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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 5 years ago

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Summary : “What happened to you Giorno, you’re not the man I’ve known from twenty years ago,” Mista hissed. Giorno chuckled, making his best friend finally looks up in wonder. “I’ve not changed, maybe that’s why.” A story of Giorno Giovanna, the past he can’t let go, a mysterious crow, and many versions of Bruno Bucciarati.

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@brugioweek

Sorry it’s a WIP, because I wanted to submit it on the day. the complete edited fic will be done soon~~

I post it on a free day, bcs tbh I don’t know where to fit this.

Clink link to read on ao3, click keep reading to read it here~

Words : 10k...

The man drenched in the crimson blood of his enemies on his Armani is Giorno Giovanna.

After years being the most feared boss of Passione, a mafia group that rule all Italy, the man is finally reaching the end of his life. Blood drips down to his leather loafers, pouring from the hole on his abdomen. For whatever reason, the thirty-five years old mafia boss did not do anything about the missing chunk of flesh he can easily replace with one of the rubble lying around with his powers.

He is standing on top the leaning tower of Pisa, looking over the horizon as the sun finally rises from the east, shining on his warrior face. Golden strands of his waist-length hair frame his solemn face of victory, while his enemies are by the foot of the tower and in the shadows. There is no telling how many bodies there, and how many he had killed before he came here.

The lights blur a little, but he thinks it’s charming that way. His feet starting to sway, from the exhaustion of defeating a whole group and the loss of blood.

In his hand, the only thing that has no drop of blood on it is a crow named Crow.

Safe and sound.

The crow hops to Giorno’s shoulder with fluttering wings, rubbing his head on the side of his face in tiny twitchy movement.

Giorno had kept the crow safe for years, and now the people that want to misuse the crow is all gone and dead, right beneath his feet.

He stands at the edge of the tower of Pisa, with the light of the sunrise hitting his face. The next step will be a step to a new beginning.

Because a step forward, just a foot below him, a portal opens, waiting for him to jump in.

+++++ Last month +++++

“Stop, Giorno, before you make any mistake,” Mista, the consigliere, held his shoulder firmly.

“We’ve been friends for how long?” The mafia boss smiled amusedly, “You know I don’t make foolish mistakes.”

“It’s just a bird Giorno!” the gunslinger finally burst, sending an unpleasant feeling shooting through his chest.

Giorno doesn’t hide his upset frown, “You’re smarter than this Mista.”

“I am, and I know the bird only does what you command. It doesn’t matter if they take it.”

After decades together, Mista always surprises him with a burst of sudden sensitivity. Of course his second in command is right, that is why Giorno chooses him to lead by his side.

“You know why I’m going Mista.” Giorno insists.

Mista looks rightfully pissed, pushing Giorno against the door. Their eyes meet, sparking electricity at how Mista glares while Giorno stands his ground on his decision.

“I will not let our men follow you, not for such a selfish cause!” Mista pushes him away, walking around his office with fingers massaging his forehead.

“I never plan on bringing my men, I’m going alone.”

Even so, the gunslinger still doesn’t look happy.

“I know your Gold Experience Requiem is unbeatable, but you’re going into the den of Stracciatella. You are going to die!”

“Perhaps.”

Both of them are equally surprised at Giorno’s resolve. Fists landed between Giorno’s face, ruining the carved wooden door. Their face only inches from each other but Mista’s eyes landed down on their feet, gritting his teeth in anger.

“What happened to you Giorno, you’re not the man I’ve known from twenty years ago,” Mista hissed.

Giorno chuckled, making his best friend finally looks up in wonder.

“I’ve not changed, maybe that’s why.”

Mista shuts his eyes, his deep frown shakes.

“Ah... I see. You’re right. You’re right Giorno. I... have failed.”

Mista wraps him in his arms, wonders if it’s because of pity or for a goodbye. Fingers caught his chin, and a pair of lips landed on top of his. A chaste kiss that lasts a few innocent seconds and Mista steps back, cradling Giorno’s face.

Looking at each other, they both have aged a lot since they first met. Mista, at the ripe age of 38 years old is devilishly handsome, with his harper eyes and a broad build that makes him look like a charmingly hardy man. Always dressed in a more casual suit and only occasionally wears his usual red and blue grid hat. Charismatic lines deepen within age, concentrated more on his eyes than anywhere else.

Giorno matches his build in width but loses in muscle mass. They’re the same height. And Giorno’s hair is as long as his waist when in a braid with a few strands of gray hairs showing.

The years spent together doesn’t feel that long, but it sure seems so.

“Please come back,” Mista whispered, almost begging.

Giorno gave him a smile at least, “I’ll leave Passione to you, Guido.”

++++ 2 Years Ago ++++

Sardegna is as beautiful as ever in the morning glow. Only wearing a fur coat above his pajamas, Giorno walks up to the cliff only a few hundred meters from the small house he was staying in. His golden hair blown wildly by the wind of the sea right below this highland. It has really gotten too long, but Giorno never had the heart to cut it short.

When he finally reached the top, the sun already fully risen from the sea line. Shining brightly, almost blinding, the sun rises right behind Trish who sits at the table set by the edge of the cliff in a safe distance. Her pink hair that reaches his shoulder sway lightly from the wind so does her soft yellow long dress under her thick wool cardigan.

As soon as she meets eyes with Giorno, she smiles, and her face glowing even more than the sunrise as she rubs the bump on her stomach, carrying her third child.

“I thought you’ll wake up even later, come sit with me.” She directs her palm towards a wrought iron chair with a simple design.

On the table, already set three-tiered plates filled with sandwiches, muffins, and cakes. The ceramic pot containing fuming hot black tea matches the two mugs of bone-white color with watercolor blue and pink accents. There's a bowl of fresh fruits, another filled with bread with two jams beside it. All set on the table with woven hay yellow table cloth.

“You should’ve woke me up, I would’ve helped you set the table. You shouldn’t carry heavy things,” Giorno commented, as he sits down.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, you’re worrying too much about me,” she cheerfully dismisses, “And I can’t wake you up, you flew so far just to visit me and conked right after I show you the bed.”

“Ah, I was really tired, but I’m fine now. Let me help around the house.”

“Nonsense! You’re my guest, Giorno. Now come, eat!” She then poured him tea, and Giorno spares a word of gratitude.

Since yesterday and right now, Trish always have that soft smile on her face. Now that they’re closer, Giorno can see clearly how Trish’s eyes mellowed from the last time he sees her ten years ago.

Trish is a city girl, always loving her branded clothes and makeup, when she said she’s marrying a farmer and living in a small house in the middle of a roadless area, Giorno, Mista, and Polnareff were surprised but mostly worried.

Her letters always reassure them that she’s fine, and now Giorno sees, she really is happy.

“How’s living in the countryside?” Giorno opens up.

“It’s really calming, the folks are so kind, and I grew most ingredients I eat, my foods are fresh. I should’ve done this a long time ago.” She sighs dreamily.

“I’m happy for you Trish.”

“You’re behaving like my parents! We’re the same age.” Trish leans forward, cupping the Giorno’s hand on the table and looks at him fondly.

“How about you? How are you?” she asked.

“As good as I can be. There is no major riot within the group. I’ve been getting better at controlling the-”

“I didn’t ask about the group, I’m asking about you, how are you?”

It takes a few second for Giorno to answer, that itself, he knew is something alarming.

“I’m good, Trish.” And he is doing good. He’s rich beyond belief. Even if he retires now, he won't ever have to work for the rest of his life while maintaining a high-end lifestyle.

Trish pressed her lips, pulling them into a gentle smile.

“I’m worried about you sometimes Giorno. I never used to care, but maybe having children had changed me.” She rubs her fingers on the back of Giorno’s hand, he can feel her hard work by her calloused hands.

“You keep replying to my emails later and later. And now that you finally come see me, you’re wearing the same expression since 18 years ago... I owe my life to you, Mista, Polnareff, Fugo, Narancia, Abbacchio, and Bucciarati. Please tell me, how should I help you?”

Her words hurt, but what hurt the most is her pained voice from genuinely caring for Giorno. He never heard that kind of tone again from anyone else other than Bucciarati. Always, every little thing that reminds him of that person makes Giorno misses him.

“There’s nothing to help with Trish, I’m good, I’m doing good.”

“I hear what you said, but your face tells otherwise... are you still keeping it?”

“Him. Yes, he’s still with me, I left him at my house in Rome.”

“Him? You’ve named it?”

“Yes, I just called him Crow.”

Trish holds Giorno’s hand with both of hers now, still looking worriedly while looking for something to say.

“You don’t like him too, don’t you?” Giorno is not surprised, and he says it without any means of animosity.

“He’s not the best coping mechanism, and I hope you know he’s not a replacement for anyone.”

A bitter smile plastered on Giorno’s tired face, he had heard that from the people he care about way too much to mean anything to him.

“I still stand by what I said before, when you told me to use him,” Trish stated, “It’s not too late to try, Giorno.”

He only replies with a slight nod, but he knows, the matter was not about whether it’s too late or not. Giorno doesn’t want to.

++++ 5 Years ago ++++

A man kneels before him, taking his hand from the armchair without invitation and kiss the back of his hand. Giorno folds his legs away from the man that suddenly kneels. The crow that sits on his shoulders flap his wings in surprise and flew to Giorno’s other shoulder.

In his pristine suit of green and white stripes, he quickly falls to his knees, lowering his salt and pepper hair, a sign of age way above Giorno’s and experience even more than him. A lot of men had kneeled like this in front of the young mafia boss, and they have two reasons for it. It’s either to beg for mercy, or for a favor. And the tearful expression from the man’s face seems to mean the latter. It hides in the shadows from the afternoon light shining from the window in front of Giorno.

“Don Giovanna, I have a favor to ask of you,” the man’s husky voice humbles.

“Sit, Capo Gallo. You have done the organization an unmeasurable deed. I also have recognized your absolute loyalty to me. You have done the impossible and life-threatening mission I gave you and succeed. Now, tell me your wish, I will grant whatever it is as long as it’s within my power.”

The old man sits on the chair in front of Giorno,his hopeful but grim face accentuated by the shadow from backing against the light. The man is broad, tall, and gallant, but he shrinks in his seat as he makes eye contact with Giorno.

“I ask a favor of the crow.”

Giorno tightens his fist. Not a lot of people know the power of his crow.

“How did you know his power?” Giorno asked.

“Rumours, my Don. I take it that the rumors must’ve been true now that you’ve asked?”

“Yes, it is.” Giorno grits his teeth. People are going to target Crow more and more now the rumors of his powers had spread.

“Who else knew of the crow?”

The Capo caught the look of his Don and understood.

“I heard it from a handful of people, there is no telling how many people have kno-”

“Write a list,” Giorno cuts, “Put the names of people you’ve heard it from, I will take care of it.”

The Capo gulped at the cold look of his Don, “Does this mean you will grant my wish?”

A shadow hits Giorno’s figure. His consigliere makes himself known in the room for Giorno to look at him and the face he makes. Mista shook his head, for he had known the risk of the crow’s power. As a good Don and best friend of the consigliere, he put Mista’s opinion into account, and do what he thinks is right.

“Yes, for I have given you my word, I will not go back from it. I won't ask you why you wish to use the crow, but before you make a decision, I will make you know the risks of using the crow.”

Capo Gallo sharpens his eyes, all ears to his Don.

“When his wings tear a portal to another universe, there is no controlling where you will go. If you stay in that universe more than 6 hours, either you or you from that universe will disappear.”

The Capo’s determined face is still unfazed.

“Once you enter the dimension, there is no going back, for the only one that can command the crow to open the portal is me. You’ve done me enough deed for me. I will go to this dimension with you and we will go back together before the time is up.”

For a few second the Capo is dead silent until his low laugh breaks it.

“There is no need for you to follow me, Don Giovanna. Passione needs you here. I will go alone. My life in this world has come to an end.”

The mafia boss passes a glance towards his consigliere, who also mirror his questioning looks. Capo Gallo is the most priceless member of Passion with his unshakable loyalty and strength, and his wish is a suicide.

“For whatever reason, you want to escape this world, the other dimension you’ll find might roughly be the same, are you sure?”

“I have to try. This is for my daughter, I wish to see her once more. She had left this world, and my wish is just to see her once more, even though only for a moment.”

Giorno sighed, standing up and lang his hand on top of the man’s shoulder.

“Think of her.”

The capo looks up with hope in his eyes and nods.

The crow hops to his palm where the golden light that shines in his veins shown on his skin. The glowing strands on his skin vines through the crow’s feet and onto the Capo’s skin. Golden hue emits from the black fur of the crow, and his eyes beam with the same golden light as two tiny suns, so does Giorno’s eyes that went completely white and emits a golden shine.

Crow flies in the middle of the room, tears the space with his wings and a portal opened in the middle of empty space. Inside is a swirl of purple and black.

After a while, Crow resides on his shoulder again and their eyes return to normal.

“At the end of this tunnel, is a universe where your daughter is still alive,” Giornos turns around to see Capo Gallo staring into the portal. “Once you step in the portal will close, there is no going back,” Giorno warned once more.

The capo’s face melts into a tender smile and bows his head to him.

“Thank you, Don Giovanna. It is my pride to have served under you in all the 15 years you have reigned. I wish you long life and long reign on Passione.”

His hand took Giorno’s and he kneels once more and kisses the back of his hand, before finally stepping into the portal.

It closed right away, and Capo Gallo is not in this world anymore. What’s left is Mista, him, and Crow. That is the first time Giorno sent another person other than himself to the other universe using Crow. He had been reluctant, but the man deserves his wish to be granted.

“How did you know?” Mista breaks the silence, and Giorno gave him his attention, “How did you know it’ll make you disappear after six hours?”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course Mista already knows, he only wants to hear Giorno says it. To make Giorno hear himself being ridiculous and foolish.

Though, Giorno already knew that.

++++ Eight Years Ago ++++

The room is dark when Giorno opened his eyes. Mista must’ve turned them off, clean him up and dress him in his most comfortable silk pajamas. Yesterday was stressful, enough to make Giorno destroy half of his precious rose garden. The chill brushed against his face must’ve been a sign that it’s way past midnight and almost dawn. However, his body doesn’t suffer the same chill. He’s tucked under a thick comforter at the comfort of his own room.

Another heat source radiates from his back. Warm and comfortable as a pair of arms put him in place.

Giorno doesn’t move despite already awake. He lets himself enjoy the comfort for another few minutes until he’s too awake to stay in bed.

Carefully, he peels away the arms in his waist and stretches his back. There are a few sore spots on his neck, chest and another different sore on his lower half. The body beside him moves, rolling away from him and tuck himself into the comforter. Scratched back faced Giorno, and he slips off from his king-sized bed and covers the body with the blanket.

Winter is coming close, the dusk is getting colder. He takes his faux fur night coat and turns on the heater.

He opens the window and whistle. After a few seconds, a black silhouette came from the moon, flapping its wings and landed on Giorno’s arms.

“You’re wet...” Giorno says fondly, petting its black little head that leans towards his fingers and purr. “Where did you go, Crow? Have a good little adventure?”

Crow is a bird, of course, he never answers, but he takes comfort in talking to him, and his blue eyes that always look at him always felt like Crow is listening. Giorno never knows where Crow goes whenever he did, sometimes he stays, but often he flew away. Even so, Crow always comes whenever Giorno calls.

“Giorno?” Croaks a voice from the bed. Must’ve been awoken by the chill from the open window, Giorno almost feels guilty if not from the bad hickey he left on Giorno’s skin.

After closing the window, he sits on the side of the bed, petting the brunette head that peeks at the edge of the comforter.

“Go back to sleep, Guido. It’s still dark.”

Mista only groans in reply. Eyes crack open and immediately focused on the crow perched on the night lamp by the table.

“Thank you for yesterday, I needed that,” Giorno leans down and land a kiss on the root of Mista’s hair.

Then Giorno stands up, but before he can walk away, his arm is held firmly.

“Am I not good enough?” Mista asked out of the blue with a flat tone.

It stuns Giorno for a few seconds. He never thought that that was Mista’s goal all along. It pains him, it hurts him, but it’s also, so lovely. Maybe he has gone twisted.

“You were never his replacement in my eyes, I have too much respect for you.” Mista lets go of his grip, and Giorno catches his hand and holds it tightly. “To me, you’re Guido Mista, my Consiligier, my associate, my companion, and my sweetest friend.” Giorno lifts his hand to his face and kisses Mista’s palms affectionately.

When he lets go, Mista says nothing else and hides his face into the pillow. Something is wrong, but Giorno chooses to not comment on it. Crow flew to his shoulder before he closes the door behind him.

His mansion in Pavia is a place for him to kick back and relax. Located on the ground with lots of nature and meadow around. His neighbor is a kilometer away. A perfect house of solitude, nature, and beauty.

He walks down the outside halls that lead towards the garden. Two hundred meters worth of his healthy, vibrant and luscious rose garden burned to the ground and torn to pieces. Even the ground under it cracks.

Giorno walks through the trimmed grass with his bare feet, feeling the cold dew hits his sole.

No one will expect the mafia boss that’s known for his calm and cold demeanor to have a tendency to burn things to the ground and destroy everything he sees when he’s angry. He has a principle that showing manic anger to his subordinates will not create respect, but it will show them his weakness. Thus, he expresses his anger by destroying other living creature such as plants, because he can fix it later and they hold no grudge.

Giorno combs his hair with his hand, and a few strands of dead hair stuck between his fingers.

“Gold Experience Requiem,” the hair glows even brighter in that dark morning and when he lets it go to the ground, then grows a luscious rose plant.

He walks around the destroyed garden, picking up a few rocks, let GER destroy it and change the dust into plants of roses. As he walks, the more ground is covered in new plants, until it seems like nothing ever happened here.

His veins glow gold, his eyes beam with light and Crow slice the nothingness and opened a portal.

Giorno hops in with him, and at the end of the tunnel, is a bright blue sky above an endless sea that glimmers like diamonds. Warmth radiates through his body, and the summer wind blows his chest long golden hair. His feet stand on top of the soft sand, and waves of the sea and foam reach his toes. Crow flew to the sky right away, crowing in delight as he disappears beneath the fluffy clouds.

Suddenly it feels too hot, and it’s such a waste to not feel the fresh wind of the summer sea with his body and takes off his night robe.

Beside him in a fishing boat, perched there and facing towards the beach, means that it had returned.

“Hello?” calls a small boy, and Giorno turns around with the widest smile on his face.

“You’re not from here, can I help you?” Continues the boy with dark raven hair. He’s holding a pile of fishing net that bundled up too big for his body, and eyes sharp as if telling he’s not afraid of Giorno.

And Giorno fell in love all over again.

“I’m Giorno Giovanna, I’m a friend you haven’t met.”

The child scrutinizes him from top to bottom and taking apart his expression and his words until he finally relaxed when he finds no lie or ill will from Giorno.

“Why are you here?” The child asks.

And Giorno smiles, “Because you’re here, Bruno Bucciarati.”

Giorno can’t ask Crow to bring him to a place or a time, he can only bring him to a person.

Even though it’s way back in the past, at a place he’s never been to before, the crow always, without fail, brings him to Bruno Bucciarati.

“How did you know my name?” the child asked, with less cautious this time.

“I’ll tell you everything I know, though you don’t have to believe it. If I may, I only ask of your time.”

To his surprise, Bruno smiles sweetly. Though it’s not the first time Giorno sees the child version of Bruno, that smile always gives him joy from the depths of his heart.

“You’re a lonely man, aren’t you Giorno Giovanna?”

It was also not the first time Giorno heard that from Bucciarati.

“Yes, very much,” He finds himself agreeing.

Bruno took his hand with his little fingers, “You look very kind, you shouldn’t look so sad. I’ll accompany you.”

“Mhm, thank you Bucciarati.”

Then Giorno spends his share of time in that universe walking along the beach, making sandcastles, and fishing while hearing about Bucciarati’s day. Passing his six hours worth of time in the calming beach and the very sweet child version of the man he loves.

Whatever version, whatever age, always, he always loves Bucciarati.

++++ 10 Years ago ++++

He walks down the familiar mansion, Passione’s base. He hides what he knows is his office. He hides in the dark, waiting for the different Boss of Passione to walk in on him there. Ever since he arrived at the mansion, he knows the Don is not Giorno, but whoever the Don is, they’ve defeated Diavollo and Bucciarati must’ve died.

Faint steps gradually begin to sound clearer, then it stops right in front of the door.

“Do not disturb me until Saturday, if anything happens, address them to consigliere Abbacchio.”

“Yes, Don Bucciarati.”

Giorno’s heart jumps out of his ribcage at the name, he’s frozen in his spot. He had thought Crow did not bring him to Bucciarati, but he’s here.

Then the door opens, a slither of light enters the room before finally disappearing again from a silhouette of none other than Bruno Bucciarati that enters the room. Giorno is not prepared for this. For once he does not have any plan. When Bucciarati turns the light on, his eyes immediately darted at the corner of the room, right beside the desk, where Giorno is.

Both of them were left speechless at each other’s sight. But Giorno was taken back by the look of Bucciarati’s face. His hair is the same length, as tidy and straight as ever, with the same clips on his hair. He doesn’t know how long this universe is after they defeat Diavolo, but Bucciarati looks older, tired.

There are dark circles under his blown open blue irises. His body is skinnier than he remembered, not even the Gucci suit and fur coat can hide it.

“Who are you?” Bucciarati scorns, “Sticky Fingers Requiem.” The stand summoned. It’s Sticky Fingers is different but so much more. It has a face now, and the zipper on his neck is the arrow.

“Explain yourself!” Bucciarati growls with anger ignited in his eyes, gritting his teeth and taking a stance to fight. “How dare you use his body!”

Then Bucciarati charged.

“Wait, Bruno!”

“Don’t you dare call me by that name!”

“Gold Experience Requiem!”

Giorno summons, but he doesn’t attack. His back pressed against the wall, and Sticky Fingers’ fist almost meeting GER’s face, while Bruno’s fist landed right on the wall beside Giorno’s face. Bruno’s perplexed expression is only a finger away from his, gasping in breath as his blue eyes darts towards his GER. Watching particularly close at the arrow on GER’s head, the one on Sticky Finger Requiem’s chest.

Slowly, Bucciarati takes a step back, and Giorno almost doesn’t want him too. His eyes blown wide, alternating quickly between him, the stands and him again.

“Who... Who are you?” Bucciarati asked breathlessly, eyes in disbelieve and face so broken that it pains Giorno to see.

“I’m Giorno, Giorno Giovanna.”

“Impossible. That’s impossible... Giorno Giovanna died last year.”

“Is that what happened in this universe?” Giorno chuckled bitterly. He’s almost glad to hear he died because Bucciarati lived, but seeing how horrible his face is, and how pained he looks at Giorno, he doesn’t know anymore.

“This universe? Does that mean you’re not from here?”

“No, I’m from a universe where you died.”

They let silence fills in the gap, their stands disappearing and letting their mind digest the new information. As the silence continues, Giorno is torturing himself as he keeps his eyes on Bucciarati face that goes from stoic, confusion, then finally breaks. His heart pulsed in pain seeing Bucciarati torn apart in front of him.

Bucciarati steps forward, with palms, carefully landed between his face while Bucciarati’s ducked and stare on the floor. Tears landed on the red carpet below, and the room is so silent that Giorno can hear every drop lands.

At 25, which means he’s five years older than this world’s Bucciarati, Giorno is a few centimeters taller than Bucciarati, but Giorno shrinks under the man’s cage.

Giorno cradles his jaw and tips it up.

It tears his chest apart to see Bucciarati’s despair shown clearly in his face. For a moment, Giorno can see himself in this Bucciarati, they’re both lost each other, still mourning over each other, but the resolve in Bucciarati’s eyes is different than Giorno’s.

Giorno can’t let go, while Bucciarati is about to.

“How could you... How could you do this to me...” Bucciarati cries in woe, “Why are you doing this to me? To yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that came to mind, “I tried at first, but I can’t.” his hand carefully holds onto Bucciarati’s face, wiping the tears with his thumbs.

“I remember the first year after you died,” Giorno continues, smiling pitifully at himself, “I had dark circles under my eyes too. I rarely eat so I became skinnier. I can’t sleep at night, so I rarely do. When I dream of you, I don’t want to wake up.”

Bucciarati’s face looks like he snapped into a realization, “How long since I had died in your universe?”

Sighing, Giorno pressed his lips into a thin smile, “Five long agonizing years.”

Bucciarati takes a deep breath, and finally, his hand narrows down to his neck and cradles Giorno’s head gently as fingertips move slowly against his scalp.

The first touch of their face was their temples as Bucciarati inhaled deeply, then their nose, slowly then to their lips as if Bucciarati is being careful and uncertain. But once they’re kissing, it only takes a few seconds before any chaste and pure feelings turn into hunger.

Their hands no longer holding each other’s faces gently, now they roam on each other’s body, relieving their longing. A knee snugly placed between his crotch, rubbing sensually as a pair of hands finally takes him away from the wall. He lets Bucciarati lifts him up and put him on the top of the mahogany office table in a loud thud.

Bucciarati hastily takes his coat off, his tie, and his suit, while Giorno who lies on the table does the exact same thing. Burning sensation crawls on the skin where Buccialati’s wanting eyes intensely focused. Giorno sits up when he’s done undressing his top ahead. Black hair messily tossed over the head of the chair as Giorno pinned Buccialati there, sitting on top of his lap.

Giorno kisses him down, from the lips, down to the dip of his collar bone, leaving a wet trail. His heart beats fondly every time he hears Bucciarati sighs, moans, and whimper at his touches. A pair of hand-worked on his braided hair and soon his hair is down. Bucciarati leans forward, tipping Giorno back, but he never fell as Bucciarati’s hand is securely on Giorno’s waist, and another hand on the back of his head.

They clung to one another.

There’s a smile formed against Giorno’s lips as Bucciarati plays with his hair.

“I love your hair, I dreamt of playing with it under the sun where it shines the best, I thought it’ll always remain a dream,” Bucciarati whispered against his lips, his warm breath against Giorno’s face is everything he had ever dreamt of.

“I love you, Giorno,” He kisses the strands of his golden hair, and lifts him up easily despite being heavier and broader.

Bucciarati kicked something under the table, and one of the walls in the room opens, revealing a big and luxurious bedroom. In a few quick steps, Giorno landed on top of the soft bed with a light bounce.

Before Giorno can take the rest of his pants off, the other’s hand is already there, eagerly helping himself out as he kisses him dirty and messily. There’s want in Bucciarati’s movement, pleasure in his grunts and moans, desire in his eyes.

Most of all, there’s pain there, which Giorno also feels, but that’s okay. Tonight, for the 6 hours worth of time Giorno has in this world, he’ll finally able to share the pain with someone that understands.

“I love you too, Bruno,” His voice croaks, it’s the first time in forever he says that out loud. Kisses caught his tears before they fall.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Do you always do this when you met me?” Bucciarati runs his hand up and down Giorno’s naked thigh. The gesture is appreciated with delighted hums because he’s too exhausted mentally and physically to react any more than that.

“I don’t,” Giorno trails the lines of Bucciarati’s lean muscles when the man moves on top of him. “Sometimes I met the child you, and when I do, it’s always by the beach, you’re about to fish or just came back, and you’ll tell me about your dad, sometimes your mom, depends on what that world’s you choose.”

“How often do you do this?” Suddenly the comfortable trance breaks when Bucciarati asked in concern.

“I’ve lost count,” he admits.

There’s a serious expression flashed across his partner’s face, open and shown and not even his messy tossed around hair can hide it. But just like Giorno, whatever it is that stopped them from enjoying themselves are brushed aside. They have no time to do anything else.

Bucciarati plays with his hair instead, despite grabbing it roughly just a few moments ago. They’re covered in sweat and other bodily fluids, both eager to continue, but they’re catching their breaths.

Giorno glances at the clock by the nightstand. It’s been roughly five hours and thirty minutes since he’s been here. He wonders what will happen when he stays more than six hours at a place where he already died. Maybe he can stay...

“What is the most memorable one?” Bucciarati asked, “You must have a favorite.”

“My favorite... this has got to be the one so far,” His fingers slither on the firm shoulders of the man on top of him, rubbing slightly at the hickeys he left there.

“I truly am lucky. I’m sorry that I died in this world, but this is the first time I’ve ever met the Bruno that also mourn over a loss, the same as me. It’s also rare to find the you that already loves me back, the chance of finding this universe amongst the infinite numbers of parallel universes must’ve been impossibly slim, but here I am.... but, as the most memorable one is different.”

Bucciarati smiles, seems to be genuinely intrigued. It’s a long story, and Giorno would rather go back what they were doing. But the look on the man’s face is so peaceful with innocent curiosity that makes Giorno warm inside out.

So he decides to tell.

“The most memorable one will be a world where there were no stands. We’re just regular people, and to my surprise, I have two loving dads. That was the only time I spent my time in another universe with my dad, and not you.”

“Sounds nice.”

“And we were getting married in that universe.”

Then Bucciarati stops his hand, looking away with a fond but gloomy smile.

“That sounds nice.”

Giorno almost feels guilty for saying that, to make the man he loves wear such a pained expression. A pair of long lean legs straddle between his waist and Bucciarati sits right below his crotch, teasingly moving his hips. Giorno is pulled by the hand to sit up, and Bucciarati leads those hand to his waist.

“How long are you staying here? From your look at the clock, it’s not much left, huh?” Bucciarati says, seems unfazed even so, and link his hand behind Giorno’s neck.

“No, it’s not.”

Bucciarati gently touches his face with the back of his hand, then continue to play with his long hair.

“This is painful, Giorno. You shouldn’t do this to yourself. You’re not my Giorno. I’m not your Bruno. Nothing you do will ever change that. This is just a cruel peek at heaven. Like dangling a carrot we’ll never have.”

As much as it hurts, Giorno agreed, he had thought the same thing since he made a first trip to the other parallel universes.

Giorno had thought so, but his longing wins every time. That’s why he’s here. Despite so, Giorno finds himself smiling as he bumps his temple against Bucciarati’s.

“If you have this power, you wouldn’t have done the same?”

“I would.” Bucciarati replied without hesitation, “And I would hate myself for it every time. Only after I enjoyed it to the fullest, and trap myself in a sweet vicious cycle.”

Then he lets himself be pinned down as Bucciarati helps himself to kiss him however he wants, wherever he wants.

They’re abruptly stopped when Giorno’s existence starts to blur, see-through. Giorno can see the tangled sheet through his body.

He wetly chuckled, he admits defeat to the universe, “So, you still choose me...”

“What’s happening?” Bucciarati lets go immediately, eyes blown wide and breath shortens. He touched Giorno’s face, and still feel it there, but only so faintly.

“The universe is trying to fix itself like I’m a bacteria and the immune system is trying to eradicate me since I don’t belong in this universe.”

Giorno doesn’t know what will happen if he stays longer, maybe he’ll disappear. Why does the thought of that doesn’t give him fear?

He’s being pulled up roughly off the bed, “Go back,” Bucciarati commanded.

“Hurry!” he shouts when Giorno doesn’t have it in him to move, “You’re getting more and more see-through!”

Giorno shoots forward and wrap his man in a tight embrace and gave him a hard longing kiss.

“I can’t, I don’t want to, I-”

Bucciarati lands a loud slap across his face, “Passione needs you! I died for you! Don’t let my death be in vain!” Bucciarati screams, “I’ve lost you in front of me once, and I’ll be damned if I see it again.”

Giorno is in trance, but he’s right, Bucciarati is right. He’s pulled into a hug and kisses along his shoulder.

“I love you, Giorno. If I had died in your universe, it must be because I believe in you. Remember our golden dream.”

Crow cries from the window, breaking their trance, pecking the glass window resiliently. The portal is already opened, maybe Crow knew it was time.

Giorno opens the window, only dressed in his coat. He gave one last chaste kiss to Bucciarati and a few painful words whispered against his lips, “Forget me.”

Before Giorno says he can’t, he jumps off the window, and into the portal.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“You look happy today, have a nice ‘trip’?” Trish said as she sits beside him on the dining table of Giorno’s hotel room. They’re at one of the 5-star hotels in Sardegna, to visit Abbachio’s and Trish’s mom’s grave.

Trish is one of three people that know about the crow. The other two is Mista and Polnareff, who’s still on a business trip, that’s why they can’t join them for this little dinner on Giorno’s hotel room. She’s also the only one that doesn’t judge.

“I did.” And that’s everything he’s going to tell Trish, anything else would be... not dinner friendly.

“You can come with me if you’d like, I’ll take you to where your mom is,” Giorno said, feeling generous.

Though his best friend doesn’t look as happy as he expected.

“I love my mother, Giorno, but my mother died.”

Giorno nods understandingly, just because Trish doesn’t judge, doesn’t mean she agrees, Giorno can respect that.

He takes a bottle of wine and going to pour it on Trish’s glass, but her hand covered the top.

“I’m pregnant.”

Blinking owlishly, Giorno’s jaw hits the floor, assessing Trish’s expression. She looked glowingly happy.

“Congratulations! Are you taking care of it yourself? Is the father involved?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m about to tell you. I’m not going back to Rome, I’m staying here. I’m going to marry him and live here from now on.”

“I see, is he a good person?”

Trish flashes her prettiest smile, “He’s the best, the kindest, most patient man I knew.”

She rubs her still flat belly, still having that content smile.

“My mother raised me the best she could, she was amazing, and for her, I’ll try to be a good mom too. I’ll live my life happily, choosing a good man, having a happy family. I think, doing this for them is the best choice for us. To live in their memory and move on, because the world we live in, is all we get. This is it.”

She looks up from her belly to Giorno’s discontent eyes, “Don’t you think so?”

Giorno looks away, and smile emptily.

++++ 18 years ago ++++

Giorno knows he needs to stop, but his curiosity always wins. Ever since he discovered Crow’s power mixed with his can tears a portal to another universe, Giorno kept experimenting.

At first, he couldn’t believe his eyes, to see Bucciarati again. Then he did it again, and again, and again. Getting more and more interaction with the Bucciaratis that he met. Each time, more intoxicating as before.

It felt as if Bucciarati never died, there are an endless amount of Bucciarati from the infinite number of parallel universes at his disposal. The grieving him abuses this power of the crow as soon as he can master it.

And he never looks back ever since.

He’s been using this power for a year, and he already lost count how many times he had used it already. Whenever Giorno dreams of him, remembered him, or misses him too much that it hurts, he uses the crow. Though sometimes he can’t always take Bucciarati however he liked, sometimes Bucciarati is too young, sometimes too old, sometimes married, sometimes doesn’t know him at all and Giorno loves every Bucciarati the universes gave to him.

Sometimes when he’s lucky, he met Bucciarati that knows him, that loves him, and kisses him when they see each other, and sometimes more.

Now, he’s seeing if this is one of his lucky scenes.

He’s in a residential area of Rome for the middle to the upper class. Usually, if he keeps walking and follows his gut, he’ll stumble upon him.

And he does.

Yet, Giorno’s first instinct is to hide in the alley right across where Bucciarati waits. He’s not wearing his usual white suit. He’s leaning against the brick wall, wearing a simple shirt and blue jeans under a white zipped up hoodie. There’s some kind of phone in his hand, and his fingers making a sliding movement. He looks radiant under the bright day sun. His black hair shines like silk, his skin healthy ivory color.

One more thing that really differs this universe from the rest, is that he can’t sense Bucciarati’s stand energy.

He seems to be waiting for someone, curiosity takes a better of him yet again, and Giorno waits along.

Maybe he doesn’t get to have this Bucciarati, but his gut tells him to wait and see.

His gut was right, because who came out of the house Bucciarati waited on, is Giorno of this universe. Again, even he doesn’t feel any stand energy from his other self. Maybe this is a world without stands, this will be the first time.

“Ready to go?” Says the other Giorno, smiling like a ray of ray sunshine, and Bucciarati mirrors the same smile.

Giorno never saw him that way before. For a few seconds, they see each other so lovingly, Giorno also felt that.

“Don’t go out too late now boys!” Another man came out of the house, just by the gates to see the couple off.

It’s a tall man Giorno had never seen before. He has a very big build and way taller than Giorno.

“We won’t dad.”

Dad?

This is a different person from the picture Giorno has in his wallet.

“Alright, be on time for dinner! Your papa is coming for the special occasion too.”

“Then we really should celebrate this properly,” Bucciarati cheered, he and other Giorno suddenly look excited.

“We’ll bring back some wine!”

The other Giorno took Bucciarati’s hand and walk away. Again with that dreamy look on their face. Giorno barely hiding anymore, and more focused on them, just seeing their happiness, just to feel that even more.

There a twinge in his chest, he wanted to ignore it as best he can, and the best way he can do that is getting out of this universe.

Just as he was about to whistle for the crow, his eyes meet the man that’s supposed to be his dad. For a few seconds, he froze under the man’s stare, but his eyes melt into a fond expression and he waved for Giorno to come to him.

Since this is a world without stand, and his ‘dad’ also doesn’t have any stand energy, he crosses the road and approaches.

“Come in, let’s have tea,” Says the man, and they enter the house.

It’s a medium-sized house with a small garden at the front and fairly large kitchen. The decor is different than he imagined though, a lot of painting, a grandfather clock at the end of the hall, just unfamiliar than the Italian decor he used to see.

The man invites him to sit by the dining chair by the wooden oval dining table. The man quickly works up a plate of biscuit and a few sandwiches while a pot of tea is on the stove with two bags of tea in it.

“Please don’t trouble yourself,” Giorno says, uncomfortable at how much the man, who is still a stranger to him despite the circumstances, is serving him.

“It’s no trouble! You’re a bit early for an afternoon tea, but oh well. I have a feeling that you have a lot to tell me. If you don’t, well, I have a lot of question.” The man chirps with a friendly smile on his face.

Soon, plates of biscuits, mini sandwiches, and mini cakes are served on the table. A pot of piping hot tea and two cups follow.

“I hope you don’t mind telling me?” he says meekly, and something about the man’s motherly expression that makes Giorno feels at home.

“I don’t mind, sir...?”

“Jonathan, Jonathan Joestar.”

Giorno knew that name.

“And you must be, Giorno?”

“Yes, I’m Giorno Giovanna.”

“Well, here, you’re Giorno Joestar, and you are my son,” Jonathan pours himself and Giorno tea, “Do you have the birthmark?”

Giorno unbuttons his suit and unbutton two buttons from the top oh his shirt and drag his neckline to the side, showing the star on his shoulder.

“I know you’re my son!” Jonathan exclaimed cheerfully, startling Giorno a bit, “But, I take it you’re not from here?”

“No, do you believe in a parallel universe?”

Jonathan hums, looking down at his tea, “It’s... not a foreign theory to me, a bit um, hard to take... but you’re here, then it must be true.”

“I’m glad you believed me,” Giorno says, “That man that waited outside, the black-haired one, who is he here?”

“Oh, Bruno? He’s your fiance.”

Giorno felt his grip from his tea weaken, there’s a strange feeling bubbling in his stomach, a different feeling than before.

“You came here to give a few wedding invitations for close neighbors. We are all very excited.”

“All?”

“Yes, me, your papa, and your two brothers, they’re all coming home tomorrow to celebrate your engagement.”

“Brothers...” Giorno stoically echoed in disbelieve.

“Yes, look,” Jonathan stands up, taking a photo from one of the walls in the hall and came back with a framed photo filled with five smiling faces.

The only other adult except for Jonathan there is the man from the picture in his wallet, Dio, and his two brothers. All of them are standing in front of the great wall of China, all with a happy smile on their face.

“You’re a surrogate baby from your papa’s DNA, Joseph is a surrogate baby from my DNA, and we adopted Narrancia. You’re the middle child.” Jonathan looks at the photo with a content smile on his face.

Again, there’s a feeling of something unpleasant in his chest again. It bubbles and raises till it reaches his chest and manifested there.

Ah, it’s envy.

“How about your world?” He asked it caught Giorno off guard, “Are you still my baby in your world?”

Just the way he said it, the way his fond eyes look at him, and the way his massive hand is holding his so gently, it breaks something in him.

“You died in my world, long before I met you, way long. And Dio, your husband, he’s an evil man, your nemesis that wanted to destroy your descendants. Bucciarati died. Narrancia died. I never met Joseph. And I... am a mafia boss. My world is not peaceful, unlike yours.”

They paused, and the silence is giving him chills, so he holds the warm cup tight. Soon, another hand is on top of him. Both of Jonathan’s hand is holding his.

“I see, you’ve lost a lot of people in your life, but I hope no matter what the circumstances in your world, you’re loved either way... Giorno,” Jonathan called, and he finally looks up from his tea, to find his dad looking at him with so much compassion swimming in his eyes.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Oh my, seventeen?” Jonathan doesn’t look disappointed, disquieted might be the more accurate term.

“Why a mafia boss, might I ask?”

“The first affection I had ever received is from a Mafia boss. Ever since I was a child, I only remember suffering, my mother left me home alone often, and her boyfriends abuse me, and my peers are just as bad.” The memory was from so long ago, he holds no grudge against the past, because he’s in a better place now, yet it still pinches him when he revives it in words.

“I grew up where drugs, black market, crime, and corruption runs society. I was one of the people living in the dark and knows it works behind the scene,” and Giorno takes part in that crime department for a while, “Even kids od-ed, it’s getting too out of control. Then I learned that crime and corruption can’t be eradicated, but it can be controlled, someone needs to change the game, to not sell to those kids. Most money-hungry mafias doesn’t care who they sell it to, as long as it makes profit. That’s why I take over... It should’ve been Bucciarati.”

It really should. It doesn’t matter who takes over between them, they have the same dream.

“I see,” Jonathan said in a soft voice, “when you were seventeen here, you’re already winning world competitions of classical piano, so I guess your talent and tenacity is the same as always.” Jonathan chuckled.

“You really are my Giorno. My sweet, courageous, and resilient Giorno.” Jonathan cradles his face and caresses him ever so softly. “I hope, when you leave this world, you’ll never look back.”

Giorno blinks, “Why?” Because he likes it here.

“This,” Jonathan held the framed photo, “You might not be able to have this, but happiness takes different shapes. Perhaps the love you receive can no longer come from me, or your papa, but maybe from someone else. Perhaps not this family, but some kind of a family of your own. Perhaps not my love, not Bruno’s love, but still, love all the same. From someone that cares for you, someone that accepts you, someone that holds you dear through everything.

“I hear your story, and I can only imagine your suffering. It pains me as a parent to hear you’ve been treated so poorly. Come here my sweetheart,” Jonathan stood and pulls Giorno along and into his embrace.

Warmth envelopes him, and Giorno quickly clung to his dad. There's soothing rubs on his back, pleasant humming, and a kiss on top of his head.

There’s something blooming in his heart. As if something touched his heart and it finally feels a degree of warmth for the first time. A sweet filling that just too overwhelming.

Giorno tucks his head into Jonathan’s chest, clinging to his back and hugs him tightly as if not wanting to let go. This is the first time since he was left in the dark as a child, that he cried.

“My darling boy, I really do wish you’ll find happiness in your world,” His hand cradles the back of his neck and he kisses him on the temple. “And you will, I believe you will.”

“How can I padre? How can I? He left me here alone, you left me here alone.” Giorno croaks. For once, he’s a mere seventeen-year-old teenager and he can finally act like it, vulnerable.

“We might’ve left, but I believe you’re not alone, my dear Giorno, you just have to see.”

Then they spent more time just hugging each other, talking languidly about each other until it’s dark out. It feels like a happy little bubble, and Giorno really felt like he has a family, a father.

But their bubble burst at someone screaming from outside the house.

“Giorno! Jonathan, please help!” yells the voice.

Both of them hurry to the window facing the street. There, by the side of the road, Bruno is holding the other Giorno, who’s going see-through and flickering out of existence.

“Oh no, Giorno!” cries Jonathan as he hurriedly leaves the room and runs to the other Giorno, leaving him in the house.

Yes, the bubble has burst. Of course, Jonathan will choose his real son from this world. The envy from seeing them quickly turns into bitter acceptance.

It pains him to see Jonathan looks like his world is ending while holding the other Giorno who keeps losing his opacity. Giorno can’t take his son away from him. Even if that Giorno disappears and he replaces him, it’s never going to be the same. Not in this world maybe.

He opens the window from the other side of the house, and whistles to the sky. Crow flew from the dark sky and tears the space in front of him. Giorno looks back, wishing he could say goodbye... but maybe it’s better this way, or he’ll never want to come back.

He jumps into the portal.

++++ 20 Years Ago ++++

It had not hit Giorno yet when he felt how cold Bruno is when he was driving to the Colosseum. He dismissed it even. It had not hit him even when he sees Bucciarati passes onto the heavens with the golden wind. It had not hit him even when they return to the Colosseum after beating Diavolo, trying to ‘cure’ him.

Mista and Trish were devastated when Giorno had tried everything he can, and Bucciarati just doesn’t wake up anymore. They cried, they screamed, they’re in disbelieve, forgetting the one that’s the most heartbroken is Giorno.

As he held Bucciarati’s body in his arms, his mind can’t seem to register what’s wrong. He had healed every little thing. Every little bruise, wound, even down to scars. Bucciarati’s body is back in perfect health, but he did not wake up.

Mista had tried CPR. Trish tried to slap him. Giorno takes his stand’s hand, and pump his heart, but still nothing.

Trish clung to turtle Polnareff and ran while she cried, Mista goes after her.

Leaving Giorno with Bucciarati’s body.

The sun shines above their heads, hitting Bucciarati’s flawless porcelain skin. It shines like an angel as if he’s still alive.

Giorno feels numb. As realization slowly, cruelly hits him, Bucciarati is gone.

There’s a chunk missing in his chest as if something ruthlessly just takes it away.

His shaking arms can only hold this empty shell that is Bucciarati’s body, while the man he loves no longer in there.

Then, weakly, he held him tightly against him. Kissing him on the lips, while his stand also behind him, hugging Bucciarati’s body.

Suddenly, the empty shell glows, then turns into a sleek black crow, and flew to the sky, as if following his soul to the sky above.

“No!” someone screamed, and Giorno is grabbed by the shoulder.

“Giorno, look at me,” his face is held firmly by the jaw, and in front of his eyes is Mista, in tears.

“I know... I know Giorno! But you’re still here. Let him go.” A pair of arms wrap him tightly. Mista buries his head at the crook of his neck and he feels a wet patch growing on his shoulder.

“Let him go.”

And Giorno didn’t.

++++ Present Day ++++

Twenty glorious years he reigned in Passione. Twenty blissful years he had met countless of Bucciaratis. All is done without regret and without thinking twice.

Yet he wonders why he starts to do so, remembering his choices, his memories, and everything else down the deepest hurt he had. Might be because of the decreasing amount of blood in his body. His feet are slightly swaying but his vision is still together, more or less. Makes him feel the memory even clearer.

If he does this, his chance is 50-50, but if he survives, he gets to live in a place where Bucciarati lives. The portal awaits right below his feet, and the sun is already high. The lights witness his slaughter on the feet of Pisa, and their red blood is stark against the bright green grass.

This might be the last time he gets to use Crow. People had known of his power, and there’s going to be more people targetting him. His choice is to get into the portal, takes a chance.

Either him, or the other him.

“I hope, when you leave this world, you’ll never look back.”

Why? Giorno had asked. Why shouldn’t he? He wanted that world. The world filled with love. With his parents. With Bucciarati.

Because here... he feels empty here.

Unlike Trish, who glows with her new family.

He still feels the sorrow of that day twenty years ago. He couldn’t forget.

Unlike that other Bucciarati.

“I love you, Giorno. If I had died in your universe, it must be because I believe in you. Remember our golden dream.”

He wonders when was it that he forgets it, blinded by the sorrow. It was their golden dream, not Giorno alone. He was 15 years old when he died, taking a piece of Giorno with him. He’s was the one showing him the first sliver of trust, believing in him, and loves him.

They promised that one day after they reach their dreams, they’ll be together.

Giorno had been holding onto that unredeemable promise. Thus he stays as that mourning fifteen-year-old boy.

He wanted that happiness. He wanted that love. He wanted that family.

Isn’t that why Crow is here? To let him obtain all of that, to visit those universes, to be there. To know there’s a better world.

“My darling boy, I really do wish you’ll find happiness in your world.”

“But how can I padre? When my happiness is in yours.”

He’s starting to feel dizzy. Why is he remembering all of this? Was he that close to bleeding to death?

“We might’ve left, but I believe you’re not alone, my dear Giorno, you just have to see.”

“Giorno, look at me,” his face is held firmly by the jaw, and in front of his eyes is Mista, in tears.

Mista had looked at him in fear, sorrow, but he realized now it was not because of Bucciarati. It was for Giorno, and most of all, he looks at him so fondly with love.

How long had Mista looks at him like that? He remembered last month. When Mista kisses him for what he thought was their last time. He looks at him like Giorno is his whole world. The hands that clung to him were weak but desperate.

How long had Mista clung to him like that, like how Giorno clung to Bucciarati.

“Giorno!”

He had chills run down his spine hearing the familiar voice and that familiar scold. Slowly turning back, lo and behold, it’s Mista gasping in breath and covered in sweat.

“Use me!” He screams, carefully stepping closer.

“I don’t know how you still so hung up about him, I don’t understand, but use me as you like. That crow can’t bring him back, but I can mend your pain here, if you just let me! If he’s what you need, let... let me be him for you!”

His eyes desperately reach his. Black onyx orbs glisten under the lights.

As if on cue, the crow cries and flaps its wings. He perched on his forearms, and Giorno looks down again to the portal.

“He’s gone from you, Giorno,” Mista called once again, his voice firm and rightfully angry, “Please, don’t be gone from me too.”

Mista’s voice breaks, and somehow, something inside his ribcage broke too. He leans his face to Crow’s body, holding him close while staring at the portal below. He made eye contact with Crow, and he looks at him like he really did. Like he heard everything, like he understands.

Smiling to himself, Giorno swings his arms. Crow extends his wings and flew to the sun, becoming one with the light, then slowly turns into dust.

He’s instantly pulled from behind and caught in a tight embrace. He had laid with this body for years, and his smell, the feature of his body, so familiar and comfortable it feels like home. How could he forget? How could he sees past Mista’s cherishing arm around him.

With a tearful smile, Giorno holds him back. Laying his face on Mista’s shoulder, while holding onto his back.

“You’ll never replace him, Guido,” Giorno whispered, tilting his held back and hold Mista’s face in his palms. Looking at how broke his expression is, but so patient.

Since when did Mista become the adult? Become this mature, beautiful man before him... Giorno has no right to have him, but Mista had given himself. He’s ashamed that he had turned down the honor for twenty years because of his sorrow.

“You’ll never be Bruno Bucciarati, but you’re Guido Mista, and... I'll look at you from now on.”

Mista smiles, grinning from ear to ear. Giorno had forgotten when was the last time he ever sees Mista with such carefree smile.

“There you are,” he says, closing his eyes and Giorno witness his tears fall before he closes his own eyes when Mista lands a kiss for him.

His languid movement, his arms holding him close. Since the first time he did so, they always say ‘I love you’.

Now, Giorno will listen to all of it. To the love this universe has given to him.

#brugioweek #brugioweek2019 #brugio fanfic #brugio #bruno buccerati #giorno giovanna #Kono Giorno giovanna niwa yume ga aru!

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