their goodbyes quickly and left the cabin while Trish watched them go with a grin and a knowing glint in her eyes.Giorno and Mista practically sprinted through the rain, which had doubled since Giorno left dinner, to Mista’s cabin at the other end of the row. Halfway there Giorno noticed that Mista was laughing. He could hear it over the sound of rain. It was a beautiful sound. The water poured down Giorno’s face so quickly he was rapidly blinking in order to see clearly, and he was freezing cold, and his clothing was soaked through, and his hair clung to his cheeks and brow the same way it had when he fell in the lake. Once they reached Mista’s cabin they stood in the doorway looking like two drowned rats - dripping, shivering, and gleeful. Mista kissed him and tasted like rainwater. Their clothes were stripped off by each other and small pink imprints had been left on their shoulders and knees and hips where the sodden fabric shrunk.The rain eased later that evening. The sky through the cabin windows was still stained by the late setting summer sun and speckled by raindrops. Some voices could be distantly heard shouting and laughing from the lawns across the resort. Every minute or so one of the budgies peeped a quiet note from inside the cage. The largest door was hanging open, but all six remained inside the cage, sitting on roosts or politely poking around in a food tray, as if allowing the two men laying in the other corner some privacy.Giorno lay over Mista’s chest. A hand was lazily combing through his hair, finding some difficulty when a finger encountered a small tangle caused by the rain or sex. Not for the first time Giorno wished he could fall asleep like this: spending the night held in Mista’s arms, while his hair is stroked so carefully to avoid tugging on a knot, listening to a heartbeat other than his own, warm and safe and loved. It was what Giorno wanted more than anything.“I wish I could stay,” he whispered, the first words spoken between them for some time.“Me too.” Mista pressed a kiss to Giorno’s forehead. “But it’s okay. I’ll be here tomorrow.”Giorno smiled and nuzzled farther into Mista’s chest, as if wrapping themselves up in each other would make the rest of the world stop existing for a while. It sure felt to him like it could.“Hey, GioGio?” asked Mista. Giorno raised his head and hummed in answer. “What’s your name? Your real name.”“Giorno. Giorno Giovanna.”Mista laughed. The deep rumble passed between their chests and Giorno felt it through his whole body. Mista gently twisted some of Giorno’s hair around one finger and said, “That’s a beautiful name, Giorno, just like you are.”Giorno weakly swatted at the hand in his hair and huffed. “You’re so cheesy.”“Nope, I’m a true romantic,” Mista corrected.“That’s bullshit,” said Giorno, tugging the bedsheets closer around himself and kissing Mista’s neck. As he lent up to catch Mista’s love-heavy gaze Giorno added, “But I’ll believe it.”Another lonely night passed. While Giorno did manage to sleep through most of it, his dreams were odd. For the first night all week he dreamt of something other than dance. When he woke up, he woke with the ghostly sensation of warm hands on his bare skin, a mouth over his throat, a body heaving underneath his, and a voice repeating his own name back at him.Everything between him and Mista being new and terrifying but at the same time—Giorno still struggled to put it to words. He felt so alive when he was with Mista. He always had, from the moment they first met. The exact nature of this relationship still went unnamed. We weren’t dating; they’d been given so few opportunities to even kiss without an unwanted audience. They feared being seen by anyone but their friends, so the relationship was nothing more than that: a relationship. But Giorno was happy with it that way. It was difficult not to be happy when he had Mista and Mista had him.Giorno thought this while wrapping an arm around Mista’s waist, wiggling his hips, and grinning as Mista’s copied the motion in mirror. The record player in corner of the studio urged them on with a warbling guitar and trumpet.“Don’t let me hear you say life’s taking you nowhere, angel…”It was so easy to have fun while dancing now, Giorno found. He could dance to music in heels just as easy as walking. Perhaps it was due to Mista’s guidance, perhaps not, but the fact of the matter was that Giorno was rather enjoying himself.He nudged Mista’s hold lower and gave him a playful prod in the gut. “Where’s your posture?” he asked with raised brows. Mista rolled his eyes and straightened his back, before promptly slumping over with a theatrical sigh. “Spaghetti arms!” Giorno lightly slapped one of Mista’s wrists. “Give me some tension, will you?”Mista huffed and tugged Giorno closer, effectively cutting off his teasing. Before Giorno could protest he’d ducked down and begun trailing little kisses over Giorno’s belly where it was bare underneath a knotted blouse.Giorno pushed him backwards, saying, “You’re invading my dance space,” while Mista pouted back. “This is my dance space…” Giorno stated very seriously while gesturing up and down himself, twisting his hips for good measure, “- and that’s yours. Now let’s cha cha.” He motioned to Mista who moved forwards into his open arms.“Last night they loved you, opening doors and pulling some strings, angel…”They danced the steps of the cha cha for a couple bars, following the moves to a perfect tee. Mista looked like he was holding back laughter. After only five seconds more Mista finally broke and shimmied downwards to drag his lips over Giorno’s belly. Giorno tugged him back upwards again by the collar.“Don’t look down,” said Giorno firmly, staring into Mista’s eyes – which looked anything but apologetic – and pointed to his own face. “Look right here.”Mista smirked. He stepped back with his eyes locked onto Giorno’s while Giorno raised his chin and sashayed in the opposite direction. After a beat Mista dropped down to the studio floor, rolled onto his side and propped his chin up in his palm.He watched Giorno continue dancing and mouthed the next line of the lyrics out to him, “I'll stick with you baby for a thousand years—” Giorno put his hands on his hips and faced Mista, loving the way Mista’s eyes wandered over his legs while he swayed in place and mouthed back, “—nothing's gonna touch you in these golden years.”Mista crawled forwards while still mouthing along to the lyrics, tilting his head as if pleading for Giorno to join him again. Meanwhile, Giorno continued to glide around the studio floor just out of reach. Eventually Mista gave up and stood. He pulled Giorno in from behind, wrapping his forearms over Giorno’s chest and tucked his face into Giorno’s neck. Giorno tipped his head back and bit back a giggle as he felt a smile creeping over Mista’s face.Another verse began and Mista slipped around to Giorno’s front. He stepped back, put one confident foot out to the side, held his hands up, and clapped in time to the snappy rhythm of the song and wiggled his brows at Giorno, who hid his smile behind one hand. Mista took step closer, clapped again, then jumped forwards and seized Giorno’s hips. With the momentum in Mista’s possession now their dance became something else.“Wish upon, wish upon, day upon day. I believe, oh lord I believe…”Mista pressed closer, snaking his hands behind Giorno over the small of his back and fitting their hips together. Giorno angled his face up, trying to catch Mista’s lips, when the sound of footsteps coming from outside made him freeze.They broke away from each other a split second before the door to the studio swung open. An unfamiliar middle-aged man with an outrageously tall hairstyle strode in. Mista stood to attention, recognising the man as a guest at the resort. The man unhesitatingly approached Mista, while Giorno casually returned to his solo practice position and danced quietly in the centre of the room away from the other two.“Dance lessons, huh?” the man said. He shot a curious glance over at Giorno as Mista cut the record player silent. “That never was my scene.”“Can I help you?” asked Mista, towelling off his neck.The man nodded and blew air through his nose. “I’m helping out with the talent show, painting props and getting the rigging sorted, yada yada. The point is I think those guys in charge don’t know what they’re doing here. They’d said you’ll be dancing the mambo at the very end like usual. I suggested that you guys perform something else with a little more…” The man rubbed his chin. “Pizazz. You guys – the dancers – could really spice things up. I brought it up to the folks in charge, thinking you and your lot could bring something new to the last dance of the night.”Mista was quiet for a moment. Giorno watched the two men in the reflection of a large wall-length mirror and recognised a bitter note of discomfort in Mista’s expression.“And what did the higher ups say?” asked Mista.The man shook his head. “No luck.”Mista scoffed. “’Course not.” He tossed his towel aside and folded his arms, looking sour.The man raised one brow. Giorno had not seen this man, or at least did not recognise him, but got the impression of a kind individual, if one with an occasionally offputtingly bright sensibility. He reminded Giorno somewhat of an overgrown child. This man was regarding Mista with curiosity. Mista peered back at him.“What?”The man shrugged. “Seems to me you have some opinions to share, young man.”Mista sighed and shook his head. “It’s not my place.”“Name’s Polnareff.” The man suddenly put his hand out to Mista. “And I’d love to hear it anyway.”Mista waved Polnareff’s hand away. “It’ll never happen. I know these people, they’re rich and they’re mean. They don’t take to suggestions. Especially if it’s coming from somebody like me.”It was then that Giorno decided he should probably leave. The luck that had allowed him to spend an uninterrupted and unobserved morning with Mista had apparently run out; it was time to go. He stopped dancing and crept towards the studio door.“GioGio? You leaving?” Mista’s entire body pointed towards Giorno standing by the doorway.Giorno nodded respectfully to Polnareff and said, “My father may be missing me.”While Giorno said this, Polnareff had been giving him an odd look, suddenly much more interested in him than before as if he’d only now noticed he was in the studio with them. “Young man,” Polnareff began, “Your father… are you Dio Brando’s kid?”Giorno pressed his lips together, catching Mista out the corner of his eye wearing an equally sickly expression to his own. “I am,” admitted Giorno.Polnareff nodded sagely. “I thought you looked familiar. Oh!” He held his hands up. “Don’t worry! I’m not gonna run and tell him you’re here against his wishes. Ha!” He laughed heartily. “No chance of that. If you ask me, some teenage rebellion would do that guy some good. Put him in his place. Have some fun, kid.”Giorno wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Luckily, Mista stepped in.“Uh, Polnareff, right? You mind telling me who the hell you are?”Polnareff gathered himself, clearing his throat and saying, “Of course. I’m an old acquaintance of Dio’s. We…didn’t get along. He kind of ruined my career.” Giorno looked away. He’d known his father was wealthy and powerful and got his way no matter what, it was the reason their lives had always been so comfortable but hated to think on the topic much further than that. He hated knowing Dio’s ambitions had left a trail of metaphorical fatalities. This was the first time Giorno had met one of these fatalities. “Since then I’ve been doing my best to pick up the debris, so to speak. Even just to spite that skeevy bastard. No offence—” He motioned to Giorno.“None taken.”“These days I work a youth centre in the next town over. We do dance sessions there too, get kids off the street, teach them all sorts of skills.”“Sounds noble,” said Mista.Polnareff shrugged. “It’s rewarding work.” It sounded like a noble endeavour and Giorno couldn’t help but be a little inspired by this man’s enthusiasm. “Oh! Damn,” Polnareff exclaimed, glancing at a wristwatch. “I should go. It’s a real shame this couldn’t work out, you know. I’d have loved to see you two dancing up on that stage the same way you were before I barged in.” He grinned and wiggled his brows.Mista turned bright red and Giorno felt the blood drain from his face.“Uh, uhm,” faltered Mista, flapping his mouth.Polnareff gave them a salute and strutted towards the studio door, passing Giorno – who was left in total disbelief. “You two make a cute pair!” he said, before finally leaving the studio.Giorno and Mista were left standing in an odd silence for a couple beats, staring after Polnareff even after he’d ducked out of sight and down the steps. Eventually Mista came over to Giorno and slung an arm over his shoulders.“Well,” he breathed. “That shaved years off my life.”“We should be more careful,” said Giorno. “Too many people know about us already. If we aren’t careful, you’ll be put in danger again.”Mista chuckled. “Cute. Worried about me.”Giorno frowned up at Mista and said, trying his best not to be cute about it, “I’m serious. If he’d been anybody else, he might have gone to the resort manager or even straight to my father. If Dio knew about us—” Several images flashed through Giorno’s mind, each more terrifying than the one before. He swallowed down his horror. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”Mista tugged Giorno closer to himself and steered them towards the studio door. “Brighten up, GioGio, live in the now for once, like I do. Stop thinking twelve steps ahead and enjoy yourself.”Enjoy yourself. For a holiday getaway, Giorno’s stay at this resort had been anything but relaxing. He’d had fun, for sure, mainly in due part to Mista. But for some perfectly valid reasons he was still unable to let himself fully relax.Giorno sighed and let Mista guide him outside and down the steps. He looped his arm around Mista’s waist. “What will you be doing today,” he asked, “Once you’ve delivered me to my father?”“This afternoon?” Mista scratched his chin. “Nothin’ much.”“Not even a lesson? I was under the impression that you were a popular teacher here.”Mista laughed and nudged Giorno’s shoulder. “Cheeky. I am popular, I get all sorts of calls for one-on-one dance lessons.” Mista’s voice fell flat. “But not right now.”As always, Mista was an open book. Giorno could read every note of frustration in Mista’s voice and every tell in his face. Perhaps he didn’t want to talk about it – but Giorno hated seeing Mista upset and hated knowing he was holding something back from him.“Why not today?” he asked.Mista blew air through his nose and squinted up the wood path. “You wouldn’t understand, GioGio,” he said, shaking his head and pulled Giorno a little closer as they walked. “Just two years ago I was on the streets. And now, I’m up here, surrounded by all these rich beautiful people. They’re throwing themselves at me. And you know me, GioGio, you know I don’t go for that. But it’s hard. They’re so goddamn rich and they really take care of themselves, you know? I never knew people could be like that. They’d be calling asking for late lessons and slipping their room keys into my hands two or three times a day, different women, men too, married, divorced, whatever – so you’d think I’m scoring big right?”Mista gave Giorno a weak grin. His grin faded a little once the words appeared to have sunk in.Slowly, Giorno felt his heart break. “I understand,” he said. “You were just using them, that's all.”To Giorno’s surprise, Mista scoffed. “That’s not it,” he said. He rubbed Giorno’s arm. “That’s the thing, GioGio. They were using me.” There was so much pain in Mista’s face. Giorno did not need to be an expert at reading people to know how he felt, and how much this tore Mista up inside. Trust Mista to be tormented by his own romantic soul. “One of the regular guests, a married woman, thirty-something, she wanted me for the evening.” Mista caught Giorno’s gaze and smiled. “But I turned her down. I’ve already got myself a dance partner.”The treacherous burning sensation of a blush crept up Giorno’s neck. He pressed his lips together and nodded, then rested his head on Mista’s shoulder.They walked close together like that – Mista humming a broken tune to himself, and Giorno silently thinking about how much he loved this poor boy – through the woods as the sun reached its noon zenith above their heads. Some birdsong broke up the comfortable quiet while the distant sounds of activity from the main building and the lawns steady grew closer. One side of the narrow dirt path they walked along dropped away on one side. A group of small buildings, Giorno faintly remembered them being where the card games were held, clustered at the foot of the slope.Then, Giorno spotted two men walking out from one building. He grabbed Mista’s wrist and pulled him down, forcing both of them onto their knees in the dirt behind a low line of shrubs.Mista grunted in surprise, but Giorno was busy watching his father and Pucci walk past below them. After a moment Mista noticed what had caught his attention and also fell quiet and still.“- so I was thinking about what could then happen next. A domino effect,” Dio was saying, enthralled in his conversation with Pucci, who also had not noticed the two hiding from them up above. “If I were to finally put that old fool out of business, would I even have to try at all before the rest of his family went down? Hahah! Those Joestars wouldn’t even see it coming. Fools, every last one of them, I tell you.”Giorno only then noticed that he’d been holding his breath. He quickly exhaled as Dio rounded a corner of the games building and left their field of view, then turned to Mista. Mista’s face was oddly blank.“…I don’t think they saw us,” said Giorno quietly.Mista chewed his lip. He glanced between Giorno and the buildings below them, folding and unfolding his hands between his knees. Giorno put a hand on his shoulder.“Mista?”Without looking up from the buildings Mista said flatly, “You wanna hear something crazy? I had this dream last night…” he trailed off, losing confidence. Giorno rubbed a thumb over his shoulder. Mista started again, fidgeting and tugging at the grass between his knees, “I had this dream once you left last night. I dreamt we were walking along through the woods or something. Maybe along a beach. We were walking together, and we met your father. He said, ‘Come on,’ and put his arm around me.” Mista put on a funny voice when reciting Dio’s words, mimicking his stiff accent. In any other moment Giorno would have been entertained by it. But Mista looked so sad, and instead Giorno only felt cold and heavy. “He told me ‘My son has a good eye,’ and walked on with us. He was smiling at me, I think.”Giorno cupped Mista’s cheek. Gently, he lifted Mista’s face up to look into his eyes. Two big sad brown eyes watched him back. Giorno had no words, knowing nothing he could say would make this any easier on Mista.Taking one deep breath, Giorno quickly wrapped his arms around Mista’s chest, knitting his fingers tight into the curls at the back of his head. Some tremors ran through Mista like he was sobbing. Giorno held him as he shook. Dimly, he recognised a slight tremor in his own arms.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Giorno made his way to the food hall calmly and quietly, hoping to not have beaten his father inside. Dio was most likely already seated, in the midst of a discussion, and far too distracted to ask Giorno where he’d been. As Giorno passed through the main house’s hallways and entered the large room where tables were laid three times a day for the hundred or so guests, he found Dio sitting near the centre of the hall, eating and talking with some other men. Most of the other lunch tables were taken by other families and couples all talking happily amongst each other. Several college-aged staff members were milling around with trays and jugs of fruit juice. In one corner, Giorno spotted Narancia enthusiastically entertaining a married couple at their table with a pack of cards. He was performing some sort of magic trick for them.Giorno approached Dio’s table as meekly as possible. He took a spare seat across from his father, next to Pucci – who was reading a small novel held in one hand and drinking tea from the other – and avoided his father’s gaze. As he sat Dio shot some curious looks in Giorno’s direction but did not halt in his conversation.The man Dio was speaking with was new. He hadn’t joined Dio’s dinner or lunch table discussion’s before, so it took Giorno a moment before he could finally put his finger on the man’s identity. The holiday resort’s manager, who Giorno dimly recognised as the elderly heavy-set man who’d greeted him and his father as they’d first arrived a week ago, was talking with Dio and some other equally rich-looking men about less-than-legal business practices in coded rhetoric. Giorno was quite used to hearing it by this point.“Which brings me to ask you, Lord Dio,” the resort manager was saying, “What you would advise doing in the sort of tricky circumstance which… and I really hate to say this to a man as successful as yourself, truly breaks your heart.”Dio fixed the man with a suspicious look. There was very little that could break Dio’s heart, short of being stripped of his stellar reputation. “What do you mean by that?”The manager sighed and chewed his cucumber sandwich morosley. “You know when you find a steak at the back of your fridge and you can’t remember how long it’s been back there, but you think to yourself ‘It can’t have been too long. It might be alright.’ But then you take the packaging off and it’s nothing like you’d thought?”“What happened?” Dio asked, seeing right through the man’s rambling.“That disgust…it’s exactly what I feel when I find out one of my staff’s a criminal.”Giorno watched the men around the table tense. Even Pucci, who’d been just as quiet as Giorno, lowered his book minutely to listen in.A sort of mysterious sickness settled in Giorno’s gut. He had a terrible feeling of dread about this conversation.“Go on,” prompted Dio. He tapped an index against his chin, suddenly invested in this information and just as fascinated by others’ business as usual. “This sounds like it could become a serious blow to your company and resort’s reputation. A criminal, you say?”The manager sighed again, suddenly looking like a very elderly man, and said, “Some of my boys found evidence of narcotics use behind the pool hall last night. They traced it back to some kids – guests of all things - who say they bought it off one of the staff members that same night at around seven. They say they saw a kid in staff uniform wandering around all evening and that he was offering them drugs on the cheap. Now, I ask around, thinking maybe whoever this crook is, he must have been running off site to bring his…’stuff’ into the resort to flog. I ask around and turns out the only staff member who’s been missing shifts and appointments without any good cause is this dance kid Guido.”Giorno nearly choked.“So, we ask him,” the manager coolly continued, “We ask him if he has an alibi for last night. He says he was all alone in his room reading.”Dio scoffed. “I doubt a man like him owns a single book.”The sickness and confusion in Giorno’s gut turned to panic. He turned to his father, who only looked pleased with himself, then back to the manager, who looked positively heartbroken. There was something horribly wrong here. Giorno could feel his whole world slipping out from under him like a rug. He could see something horrible approaching - something horrible about to happen to Mista. He had to do something about this, even if nobody else would.“There’s been a mistake,” he suddenly said. Everyone around the table turned to him. A muscle above Dio’s eye twitched. “I know Mista didn’t do it.”Dio’s expression turned thunderous but he appeared to hold himself back from speaking out against his son, for now.“There’ve been similar incidents at the Sheldrake hotel,” the managed told Giorno, watching him cautiously. “This kid has been spotted there and back here at the resort earlier in the week, skulking around and probably selling his…products to other vulnerable youths such as yourself, young man.”Giorno stood from his seat, planting his hands on the table and leaning over to speak directly to the manager. “I know he didn’t do it.”Dio snapped his head towards Giorno. “Stay out of it GioGio,” he hissed. Giorno sat, seething.“This strikes me as something the professionals should investigate,” Pucci politely suggested.Everybody ignored him. Instead Dio pointed a manicured nail towards Giorno and opened his mouth to speak but Giorno got there first and pleaded, “Father, please, you have to believe me. It wasn’t him. I know Mista isn’t a criminal. He wouldn’t ever do something like that. He would never.”“Oh? How would you know?” asked Dio, practically oozing with malice. His eyes bored holes into Giorno, but Giorno bit his cheek and stood his ground.“I…I can’t tell you. Please trust me father.”“No, GioGio. I cannot.” Dio turned away with a grimace. The memory of their argument from a couple night back drifted unpleasantly through Giorno’s mind; Dio was more than reluctant to believe his son’s words.“Maybe Mista didn’t do it. Maybe it was another member of the staff,” Giorno offered, his voice turning a little shrill in his panic. He gripped the tablecloth as he feverishly went on, “Or – Or maybe it wasn’t even somebody who works here. The person who was selling those drugs, they might have stolen that uniform. It could have been anyone. It cou—” Something struck Giorno. “It could have been an employee of Diavolo’s, the man who kidnapped Trish – father you remember – he’s involved in the drug trade.”“GioGio stop. You’re humiliating yourself.”“I saw a strange young man at the Sheldrake. He was in the audience. That must have been Doppio – Pucci, you spoke to him. You remember, don’t you? He must have been asking you if you’d seen Trish in the building. And sir, you said there were illegal substances sold there that night too?”The manager was sweating. He glanced between Giorno and his father.Giorno carried on, practically desperate, “He would have been at the Sheldrake looking for Trish. He must have been here earlier in the week searching for her too after she was rescued and returned to the resort. If he was here last night—”“I got an eyewitness and the kid has no alibi,” the manager said suddenly. The man looked positively terrified. It was then that Giorno noticed the vice grip that Dio had around the manager’s firearm, his nails digging into the man’s flesh through his sleeve. “I-I’m sorry young man. I always hate to fire an employee but…” The manager began to stand. Dio’s hand slipped away, and Dio appeared to relax. The manager straightened his lapels. “Sometimes there’s nothing else to do.” “Wait a minute,” Giorno cried out, suddenly standing and throwing his chair backwards in his hurry. The resort manager paused two steps from the lunch table. Dio looked murderous. Everybody was staring. “I know Mista didn’t sell those drugs.”Dio’s face turned a deep red, then a shade of purple as Giorno continued to stand firm under his scorching glare. By his side, Pucci pretended to hide behind his book but continued to watch the scene unfold over the top of the pages. Everybody else around the table was frozen perfectly still in horror or fascination – or a mix of the two – as Giorno took a deep shaky breath and spoke again.“He’s innocent. He was in his room all night yesterday. And the reason I know is because I was with him.”The air turned cold. It was as if everyone in the room had instantly stopped breathing, though Giorno knew he was only imagining it. Dio turned from his previous shade of ripe purple to a kind of ashy grey. Pucci looked like he wanted to vanish. The manager looked immensely confused. The other couple guests at the lunch table had their mouths hanging open and eyes flicking between Giorno and his father, waiting for a response from either of them.Giorno said nothing more. He glanced at his father and waited.After another moment of horrible silence Dio stood slowly from his seat. His lips were pressed together into a severe thin line, his jaw was clenched, and his eyes were locked onto Giorno like a pair of cruel yellow needlepoints. Dio strode around the lunch table in three quick steps, took Giorno by the shoulder, and tugged him away.While he was being towed out of the food hall – which had turned deathly quiet behind them - Giorno began, “I told you I w—” but Dio jerked to a halt at the door and gruffly turned Giorno to face him.“Say nothing more,” growled Dio. His grip on Giorno’s shoulder wasn’t painfully tight, but it was firm nevertheless. Giorno knew there was no way he was running from his father this time. “Nothing, GioGio.”The last Giorno saw of the food hall before being led away by his father was the table in the centre of the room. Everyone was as they’d left them, frozen in shock like a group of mannequins in a museum, all staring at each other in silence and waiting for something to snap them out of their daze. The manager was blinking around himself like he barely recognised his own resort. Behind him, transfixed between tables with his pack of cards held loosely in one hand, Narancia watched Giorno leave with wide eyes, a slack jaw, and a pale face. Giorno caught Narancia’s gaze. The moment before he lost sight of the hall, Giorno watched Narancia shut his mouth and sharpen his expression. Narancia nodded and slipped away between the tables.That last moment kept what was left of the passion in Giorno’s heart burning; the remaining spark, fuelled by his hope that something might be done to protect Mista, to stop what might happen to him, and to set things right.All he could do was pray that he’d done the right thing.
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The sex pistols had always been keenly perceptive of Mista’s moods. For as long as he’d had them, for all these years, it’s been as if they were in tune with his literal soul. They knew when he was excited – they’d be squawking and flapping about, matching his excitement. They knew when he was anxious – they’d be nestled into his neck and trilling quietly until he calmed down. And they knew when he was miserable. When Mista was in that kind of mood the pistols would each pick a spot on his body and simply sit in silence while he wept, or cowered, or simply stared at a wall in gloomy silence. This was exactly how the six small budgies had arranged themselves that evening. Only number 5 made any noise, occasionally beeping a low note, as if checking that Mista was still awake. He lay on his bed, flat on his back, very still and quiet, so he couldn’t blame them for being worried. In a lot of ways, he felt dead already. He had one arm thrown over his eyes which had begun to tingle with numbness some time ago, but he hadn’t the willpower to shift over yet. Part of him was convinced that he’d lie there for eternity. Nothing much else was particularly appealing to him.But Mista was forced into action when a knocking came at his cabin door. After two knocks they called out, “Mista? You in there?”, then knocked loudly three more times. Mista sighed and lifted a couple birds from his knees and stomach, relocating them onto the bedside table, and answered the door.Sheila and Narancia stood on his porch. Before Mista could even open his mouth to ask why they were here Narancia began speaking very quickly.“They caught Diavolo,” he said, bouncing anxiously on the spot. “Thanks to GioGio. They found the staff shirt Doppio nicked from the main building and wore the other night. There’s even more witnesses sayin’ that you were here at the staff cabins with GioGio, not dealing drugs or whatever. And Diavolo’s been arrested. Doppio’s still out there somewhere, hiding somehow, but - they know it wasn’t you!”“Diavolo’ll probably get done in for Trish’s abduction too,” Sheila added. “The work GioGio’s father did to get her back the other night will add up. He won’t get away this time.”“So, it’s alright!” breathed Narancia, smiling tiredly up at Mista. “It’s gonna be alright for you. You’re innocent.”Mista had only heard of GioGio’s confession from second or third-hand accounts. The resort manager hadn’t been overly enthusiastic about spreading the gossip himself, so information had instead been passed around by staff members who’d been nearby. Narancia had let Mista know as soon as he could only minutes before Mista had been picked up by the managerial team and given the bad news.He lowered the last two budgies - who’d been clinging loyally to his shoulders until now – to perch instead on a shelf by the door and joined the others on the porch. “I’m out,” Mista told them bluntly.Narancia furrowed his brow. “What?”“They fired you anyway,” Sheila laughed dryly, showing her hands up in defeat. She took two steps away from the boys, paused, then turned back to them with fists on her hips. She cocked her head. “Did Dio have something to do with this?”“What? No, no he—” Mista spluttered, suddenly finding it hard to speak without his voice wavering. “It’s exactly like you said it would be like. I’ve caused enough trouble for this place. Dio didn’t need to say anything, slide them any money, anything. They know I messed around with GioGio, a guest, the son of a really rich guest, and I’m out. I’m not worth the trouble to them anymore.”Narancia was still speechless. He clenched his jaw, staring at the wooden slats of the deck, not sure whether to cry or punch something, or both. Next to him, Sheila was cold.“He did it for nothing,” she said. “He told the truth, he hurt his family, and you lost your job anyway – he did it for absolutely fucking nothing.”It was Mista’s turn to be speechless. He’d never seen Sheila look so defeated. Even when she was scared, when she’d been terrified for Trish’s life, she’d had fire in her eyes. But now she was cold. Perhaps it was Mista’s habit of thinking about everything and everybody in his simple little ways, but the difference in how Sheila spoke of GioGio the day before and now was staggering to him. Clearly, Mista thought, she’d changed her mind about him. Or she’d changed her mind about his place among their group of friends. Either way, the way she spoke about GioGio’s selflessness was no longer with caution and reservation, but with heavy respect and a sharp dose of sorrow.“No, no, not for nothing- nobody’s ever stood up for me like that before,” said Mista, searching for right words. “He- GioGio, he… shit, I wish he was here.”“His dad has him locked up in their cabin,” Narancia said sullenly, flopping down onto a bench. He tipped his head back against the slatted wall. “Been in there for hours. Nobody’s seen either of ‘em since noon. Probably won’t let him out again ‘til they leave the resort tomorrow morning.”“They’re not even seeing the show tomorrow night?” asked Mista.Narancia shrugged. “Dunno. Dio might turn up for appearance’s sake but…” He shrugged again.Mista pulled a hand over his face and sighed, grumbling, “If I leave quietly, I get to keep my summer bonus. And that’s me out by tonight. My stuff’s all packed up already-” he jabbed a thumb behind him towards his cabin door, “I’ll be outta here by sundown.”“Hey, Mista…” Narancia began. “You’re not leaving without a goodbye, are you?” Mista pressed his lips together. He paused just long enough for Narancia to speak again. “But GioGio’s—”Mista interrupted, “It might not even be worth it.” Narancia and Sheila both stared at him like he’d grown a third arm. “I’ve caused him enough trouble already.”“But you can’t just leave him!” cried Sheila, suddenly enough to startle Narancia. “He’s probably just as heartbroken as you are, idiot. He’s sitting around under Dio’s watch terrified for you and you’re just going to run away?”“I don’t want to!” Mista shot back. “I want to see him again. I don’t want to leave him, I—” His voice broke. Mista clamped a hand over his mouth and screwed his eyes shut. Thinking about GioGio hurt, it hurt too much for him to take, and he’d been doing all he could not to think about him because whenever he did it became very hard to think about anything else. “…This is- I can’t - Guys I don’t know what to do.”A hand came down on his arm, resting on his right bicep. Mista opened his eyes. Sheila was staring him down, the way she usually did when he’d done something stupid and she was about to tear him to pieces for it. She pulled his hand away from his face.“You have to go see him.”“Yeah, but—”“No buts. GioGio’s been braver than any of us and you know it, Mista. He’s been so brave and put his own dignity on the line for us over and over. He’s saved every one of us. He tried to save you. He almost succeeded and it’s not his fault that any of this happened.”It was old news. Mista understood it all already. But still, being reminded made his heart ache. So much had happened and none of it was GioGio’s fault. All GioGio had done was try to help them.“He loves you, Mista,” Sheila told him, punctuating each word with a light slap against his arm. “He loves you so much he put himself in this situation for you. If nothing else, he deserves to be able to see you one last time.”Mista smiled, a tired and sad smile which appeared to catch Sheila off-guard. “You’ve changed your tune, Sheila,” he said to her. “Just yesterday you were telling me I should have nothing to do with GioGio at all.”“I was wrong.”“I can pass that on to him if you like.”Sheila shook her head. “Just tell him the important stuff,” she said and lightly shoved his shoulder. “Go already. Get out of here, you stupid asshole. If Trish were here she’d tell you the same thing. You know it.” With that Sheila turned away, shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, and crossed the porch deck. After a moment she looked over her shoulder and, seeing that Mista still had not moved, jerked her head away from the cabin with an exaggerated raise of her brow.“Okay! Okay,” Mista laughed, raising his palms and hopping down onto the grass. “I’m going.”There was certainly a vocal part of Mista’s consciousness warning him of Dio’s fury if he did attempt to bid GioGio goodbye. Dio would probably rather die than let GioGio speak to another of the staff ever again. He must have already told GioGio that Mista was leaving the resort in shame to drive the point home. But Mista could barely bring himself to be afraid. He was not afraid, but rather quite ashamed of himself.He crossed the resort, not hurrying. He passed the man named Pucci – who was enjoying a drink on the promenade and watched him pass with poorly-hidden disgust. He passed Polnareff, who only smiled sadly at him while helping pin up a large banner advertising the talent show next evening. Everybody else who recognised him soured their expression and whispered to another behind cupped hands. The news had spread quickly. It didn’t faze Mista; He’d been badmouthed all his life. Instead, what made his blood boil was the thought of GioGio’s name being dirtied along with his own.Mista walked carefully through the section of wood where the guests’ cabins were nestled in small colonies along the lakeside and in view of high misty mountain peaks. Dio’s was one of the larger ones. Mista peered in through the windows - the lights were out. For a moment he feared they had really left unannounced just as Dio had threatened to do, not even giving Mista a chance to say goodbye.But before he could panic, Mista heard the familiar sound of GioGio’s voice coming from behind him. By the lake was a small gazebo about big enough for half a dozen people to stand in. Two men were under its roof and facing the calm-watered lake. His back to Mista, Dio sat statue-still on a low bench. GioGio stood by his side and spoke to him. Mista crept a little closer. GioGio sounded strained and Dio said nothing in reply. What he overheard went as such,“Father, I told you that I was telling the truth. I told you he was innocent. He…. I’m sorry I lied to you.”It was uncanny. As strong and unbending as GioGio looked, his voice was as unsteady as a child’s. Mista worried he might start crying. But he couldn’t believe it; GioGio wouldn’t ever cry. Mista had always taken it upon himself to cry GioGio’s tears for him.“But you lied too,” said GioGio. “You would always tell me that everyone was alike and deserved success and happiness. You showered me in that lie. You showered me with money and wishes and anything I ever asked for. You told me everybody deserves that kind of pleasure. But you only meant everybody who is like you.” Mista could have sworn Dio’s shoulders stiffened. But he didn’t turn towards his son. He stayed staring out at the lake, faceless. “You told me you wanted me to change the world, to make it better. You told me that I could. You made me believe that it was I was born to do that. But you meant by becoming a lawyer like you...and marrying someone from Harvard. It was the life you fabricated for me, father, it was only a chapter in the great tome of your own life - the one where you never fail and you win every war you wage against this world which you hate so much and we’re all only pawns or footnotes or—”GioGio paused to take a deep breath. He tossed his head about like he was becoming impatient with himself or searching for words that escaped him.“I'm not proud of myself,” he hissed. “I’m not proud at all of what I’ve done, what I’ve had to do, and what has happened because of my…stupidity,” he spat out. Mista flinched where he stood. “But I'm in this family too, father. You can't keep ignoring me. There are a lot of things about me that aren't what you thought. But if you love me, father, like you always say you do, you have to love all these things about me too. That I’m sometimes brash, and I’m hard to understand, and I’m so longsighted that I’ll fail to see what’s standing right in front of me. And that I’m horribly, horribly, lonely.”Dio finally moved. He turned his head away from his son and brought one hand up to cover his mouth as some restrained sign of remorse. He still said nothing.“And I love you,” GioGio continued, his voice finally cracking. “And I'm sorry I let you down. I'm so sorry, father. But you let me down too.”For a moment it looked like Dio was finally about to speak. But GioGio turned and walked away before he could, if he ever was going to.GioGio hurried out from the gazebo and across a stretch of grass towards the rocky pathway Mista waited at. He had a hand clasped over his mouth and his eyes closed. It was a dozen paces later that he finally raised his head and noticed Mista before him. He froze, watery blue eyes wide and mouth slack. He glanced behind him then back at Mista, who smiled weakly.“Mista—” GioGio shot forwards to desperately close the distance between them. He threw his arms around Mista’s neck and buried his face in his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I thought I could help you just one last time. But you were right. Sometimes you cannot win, no matter what you do.”Mista pulled backwards and met GioGio’s shadowed gaze. “I don’t wanna hear that from you, GioGio. You can.”GioGio sighed. He dropped his head to rest against Mista’s shoulder. “I used to think that,” he murmured.Before Mista could do more than indignantly open his mouth to reply, Dio entered his field of view. The huge hulking man strode across the grass towards them with clenched fists and a thunderous face. He stormed up to the two of them; GioGio quickly untangled himself and stood firm by Mista’s side.“What do you think you’re doing here?” Dio spoke directly to Mista. GioGio moved minutely to step between his father and Mista. “GioGio, get away from that man. Now.”GioGio stood his ground. His father only scowled and fixed his glare onto Mista instead. Mista felt everything inside him turn cold; he’d seen very little of GioGio’s father until now, only the fleeting encounter after Trish’s kidnapping and a handful of glimpses from a distance. Up close and furious, the man was a force of sheer terror. The thought of GioGio having stood up to this man again and again was…incomprehensible. Mista didn’t think he could love his strength any more than before.“Why won’t you leave my son alone?”Mista swallowed hard. His hands trembled so he tightened them by his sides and stood up straighter. “Lord Dio, can I….” he began, struggling to hold eye contact. “Uh- look, I’m leaving today anyway, and I know what you must be thinking.”“You don't know anything at all about me,” spat Dio.GioGio prickled. Taking a deep breath, Mista put a gentle hand on GioGio’s shoulder and pulled him back from between him and Dio. GioGio shot an uncertain look at Mista but stepped away.“I know you want GioGio to be like you,” said Mista. “For him to become a powerful and respectable man, just like you are, sir. The kind of person people look up to. GioGio is like that. If you could just see—”“Don't you tell me what to see,” Dio snarled and stepped closer to Mista. GioGio tensed up, but Dio ignored him in favour of snarling directly into Mista’s face. “You may have been cleared from all charges, but I am not so easy to forgive and forget, young man. For all I know you could be just as guilty. I wouldn’t be surprised, from what else I know of you.”It was true: Doppio was still out there. With one loose thread still hanging Mista was surrounded by suspicion on all sides. It didn’t help Mista’s case that his alibies were all reliant on witnesses and promises. And Dio didn’t strike Mista as a man who would easily believe anything without concrete evidence.Dio continued, “So, you think you know what I see, hm? I see someone – a bleeding idiot - standing in front of me today whose partner got hurt, who turned to the first source of money he could see, who carelessly allowed that girl to become in danger again, and dragged an innocent young boy like my son into this mess in the vain hopes that it would save his own skin. All the while… you’re taking advantage of my son, treating him as if he’s nothing more than a whore you’d pick up from the roadside.”“Father that’s not—!”Dio silenced GioGio with one look. He turned back to Mista and raised one brow in challenge. Mista knew he’d already lost; nothing would change Dio’s mind.“Yeah, I guess that's what you would see,” said Mista. Dio’s mouth thinned into a grim line. “But you shouldn’t think so little of your son. I never forced him into anything. He made those choices because he thought they were the right thing to do.” Mista turned to GioGio. “I still think it was the right thing too, even if you’ve scared him into doubting himself again.”GioGio looked up at Mista, surprised. Caution flickered across his face when he looked back at his father, expecting him to lash out.“You’re leaving,” Dio stated. He was unreadable.“Yes, sir.”“And I expect you’ve come skulking back to say goodbye to my son, yes?”Mista nodded. It wouldn’t do to lie, even if it felt increasingly like he was about to flayed alive by Dio for telling the truth. “That’s right.”“I’ll allow it.”Both Mista and GioGio were rendered speechless for a moment. Mista was mostly confused; everything had been pointing to him being sent off away from GioGio without another word.“I see no reason why you shouldn’t be allowed to put this ridiculous episode to rest yourself,” Dio said to GioGio. “So long as you’re back within the hour and neither of you two try anything stupid…” a pointed nail moved accusatorily between GioGio and Mista, “…I’ll allow you to say goodbye to each other.”GioGio let out a slow relieved breath. One hand gently entwined itself in Mista’s at his side, while neither of them turned away from Dio.“Thank you, sir,” said Mista.Dio said nothing more and walked past the two men towards the cabin behind them. GioGio’s hand tightened around Mista’s while they stood there silently, weighed down by their thoughts for a moment. After a while GioGio quietly wrapped his arms around Mista’s chest. He pressed himself close into a hug, Mista doing the same and knitting up a hand into GioGio’s hair at the nape of his neck. GioGio let out a slow and shaky breath in his arms. A minute or so passed like that.GioGio helped Mista and the others pack his things and move all the boxes and bags into the back of his car. Altogether, it didn’t look like a lot, but it was most of everything that Mista owned in this world and it fit into the boot of his car. He took one side of the Pistols’ cage and GioGio took the other and together they carefully carried it out from his cabin. While they manoeuvred it into the space made by the passenger seat some of the birds chirped in alarm. Mista sighed, but GioGio bent down to stick a digit through the bars and stroke one of their tiny heads to comfort the cheeping bird.Mista watched. Everything GioGio did was so deliberate. Every choice, every word, every movement, every step he took in his dancing, every show of kindness. Even then all the planning and plotting in the world may not have been able to keep him and Mista together.Half of the birds were scuffling for GioGio’s attention. Number five was making sad little peeping noises near the back of the group. Sensing that his interference was only stirring up more conflict, GioGio withdrew his finger and stepped back.“I can't imagine being here without you even one day,” said GioGio softly.Mista let out a harsh breath. Narancia and Sheila had left them already, Sheila to keep Trish company and Narancia to hand in the keys to Mista’s cabin. “Just think, you’ll have more time for horseshoes and croquet once I’m gone,” he said with a weak smile. “Maybe they’ll have you up onstage. Saw you into seven pieces for a magic show or somethin’.”GioGio didn’t smile back. He stared up at Mista with those ocean-blue eyes and the same intensity as usual, but not analytical. Mista suspected there was a whole tidal wave of emotion being barely-held-back behind those eyes.“I guess we surprised everybody,” said Mista. He kept a meek smile clinging to his face, wavering only slightly when he saw GioGio press his lips into a tiny pout and draw his brows together.After a moment GioGio murmured back, “I guess we did.”“Hardly would be sorry.”GioGio sighed, stepping away from the car and wrapping his arms around himself. Even though the summer afternoon air was warm GioGio almost shivered. “Neither will l,” he said raising his head. A glimmer of strength was still in those eyes, Mista noted, as swamped as it was by sadness. “I’m still glad we met. I’m glad we started dancing. I’ll never regret the time we had together, Mista.”A sharp heat burst between Mista’s eyes. He blinked; the tears were welling up already. “Yeah,” he laughed breathily, still trying to keep it together. “You were amazing.”GioGio finally smiled. “I still am.”Yeah, Mista thought, you are. He didn’t say anything because the stinging in his eyes was getting too great for him to speak confidently without the fear of crying. He wanted to retain some semblance of cool for GioGio.He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, grinning at GioGio with increasingly watery eyes. GioGio stepped forwards to hug him close.“I love you, Mista.” GioGio’s face was tucked into the crook of Mista’s neck. He spoke over the skin. “So much.”Mista gasped, his breath hitching as a final warning of tears. “You too, Giorno. I love you too.”GioGio’s hands tightened momentarily in the fabric of Mista’s shirt – then he pulled away. He looked up at Mista with those beautiful blue eyes and for a second Mista could have sworn he saw tears clinging to his blonde lashes too.Unable to tear his eyes away from GioGio, Mista rounded the car to rest his hand against the driver’s door. “I'll see ya,” he said.GioGio nodded. It seemed there weren’t any words left to say between them. Mista dropped into the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut. After performing the surreally normal routine of buckling himself in and starting the car up, he pulled away from his cabin. GioGio didn’t move from the spot by the roadside while Mista drove away. He stayed right there – a gold and powder-blue speck in Mista’s rear view mirror for a minute longer until even he faded out of view and Mista was on his own once again.
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Dio wanted to attend the end-of-week talent show. To be precise, he didn’t want to attend, but had rather deemed it a good place to start in his attempt to redeem his and Giorno’s reputations. Rumours were still flying around along with some painfully accurate snippets of the truth and the aura of true menace rolling off Dio whenever he was reminded of his son’s misdemeanour made Giorno’s skin crawl. They would only be at the resort for one more evening then leave shortly after sunset. It would be the first day of many without Mista. A cold heavy fist of shame sat in the pit of Giorno’s stomach for the whole day. It was awful. He’d lived with being lonely for so long without much thought towards it and now that the one person who’d shown him intimacy had left, it was cataclysmic.He lay alone in his cabin room on the last night, weeping but shedding no tears, as usual. He was quiet and muffled by his blankets. The next morning, he didn’t remember ever stopping crying, only waking up feeling slow and cold and confused. Others may have noticed Giorno’s blankness. He sat next to his father and said nothing while Dio and his colleagues chatted on the lawns. Nothing passed through his mind. In the late afternoon he and Dio retired to the cabin. Dio had kept an unbearably close eye on his son but had recognised a fatigue setting in after a while, so let him have his quiet privacy before the final dinner and closing show held in the huge hall in the resort’s main house. Giorno sat on a low wood slat bench by a window in his room and stared at the pale blue mountains rising up above the lake. He’d done everything in his mental power to keep from thinking about Mista: about where he might be, what he might be doing, if he’s safe somewhere, if he has enough money to keep going until his next job, if he’s lonely –They were all useless thoughts. No amount of worrying would let Giorno help Mista from this position. They would never see each other again. And anyway, he thought, his ‘help’ had only ever caused more issues than they solved.Giorno sighed and folded his knees up to his chin. A small part of him might actually miss the landscape around the resort, if only because each memory of the lakes and forests was tied inextricably to Mista.After some time – perhaps an hour, he hadn’t been watching a clock – a polite knock came at the cabin’s front door. Dio answered while Giorno sat solemnly in his room. Some muffled voices came from the front, Dio sounding bemused and impatient, a couple others sounding hesitant. This went on for a minute or so. Dio said one last thing and the front door closed. To Giorno’s surprise, the sound of a pair of footsteps too light to be his father’s crossed the cabin towards his room. Somebody knocked at his door.“Who is it?” he asked.The door to his room was opened by Sheila holding a small plastic case. Trish stood behind her with her crutch clamped under an arm and the other hooked around Sheila’s elbow. Giorno stood and embraced them both without a word, knowing how lucky he was for Dio to allow them to visit at all. When he hugged Trish, she held him fast. A hand stroked slowly up and down his back as his bedroom door clicked shut.“Why are you here?” Giorno asked, still with his arms around Trish.“Why do you think?” Trish kept an arm at his back as they went to sit on the edge of his bed. “I can’t have you wasting away in here on your last night at the resort.”“Thank you.”He turned to Sheila and tried to give her a smile too, but she did not return it. “He hasn’t called us,” she said, “If you’re wondering.” Giorno had been wondering but wasn’t going to ask. “We’ll be meeting up with him next week once Trish and Narancia have been let go. If he hasn’t done something stupid by then already,” Sheila muttered.“We shouldn’t underestimate him,” Trish said with a pained smile. “All he knows is how to get into trouble.”Giorno’s heart ached. He hated talking like this – talking about Mista so wistfully, like he was so far away, like he’d never see him again. The sadness was frustrating in how pointless it all was. He was sad and there was nothing he could do about it.His mood must have shown on his face, because Trish quickly dropped the topic and reached for the small plastic case that they’d set on the bed nearby, placing it on her lap. “You’re going to the closing show this evening, yes?”“My father is.”Trish faltered. “Aren’t you?”“I might stay here,” admitted Giorno. Dio wouldn’t be happy to leave Giorno in the cabin, for appearances sake, but would almost certainly allow it begrudgingly after seeing just how miserable his son was. “I’m tired, and the journey home will be long. We’re setting off tonight after the show.”Trish looked to Sheila for support. Sheila looked uncomfortable. “Uh… you sure?”Giorno shrugged.“You’ve been hiding indoors all day, GioGio. A lot of yesterday too.”“I wasn’t hiding,” said Giorno, “My father wouldn’t—”“No, you are hiding,” interrupted Sheila. Her voice took on a sharper edge. “Maybe not from a person, or a thing, but from…something.” She sounded frustrated with herself, unable to put it to words. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”“She’s right,” agreed Trish. “It’s not like you.”Giorno almost laughed. It was very like him. These people really didn’t know him at all; he’d spent his whole life hiding and keeping his mouth shut and acting the part. The week or so that they’d known him for had been the exception. They’d been seeing him at his most out-of-character.“Does it matter.”Trish stared at him. For a moment Giorno wondered if she was trying to read him in the way same way that he’d learnt to read others, but saw no cogs turning behind her eyes. She had made her mind up about him.“You can be strong for one more night, GioGio. I know that you can. If you can save me twice, learn to dance, and stand up to your father all in the same week, you can do this too.”“Why do you care so much?” he asked, almost wonderingly. “It’s just a stupid little talent show.”Trish sighed and put a hand to Giorno’s cheek. She tipped her head, letting her eyes slip from Giorno’s to where her thumb rested on his cheekbone. “Because its all coming to an end,” she said softly. “You know it, you can feel that it’s ending now. And I know you wouldn’t want to spend that remaining time all alone in this room feeling sorry for yourself. You’re too good for that.” Trish smiled, one less sad than before, and moved her hand to lift Giorno’s chin. “You’re GioGio, and you shine brighter than anyone else in the room. It’s not right for you to hide. You should be seen, and known, and loved. That’s why Mista dragged you out into the middle of that dance floor. That’s why he couldn’t let you go. It’s why he loved you so much, GioGio, and he won’t ever forget you. You’re a centrepiece. And I can’t stand the thought of you disappearing like this.”A small and uncertain hand slid over Giorno’s on the quilt. Sheila meekly squeezed his hand and added, “I don’t think he’d want it either. He’d want you to be proud of yourself.”A grain of resistance inside Giorno raged against what the girls were saying. The bitter and angry part of him which wished to stay sad clung to and tugged at his memory like cobwebs – the memory of Mista leaving, the memory of Mista crying while they hugged, Mista’s smile, Mista’s hand on his body, Mista’s lips against his. It was an almost physical effort to drag that bitterness away from his memories. He tried.“I wish I were proud of myself.”“If it helps at all,” said Trish, “we’re all proud of you.”Giorno couldn’t respond to that. He let Trish’s words swirl around his head like water around a plughole, while Sheila carefully undid the tie in his hair and Trish opened up the plastic case. They’d brought some makeup and ribbons and jewellery. It was the sort of sympathetic display Giorno imagined teenage girls might have performed for their friends after a heartbreak. All they were missing, he thought while Trish riffled through her goods, was a tub of ice cream.There was some quiet discussion of what Giorno would wear to the show. Giorno gestured to a simple white dress shirt and matching clam-diggers slung over the back of a nearby chair. His suitcase had run dry and it was all that was left clean. Trish hummed and hahed over his clothing before deciding soberly that it was for the best; putting Giorno in a dress again, she told him, might test Dio too far. Giorno was relieved by her decision. Instead, the girls focussed their attention on his face and hair. Giorno knew, in a sort of distant way, that this was not only for his good. The simple action of helping another get ready for a dinner party must have been putting the girls’ minds at ease too; they must be feeling some sort of misery as well.Sheila brushed through Giorno’s hair and Trish carefully painted his nails a modest pale pink. They didn’t say anything more than occasionally asking if it he was okay with them touching his hair, or face, or hands. It was so painfully ordinary. The gravity of Trish’s and Sheila’s seriousness having taken it upon themselves to save Giorno from himself was almost too endearing. He could have cried, if he let himself.Sheila didn’t know what to do about his fringe. He explained in short how he usually pinned it up above his eyes, but she couldn’t replicate the style. Trish tried her hand instead. Soon he had four hands working at the hair over his brow and two faces wearing matching masks of intense concentration hovering before him. The girls pinned and twisted for what felt like half an hour before finally agreeing that they’d done the best they could. They refused to let him even lift a finger. Trish swapped his studs out for a pair of small glittery things that looked suspiciously to Giorno like diamonds. He asked, and she coyly evaded the answer. Sheila explained dryly that Trish had stolen them from her father the other night before being rescued, and Trish looked embarrassed. Giorno couldn’t help but laugh.Eventually they came to what to do with the rest of his hair. The realisation that there was no need for him to tie it back behind his head - out of the way and practical now that his lessons were over and he’d be doing no more practice or dancing - landed heavily.Trish shuffled around to sit behind Giorno on the bed. Her leg still locked in its cast was tucked awkwardly beside his hip. Behind him, a pair of hands combed idly through his hair. Trish hummed. “It could look pretty if—” she began, lifting some handfuls of hair from the sides of his head up and guiding it backwards behind him. She paused. Her hands loosened and his hair fell to rest against his back. “No. You're prettier your way. This way.”Giorno and Dio sat at a table tucked against the wall of the ballroom. Dio faced the stage and sat with a straight back and a glass of red wine cupped in his hand. For once, it was a table for just two, and they had no dinner guests. Giorno almost slouched in his seat. His father had given up on correcting his posture and only watched the stage, but Giorno stared out at the rest of hall and its tables and guests and folded in on himself. He sat between a tall potted plant and part of the wall which jutted out by a foot, and with some imagination he could imagine himself disappearing entirely into the gloomy corner.The decorations about the hall were beyond gaudy. Somebody had decided, against better judgement, to theme the event with lanterns shaped like pineapples and huge bunting displaying brightly coloured tropical scenes. A tiny plastic coconut tree sat in the centre of each table. Drinks offered by the bar followed the same theme, resembling piña coladas and the like, and many guests wandered the perimeter of the hall drinking from glasses which held miniature paper umbrellas and smelled strongly of artificial pineapple.Over food, the talent show had rolled on to Giorno’s disinterest. Dio offered no commentary but Giorno could tell he was equally bored. This was after all, attendance purely for appearances sake. Most of the performances were small children singing or older guests reciting poetry or groups of young people showing off some amateur acrobatics. About halfway a couple of twenty-somethings climbed onstage and performed a short waltz. It was the only performance Giorno didn’t look away from even once.The last guest to grace the stage was Polnareff. Dio perked up in his seat immediately and Giorno almost slid off of his in an attempt to vanish underneath the table.Polnareff wore what could only be described as a cheap hula-girl costume. This was what he’d been dared to do earlier in the week, thought Giorno in the midst of his confused horror. The rest of the guests were finding the sight equally baffling, judging by the ripple of noise throughout the ballroom. Dio was grinning from ear to ear. Before anybody could even become accustomed to the sight, Polnareff started dancing and singing. It was about as awful as Giorno had expected it to be.Rather than putting himself through the trauma of watching Polnareff’s performance Giorno looked away to watch the rest of the ballroom. Pucci and the rest of Dio’s acquaintances were scattered around the hall at their own tables, each looking as baffled and horrified as the next. None of the entertainment staff were here. Giorno hadn’t been expecting them to since there was no reason for them to be here this evening, but his heart still sank. Even seeing just Narancia pulling magic tricks for the guests would have lifted his spirits somewhat.Who he saw instead across the room was a short man in a dark knit sweater lurking by a doorway. Giorno recognised him. He’d been in the audience at the Sheldrake.Doppio, the man who’d helped kidnap Trish and framed Mista as revenge, who was probably still out for revenge, who must have stuck onto the resort again to hurt Trish, was here.Giorno stood up. Dio instantly grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back down into his seat, thinking this was only more moody rebellion. “Father,” hissed Giorno, keeping an eye on Doppio across the hall, “Diavolo’s accomplice, the one who framed Mista, he’s over—”“Enough lies, GioGio.” Dio stared stiffly ahead at the stage.“I’m not lying to you. Just look,” insisted Giorno. He pointed politely over at the corner where Doppio had slunk behind a group of giggling women.Dio looked. He frowned for a moment while he followed Giorno’s steady finger, then straightened in his seat. He looked back at Giorno. “Are you sure that’s him?”Giorno pursed his lips.“GioGio, are you absolutely sure that’s Diavolo’s puppet?”Giorno nodded.Dio stood and walked away. Giorno watched him go, fidgeting underneath the table. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Once Dio was about halfway to Doppio, the young man noticed Dio and flinched before ducking out of sight into an adjoining hallway. Dio picked up the pace; along the way he motioned for Pucci – who was enjoying a bright blue cocktail – to follow him in the pursuit. All three men left the ballroom and vanished from Giorno’s sight.A minute or so passed. The leftover salad on Giorno’s plate lay forgotten. Polnareff’s performance came to an end. The audience erupted into a confused but loud celebration, clapping and cheering as Polnareff bowed and flourished his way off the stage. Giorno clapped along, a little distractedly. The stage was taken by the resort manager. The speakers hummed and crackled over their heads as a new mic was positioned before the manager.“Thank you, monsieur, for that…unique performance.”The hall laughed. Giorno craned his neck searching for sight of his father or of Pucci or of Doppio or of any sign at all that something had happened. His breathing came quick and shallow.“I have had the absolute pleasure of running this resort for three decades of my life. In all these years, not once has the end of season show been anything short of dazzlingly executed and delightfully entertaining. From the food to the music to the talents, I hope every single one of you here with us tonight can enjoy what we’ve planned for the evening just as much...”The manager rambled on. From a far corner of the hall, Dio emerged through a doorway. He was alone and empty handed. Giorno sat rigid in his seat as his father weaved between the tables towards theirs in the corner again, face carefully blank. Giorno’s imagination scrambled. What had happened? Where was Pucci? Where was Doppio? Had they caught up to him? Had he escaped? Had they given up on catching Doppio entirely? That last one seemed unlikely to Giorno; Pucci had seen Doppio first-hand at the Sheldrake so must be suspicious enough of Doppio to chase him down for interrogation. But Dio was alone as he returned to the hall. Maybe he was coming back to ask Giorno another question, for more details, more evidence.Questions swirled around Giorno’s head while Dio gravely crossed the ballroom floor to meet him. His father, his lips pressed together into a thin line, took his seat across from Giorno. But Giorno was never given the chance to ask him what the matter was.Because someone had suddenly thrown open the doors at the back of the ballroom.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
A few hours ago, a few miles away.
Mista hadn’t expected it to be easy, per se, to move on from GioGio and get his life back on track. It was going to take time and effort and a considerable amount of self-restraint to keep his pathetic romantic heart from lingering on GioGio to the point of obsession.But it was fucking hard, god dammit.He booked two nights in a shitty little motel three hours from the resort and focussed his efforts on budgeting. Once Narancia and the others met up with him again they’d be looking for their next jobs together; there was no lack of resorts and hotels and whatnot in need of talented dance instructors. Mista’s primary worry and the anxiety looming in the background of all his planning, was that news of his altercation last week would be spread to these other resorts. It would make finding a new job hard.Although, Mista suspected no matter the difficulties he faced from here on, his biggest problem would be the simplest: he missed GioGio. Mista was a simple man with a delicate heart and could barely ever fit more than one big emotion inside his head at once. So, he let it overcome him. He was eating a shitty takeout dinner while sitting cross-legged on his shitty motel bed in his shitty motel room. He was passively watching an episode from an old sci-fi show he didn’t recognise on the shitty motel tv. He was thinking about GioGio.In the corner of his room, where he’d put the birdcage, the pistols were making a racket. Mista put his takeout to the side. “Guys keep it down,” he said. “You’ll get me kicked out.”The birds did not quiet down. Mista sighed and slid off the bed and lifted the blanket covering the cage. A couple of the pistols were rattling the bars, another was hopping up and down on a little wooden swing, the others were screaming their beaks off.“Come on, please.” Mista popped open the cage door and tried to pull one of the birds away from the bar it was chewing through. “What’s gotten into you guys?”Number 5, who was stomping around in a corner and making the most noise of the lot, paused its screeching and cocked its tiny head at Mista. Mista cocked his head back and raised a brow.“Well?”5 started squawking again.Mista dragged a hand down his face. “What? You guys didn’t think I was miserable enough already?”2 and 7 were taking turns to viciously rattle a bell hanging from the roof of their cage. 3 was stalking across the floor of the cage towards 5, looking ready to pick a fight.With another sigh, Mista reaching in to pick up 5. The budgie peeped and chirped but didn’t fight back. The other Pistols froze in their places around the cage and stared expectantly up at Mista. It was times like this that he was reminded exactly how bloody intelligent these birds were, and just how ready and able they were to make his life miserable for it.“What’s wrong?” he patiently asked 5.The budgie chirped a question back at him.“Do you miss GioGio too?”The budgie blinked and swivelled its head.“I wish he were here.”The budgie beeped. Back in the cage, a chorus of quiet chirps went around the other Pistols. There was some sort of agreement being made amongst the birds.“You think so too?” Mista tickled the small tuft of feathers on 5’s head with the tip of one finger, chuckling when the other five birds trilled and fluffed their feathers up. “You’re right. When he’s around he makes me feel stronger than I am and that’s exactly why I feel so shit right now. GioGio is… well, you know, he’s amazing. Maybe he doesn’t always notice it, but when he speaks people listen. They really listen. He can make things happen. You know?”5 stared up at Mista. There was a beat of silence in the motel room.“…I fell in love with him. He made that happen too.”Suddenly, everything felt very silly. Why the fuck was he here. Why was he in a shitty motel room eating shitty takeout food by himself. Why was he miles and miles and miles away from GioGio. Why had he left when GioGio was so damn sad and lonely. Why the fuck was he standing here feeling sorry for himself when GioGio had been so brave and so clever and so resolute and so beautiful and so kind.It was all so silly. But not unfixable.Mista put number 5 back inside the cage to a loud celebratory chorus of trills and chirps from all six budgies and closed the tiny cage gate. He stood and tossed what was left of his takeout into the bin then turned cross the room to pull his coat on.It wouldn’t take long for Mista to pack up again and get into his car and get back out on the road again. He’d be gone from this shitty little motel soon enough. He wasn’t waiting around for a second longer.He had somewhere to be.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mista was here. It wiped Giorno’s mind clear of anything else as if his surroundings had dropped away like stage walls: Mista was here and he was walking towards him.The resort manager was saying something about tradition and generations. The guests were all watching the stage. Giorno was watching a young man in a blue button-up shirt, worn leather jacket, and dark jeans cross the event hall floor, making a solemn beeline between the other tables, looking straight at Giorno as if he were the only other person in that room, and Giorno wasn’t sure if he was even breathing.Before he knew it Mista was standing by their table, chest heaving like he’d been running, and staring straight into Giorno’s eyes.“Nobody puts GioGio in the corner.”At Giorno’s side Dio turned in his seat. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared at the sight of Mista.Mista put out his hand. “Come on,” he said.Giorno took the offered hand. Out the corner of his eye he saw Dio standing and squaring his shoulders. But his father did not stop them. Dio clenched his fists and watched his son be led away from the table with a steadily dimming frustration.Giorno was led by the hand towards the front of the event hall. The hand holding his was warm, firmly wrapped around his palm, and staggeringly real and solid against Giorno’s skin. But Giorno could help but think that Mista was afraid. Or perhaps that was the wrong word to use; apprehensive, instead. His hand felt a little sweaty and he’d looked like a wild thing when he’d approached their table. He may well be determined, but he was determined to do something that he never could have thought of doing without Giorno by his side. With that in mind, Giorno lightly squeezed Mista’s hand as a small sign of reassurance, mentally whispering I’m right here. Without turning to look Mista squeezed back hard enough to pop Giorno’s knuckles.The other guests must have noticed them by now but Giorno did not care. Like always, Mista made everything so simple. They weaved between round tables and up to the small set of steps below the event stage. The resort manager was still speaking. Mista and Giorno hopped up the steps together and over to the centre front of the stage where the manager stood breezily gesticulating behind a propped-up microphone. There was no telling what Mista was planning. But Giorno was sure he would make a scene. He stood a step behind Mista and watched him approach the manager with a giddy eagerness. Giorno’s face was hot, his hands clasped nervously at his front, and he couldn’t look away.The manager faltered in his speech once he noticed Mista. His words died in his throat and he stepped backwards in surprise; without a pause Mista took his place and grabbed the stem of the microphone. A couple seconds of confused silence passed over the entire hall as Mista stared out at the guests and the guests stared back up at him.Mista cleared his throat and spoke into the mic. “Sorry about the disruption, folks... but I always do the last dance of the season. This year somebody told me not to - that I shouldn’t. And I almost listened.”Giorno caught his father’s eyes. Dio was in his seat, hands laid clenched on the tablecloth. At the very back of the hall a couple dozen people in glittering dresses and dress-shirts had quietly filed in to stand against the far wall. Giorno recognised a few as members of the entertainment staff.“So, I'm gonna do my kind of dancing with a great partner who's not only a terrific dancer—” said Mista, swallowing hard. “…but somebody who's taught me that there are people out there willing to stand up for other people no matter what it costs them. Somebody who's taught me...” Mista glanced over his shoulder at Giorno for a moment. “…about the kind of person that I want to be.”Mista paused and took a steady breath in.“Giorno Giovanna.”Dio lurched upwards from his seat. But he froze as if nailed in place with his hands pressed flat to the table. He glared at the stage, wrestling with something inside him, while the rest of the hall murmured their confusion and excitement.All the brightly coloured lights throughout the hall dimmed. The resort manager finally scurried off the stage, looking just about as bewildered as the half dozen stagehands in the wings. Giorno remained standing awkwardly in the middle of the stage for a moment while Mista carried the mic away into the left wing, where Narancia was hurrying up the steps towards a record player which had been hooked up to the hall’s sound system. Mista shrugged off his jacket and said something to Narancia, who slipped a 45 onto the player.A kind of spell fell over Giorno as soon as the music began. He locked eyes with Mista, who casually walked back across the stage over to him with his shirt halfway unbuttoned and face a little flushed and hair wild, while some wolf whistles came from below in the shadowed audience, and curled his index up at Giorno in the universal sign for ‘come here’.“Now I…had…the time of my life…”Mista reached Giorno and put his hands loosely around his waist. A white spotlight flicked on around them.“…no, I never felt this way before…”The one or two whistles turned into some cheers and claps from below the stage. But Giorno wasn’t looking; he was spellbound by the man pulling him in close. Mista’s hands slid up behind his back and Giorno eased into the familiar position, resting a hand on Mista’s shoulder. Quickly, Mista took Giorno’s right hand and pushed; Giorno let his head fall back and swung back in a quick smooth arc before straightening up again in Mista’s arms. Somebody in the audience whooped. Mista was smiling at Giorno, whose nose almost brushed his. With a swoop in his chest Giorno realised he was smiling too.Mista stepped around behind Giorno and gently took his left wrist then guided his arms up. Giorno raised his arm to wrap around Mista’s neck, where Mista slowly traced from Giorno’s wrist down past his elbow, down past his shoulder, down over his ribs, all the while keeping their faces a mere inch from each other. Mista’s careful hands came to rest around the front of Giorno’s waist.With his back pressed up against Mista’s front Giorno felt his heart hammering away behind him. It put a thrill in Giorno, knowing Mista was feeling just as alive in the moment as he was. The air around them was practically humming.Mista leant in and pressed a tiny kiss to Giorno’s cheek, then slid his hands back and spun Giorno away.“…and I owe it all to you…”The music flared into life. Mista spun Giorno out again until their arms were outstretched. The crowd cheered. Giorno spun back it and snapped into position, one hand on Mista’s shoulder, the other clasping Mista’s mirrored hand, and they stepped back and forth in time to the song’s lively bass thrums.“I’ve been waiting for so long, now I've finally found someone to stand by me.”They turned to face the audience, turned back to each other, twisting their hips to the rhythm. Giorno spun again, raised his arms up, and flicked his head wide from side to side while Mista’s hand remained steady at his hip. Mista grinned at him all the while.“So we take each other's hand ‘cause we seem to understand the urgency.”Giorno caught a glimpse of Dio over Mista’s shoulder. He had one hand over the bottom half of his face, but his eyes weren’t stormy. He looked thoughtful.There was no more time for Giorno to think about what his father thought. Because Mista was spinning him around and around, and once he was still again Mista was twisting his hips, and Giorno was following his moves perfectly like there was no beginning or end between them.“Just remember. You're the one thing I can't get enough of…”They couldn’t look away from one another. Giorno hadn’t been able to believe for a minute or two that Mista really had come back, but here he was. His hands were on his hips and his beautiful sparkling brown eyes were right there gazing back at him full of warmth. And now nothing else mattered.
“So, I'll tell you something. This could be love, because…”
Mista pulled Giorno in close and his eyes flicked down to Mista’s mouth, to his lips, so close to his own. Mista’s jaw flexed and his lips parted for a moment. Something like electricity ran between them and the cheers rose like a tide.“I've had…the time of my life.” A bubble of bright laughter left Mista; he was still a little out of breath and the light dancing in his eyes shone like sunlight on the lakeshore. So close to him and hyperaware of how badly Mista wanted to kiss him, Giorno thought that he was beautiful.Mista guided him around and spun him out, pulled him back and spun him the other way. Giorno twirled easily to the sounds of roaring applause from the audience. When he staggered back into Mista’s arms he was laughing out loud, throwing his head back, feeling like nothing could ever come to them ever again.“No, I never felt this way before.”Still grinning, Giorno fell easily back into their steps. He kicked his feet out while Mista tapped his heels against the stage floor then lifted his arm up to spin Giorno once, before raising their arms again to turn him back. They clasped hands and Mista moved closer. He fit his hip to Giorno’s and pushed forwards in smooth little thrusts.The audience went wild.“Yes, I swear it's the truth. And I owe it all to you.”The clapping was loudest towards the back where the entertainment staff were still standing in a curiously organised group. As they twisted and swayed together Giorno caught what he could have sworn was Trish’s voice screaming out to them from the other end of the hall, “FUCKING FINALLY!”Mista heard it too; he burst into laughter. Still not tearing his eyes away from his partner, he tipped Giorno to the side and let his loose hair fall over one shoulder, before pulling him up with the same momentum. Giorno held his breath as Mista lifted him off the ground by the elbows. They turned on the stage together with Giorno raised up proud and possessive in Mista’s arms.For a moment Giorno wondered what he must look like to his father. Then he stopped wondering at all.“Till I found the truth.” Giorno was returned to the stage floor. They turned together with hands in position for a moment more before pausing, both heavily out of breath. Mista’s face was shining and the curls of his hair clung to his brow with sweat. He grinned and pulled Giorno’s hand up and quickly pressed a kiss to his knuckles.“And I owe it all to you.”Then Mista turned and leapt off the edge of the stage. The song blared in triumph and the cheering rose as Mista flung his arms up in mid-air. When he landed, in the centre of a small clearing between two sections of guest tables, he raised his head and met Giorno’s gaze. Giorno found himself unable to hold back his laughter again.From here, Giorno could see Trish and Sheila near the back of the hall. They were clapping along and cheering for them. As was most of the hall, guests and resort staff alike. Narancia had left the wings and hopped off the stage to join the others, who were beginning to move further into the hall together, dancing to the song and whooping with joy.At the same time Mista was steadily dancing his way down the aisle towards the approaching group. He bobbed his head, flinging his hands out in small theatrical flourishes, and swinging his hips while Giorno watched him go. About halfway down the hall he stopped and did a little manoeuvre that set Giorno’s heart on fire. A flick of his head, a prance in place, then some smooth hips thrusts. Mista turned to Giorno, still up on the stage, smiling that goofy crooked grin like he knew how much fun he was having and wanted Giorno to know to know about it too. Giorno shook his head, smiling and clasping his hands over his chest.“So, we'll just let it go. Don't be afraid to lose control, no…”Mista dropped to his knees and threw his arms up in another moment of pure energy. He crawled, then slid, then performed a short air-guitar solo, then raised himself up onto his feet again and joined the group of dancing staff.The resort manager, who had retreated to safety earlier, was watching this whole display with a kind of dumbfounded awe. Some other older men gathered around him as if together they could collectively repel the chaos Mista had brought into their end of season show.Speaking of which – Giorno’s eyes widened once he saw Mista leading the couple dozen entertainment staff up the hall between the other seated guests, snapping his fingers and swaying his hips along to the music. Together they looked like a small army. All dancing, all laughing along.“Yes, I know what's on your mind when you say: stay with me tonight.”Narancia was behind Mista to his right, kicking his legs out and nodding his head with arresting enthusiasm. Further back Sheila had one arm under Trish’s shoulder to support her while they too strutted along up the hall floor. Trish was in her same dress from the very first night, Giorno noticed. She looked so happy. By her side, Sheila was wearing one of her usual black band shirts and fishnets but smiling for once. They both looked happy. Giorno’s heart swelled once his eyes met theirs and Trish raised a hand, grinning, and shouted something out to him. He couldn’t hear what it was over all the noise and the music and cheering. But he laughed back to her anyway.The group Mista was leading fell into a perfect synchronicity. Together, they flicked their heads back, then forwards, and dragged one hand down from the back of their neck to run over their chests. From the stage it was hypnotising and Giorno couldn’t help involuntarily matching their rhythm with his shoulders and hips.“Just remember…you’re the one thing…I can’t get enough of…”They reached the foot of the stage. Mista stood there while the rest of the dancers fanned out on either side to make some room and looked hopefully up at Giorno.“So, I’ll tell you something…”Giorno nodded – an answer to an unspoken question - and Mista broke into a grin, moving quickly back away from the stage across the dance floor. Sheila and Narancia helped Giorno hop gracefully down from the edge of the stage and then in the next moment Giorno was running down the aisle to where Mista was waiting for him.“This could be love, because—”He met Mista’s open arms, and then Giorno was lifted up into the air.“I’ve had the time of my life!”Giorno’s legs were straight and steady together, his arms held out on either side, his chin raised, and he felt like he was flying. The swirling candy-coloured lights of the hall around him turned into stars. The strings of lanterns became constellations. Mista’s hands holding him up, planted on his hips like two great pillars, were all that kept him grounded.The sheer feeling of freedom almost knocked the air from Giorno’s lungs. He’d finally done it. He and Mista had finally done it, and they were beautiful. Because Mista wasn’t only holding him; he was lifting Giorno and he was pulling him up out of whatever dark misery had been sinking into his bones before Mista had come along and they were being lifted together.After those sparkling breathless seconds Mista lowered Giorno to stand on solid ground again.They grinned at each other, Mista looking close to tears with joy knowing how much was being left unsaid between them. Giorno threw his arms around Mista’s neck. Holding each other close, the chorus continued to swell, and their bodies continued to move. Mista fit his palms against Giorno’s and pushed their arms up then slowly brought their arms down and around in a wide arc over their heads.Out the corner of his eye Giorno saw the other dancers doing the same in pairs. He looked to the other side to where Dio sat at his table in the corner. His father was smiling.Sax and snare and synth and electric guitar filled the hall and the dancers began pulling other guests up out of their seats to join in. Narancia jumped up onto a spare seat and pumped his fists in the air. An elderly couple of women shrugged off their cardigans and started shuffling along to the music. Closer to the stage, Trish was slowly swaying from side to side, laughing aloud, with her back pressed to Sheila’s front and their hands knitted over Trish’s stomach.“Cause I had the time of my life…”Giorno and Mista found themselves twisting and dancing further down the aisle. Giorno barely looked away from Mista, and vice versa. They only paused once Mista’s hip hit the edge of a dinner table and he staggered forwards with wide eyes and a gasp. Giorno caught him by the elbow before he could fall, and they laughed.The music still urged them to move. His heels tapping the ballroom floor, Giorno drew his hand up over the line of Mista’s collarbone, up his neck, over his jaw, and cupped his cheek. Mista leant into the touch with painfully soft eyes.“And I've searched through every open door, till I found the truth. And I owe it all to you.”Mista took Giorno’s hand and pulled him away from the dancing, towards the nearest door into the hallway.Before they could leave the hall, somebody crashed through the doorway. The man Giorno knew to be Doppio slammed into the doorframe and wheezed. He locked eyes with Mista, frowned, then turned grey.Mista lunged forwards – perhaps to punch him, or grab him, Giorno never did find out – but was stopped by Pucci, who seized Doppio’s collar from behind and threw him to the floor.Dio appeared by Giorno’s shoulder. “Well done, Enrico,” he said very calmly.Giorno spun to face his father. Dio looked pleased. His eyes had that edge to them that appeared whenever Dio was taking particular interest in another’s misfortune. But his body language was relaxed. Giorno instinctively moved closer to Mista before he could stop himself.“I know that you’re innocent,” Dio said to Mista. Mista stared blankly back. “When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong.”It was a simple sentence. It barely took Dio more than a couple seconds to say it. But it sounded to Giorno like iron chains falling from his shoulders.Dio turned to Giorno. He smiled, not the sharp and cruel smile of Lord Dio Brando, but the civil and wise one of Giorno’s father. “You looked wonderful out there,” he told him.Quickly, Giorno wrapped his arms around his father. It must have surprised Dio because he hesitated for a moment before stooping to embrace Giorno in return. For a couple of seconds, they stood like that under the flickering candy lights and the fractured reflections from the disco ball. Then Giorno let go and stood back. He smiled up at his father.They did have a lot in common, despite how often they clashed: they both took great pleasure in their victories.Behind Giorno somebody yelped. Doppio pushed past them, leaving Pucci cursing and clutching his shoulder, and ran out into the dance hall. He plunged into the fray of dancing guests and staff members, past a startled Narancia, and towards another doorway on the opposite side.Mista started chasing after him with Giorno close behind. With the remaining adrenaline from their dance roaring through his veins, Giorno ducked and weaved between dancers with Doppio straight ahead, quickly overtaking Mista who was finding difficulty ploughing through the crowd himself. But the man had been awarded a head start thanks to that first moment of surprise and was quickly approaching the other exit.Before Doppio could escape through the far door, Sheila landed her fist square into the centre of his face. Doppio went down hard. Mista and Giorno skidded to a halt.Sheila stood with her shoulders squared and fists curled tightly at her sides, breathing heavily and glaring down at the man she’d felled. “Finally found you, you little shit.”Doppio whimpered and scrambled backwards. His nose was streaming blood. Mista grabbed the collar of his sweater and hauled him back up onto his feet, sneering at this weaselly little thing who had caused them so much trouble.“It’s over,” said Trish, who had made her way over to them. “We won, Doppio.” She stared at Doppio, looking neither angry nor scared. She looked frightening calm while Doppio blinked away the tears springing up in his eyes after the broken nose. “My father is defeated and so are you. This is finally all over and I’ve got my happy ending. So please kindly leave me and my friends the fuck alone.”Doppio dropped his gaze to the confetti-scattered floor. Dio and Pucci caught up after pushing through the crowds of dancers to get to them and took Doppio from Mista’s hands. They escorted him from the building, Doppio saying nothing more and Dio giving Trish and the others a small nod of approval.With a sigh Trish wrapped her arms around Sheila. The girls returned to the dance.Before Giorno could make another move, him and Mista were ambushed again, by Polnareff this time – who hadn’t yet changed out of his horrid stage costume and was from grinning ear to ear.“You two are amazing!” he shouted over the music. “I’m so happy for you!” He looked a little teary-eyed. Mista nodded, confused but happy. Polnareff turned his head to him and took his shoulder. “You’re looking for work, yes? Come and teach dance at my place! We could do with a strapping young lad like you, Mista. You’d do incredible work!” He grinned at Giorno. “You both would. There’s a spark in you two like nothing I’ve ever seen.”Mista was left speechless. He stared at Polnareff with a slack mouth, before Giorno decided to put him out of his awkward misery, pulled him down by the collar, and hugged him tight. Polnareff cheered and hopped off to rejoin the dance.The song still spinning on the record player was reaching the end of its bridge, sax and synth beginning to die down after a lengthy frenzy of noise. It felt to Giorno like the song had been going on forever. Mista put a finger under Giorno’s chin and lifted his face up, raising a brow at him in question. Giorno smiled and nodded back. They went hand-in-hand back through the dancers into the centre of the hall. A small clearing was made for them by the others, staff and guests, all twisting and shuffling and hopping and jiving and whatever else they could do to satisfy the buzzing energy everyone in that room was feeling.The instrumental bridge ended. Mista’s arms slid back around Giorno’s waist and he swayed, tugging Giorno’s hips closer and their chests flush. The song slid into a slower part. The other dancers slowed their movements, almost coming to a complete halt.Mista leant in close and mouthed along to the lyrics - a quiet and far gentler version of the song’s chorus.“Now l…had…the time of my life…” Giorno felt his heart soar. The sparkle in Mista’s eyes was new, but more than welcome. Because Mista was more than happy; he was safe, he had a future, he had his happy ending, and he was in love. He was so in love, Giorno realised with another swoop of his thundering heart. Mista was practically melting in Giorno’s arms while mouthing along to the next line of the chorus.“No, I never felt this way before,” he whispered to Giorno and smiled; that goofy crooked smile that made Giorno want to kiss him, and laugh, and kiss him again, and tell him that he’s beautiful, because he was. He was the most beautiful and ridiculous and sweet man he’d ever met. “Yes, I swear… it's so true…”The music exploded into life with two crashing guitar riffs, and Mista threw his head back to silently shout out the last line.“And I owe it all to you!”Everyone leapt up into action and danced again. Mista took Giorno’s arms and swung him around. Giorno laughed and seized Mista in return, taking the lead and dipping him suddenly. The shock spelt across Mista’s face melted quickly and he let Giorno push them back and forth with light and bouncy moves. Their feet skidded and stomped along to the soaring saxophone; their heads tossed along to the guitar’s riffs; their hips swayed with each line of thrumming synthetic piano.The chorus repeated again. And again.Maybe they could make this last forever, Giorno wondered, a little distantly, a little hazily, like the camera was finally beginning to pan away from the two of them. Maybe this song would never end. Maybe they could dance forever like this and never ever let go of each other. This dance, this evening, here in this hall, he thought, here with Mista with my hands on him and his hands on me. But he knew it wouldn’t last forever. They had much more waiting for them after this evening, more dancing and more life and more inevitably messy plots. Giorno would overestimate himself and Mista would underestimate himself. They’d both fuck up somewhere along the way. But they had each other.Mista lifted Giorno a few inches up off the ground, keeping him steady and upright like he weighed nothing at all, and held him there for a moment. His big brown eyes swam with love. Giorno had never been looked at like that before. For all he knew, he was staring down at Mista with the exact same expression.Very gently, Mista lowered Giorno down and Giorno kissed him, before tucking himself neatly over Mista’s shoulder. He and Mista wrapped their arms around each other and let the music guide their feet. They danced the way they always had - together. It didn’t take thought. Like love, which always had been a dance which nobody ever teaches you the steps to, it came to them.