#yes its my headcanon that narancia is a fan of earth wind and fire

[strikearose]

Wrong place wrong time

Okay, I’ve been obsessed over GioMis for the past few weeks so here’s a silly story with Thief!Giorno, Normaldude!Mista, Cop!Abbacchio and Chef!Buccellati.  You can also read it (clic) on ao3.

Napoli - a wonderful metropolitan city full of life, culture and history in the South West of Italy. A city full of hope and opportunities.

A city where it felt good - so good, to be back.

Guido Mista took a deep breath, completely unbothered by the mass of people rushing in the inside of the airport. Gosh - at least he had made it. He had successfully returned home - well, he had returned to the place he was willing to make his new home. Everything there was so bright, so shiny - upbeat!

The sun was dazing, the delicious aroma of Italy was tickling his nose, he was completely surrounded by pretty faces and dashing outfits. He was a simple man - all he wanted was to pursue a happy and cheerful life: eating pizza napoletana at lunch and going to the Stadio San Paolo when he'd saved enough money to watch a football game.

Bang.

Something suddenly brought him back to reality: someone in a hurry had just bumped into him and a long blond strand of hair whipped him in the face. Guido didn't paid much attention to the man who muttered a quick "Sorry" before resuming his path.

Well - he guessed that it was some kind of sign meaning that he needed to get going. After all, there were many things that needed to be done that day and it was already past noon.

Mista leaned down to grab his suitcase and go to the taxi stand - but he stopped on his track.

What the fuck?

Why was his luggage suddenly so light-weighted?

Panic seized the young dark-haired man as he tried to shake his arm, in vain.

The suitcase didn't make any sound, despite him clearly the small keychain at the effigy of his favorite band that he had attached to the handle. For god sake, that damn thing would make the most annoying tinkling song with every step he'd take - what the hell was happening?

He was just robbed - realization hit him hard as his thick eyebrows frowned. A pickpocket had ruined this marvelous new beginning on the very minute he had set foot in Napoli.

"Where the hell is that son of a...-," he stopped mid-sentence - the guy from earlier, it had to be him.

He hadn't had the time to look at his face, in what direction could he be heading now? What was he wearing again? Hell- all he could remember was the lock of golden hair - there was no split end and any dandruff in there.

And it smelled like fresh lavender.

There was no way he could find him among the crowd of tourists. Mista rummaged through his pockets and let out a sigh of relief when he realized that, at least, his wallet was still there. Feeling hopeless, his black eyes landed the wall clock that now indicated 12:18. before being drawn to a vibrant purple shape.

Adrenaline kicked in as he followed the form of that plum shirt to settle on a short blond braid.

Wait - it wasn't blond but golden blond.

That fucking thief! He could swear it was him.

"HEY YOU!," he roared in panic.

His scream managed to hit the bullseye. Despite the noise of the airport, it seemed to the poor Italian man that every pair of eyes instantly turned in his direction. Everyone was now staring at him with confusion, security guards and thief included. They locked eyes for a brief moment before the robber turned away and resumed his walk, with the utmost serenity.

What the...?

It was him, Guido was now sure of it. And there was no way he could alert the officers about what had just happened, he wouldn't have the time to - the thief had just left the airport entrance, he was going to get away with his stuff! So Mista did what any other football aficionado would have done if they were in his situation: he channeled his best Maradona impression and sprinted in pursuit of his precious belongings.

People were looking at him with puzzled expressions as he run through the crowd but it didn't stop the brown-haired man.

Hell no - he needed to get his bag back.

There was no way he was going to lose the few things he had bother to bring with him to a damn crook on his first day here.

Mista was now frantically running in the Calabria Avenue - the sun was at its' zenith and he was probably sweating like a pig but at least he had managed to reduce the distance between him and the thief. What kind of burglar could wear such flamboyant purple clothes? He had always imagined them entirely dressed in black, with gloves, dark hat and all that jazz. They didn't have the luxury to stand out, and yet, the man he was pursuing was walking at a swift and confident pace - as if he hadn't noticed Mista following him, as if he hadn't been urging him to stop for the last two minutes. But just as the Italian began to wonder whereas he had mistaken him for the real thief, the blond made a sudden turn and disappeared.

"Shit, where did he go?"

Guido was now standing in front of a crossroad - he could either go left, right or straight ahead even if it would take him further in the opposite direction of the city centre.

Well - desperate situations called for drastic remedies.

Eenie, meenie, miney - mo.

Chance was pledging him not to go left and Mista's life had been nothing but bad luck these last few months, so he decided instead to take that direction.

And there he was now, stuck in a narrow alley, facing the back of his nemesis.

The thief no longer seemed to be keen on ignoring his presence - he turned around to look right at his victim. And any profanity that had been dying to come out of Mista's lips instantly vanished before the sight that was in front of him.

He was strikingly... pretty.

He had the most delicate features - deep emerald eyes that were looking at him with curiosity, a straight and elegant nose as well as full (and probably well moisturized) lips.

In one word, with his halo of golden hair, he was the image of innocence itself.

"Is everything alright, sir?" - of course, his nemesis was the one who ended up breaking the silence. How dared he feign candidness so well?

Mista tore himself away from the contemplation of the purple jacket that had to be tailor-made to look at the suitcase laying on the stranger's feet.

"That's mine!," Guido said as he vigorously grabbed his precious belonging.

"I beg your pardon?"

Mista shot a furious look at the thief and shook the chain that was attached to the handle of his case.

It twinkled.

He was right about it: that guy was a fucking thief.

"See that ? That's an official Sex Pistol key ring. I bought it years ago on Ebay - it's a very limited edition."

The pretty con artist arched a perfectly manicured brow.

"You stole my stuff, you truffatore!"

Anger filled him more and more as he watched the blond man remained impassible. He didn't seem the least concerned by what was happening.

"I hadn't noticed, there must be an explanation." The thief paused for a moment and his jade eyes suddenly lit up. "Oh, weren't you at the airport earlier?"

Guido frowned, his hands clenching firmly his suitcase.

"Yeah - but don't you try to fool...-," the younger-looking man cut him off.

"I was there too. What flight were you on?"

What the hell was that question?

"I was in Roma but...-"

"L'Aeroporto di Roma–Fiumicino," the thief softly nodded his head, as if it made perfect sense. "I was there too, we were on the same flight then. The customs must have mixed up our bags. Well - they do look similar, don't you think?"

Mista carefully inspected the two suitcases - they were black and quite worn out. The only difference was the key chain and despite of that detail, they did look exactly identical to each other... As well as to the majority of those in Italy: it was the most common model of travel bags.

The frown on his face grew even more pronounced as he eyed the blond man standing before him.

Well - if he was a crook, he certainly didn't look the part.

He was way too elegant and good-looking to go through people's pockets for a living.

And his explanation somehow made perfect sense.

Guido finally let out a sigh and the man smiled courtly at him.

"I apologize deeply for the inconvenience, sir. May I now get my belongings back?," he asked Mista.

"Yeah, sure..."

Guido was now starting to secondhand embarrassment Shit - he had just chased after him like a madman for no reason since the guy hadn't done anything wrong.

Gosh - why did he always have to be so reckless.

"Uhh," the poor citizen cleared his throat after receiving his bag. "You haven't touch anything in there, right?"

His voice sounded hesitant and Mista cursed himself a second time. He must looked like such a nutcase.

"Yeah, I swear I..-"

A very familiar music suddenly cut him off and they both frowned.

Boogie Wonderland.

It was the stupid ringtone Narancia had set on his phone.

And it wasn't coming from his back-pocket, where he was sure he had placed it.

Figlio di putanna.

Caught red-handed, the thief (whose ears had turned bright crimson) obediently took out the Iphone of his inside pocket to hand it to its' owner.

"What is happening here?"

They both turned in direction of the new voice.

It was the airport's security service.

Thanks god - things were finally working in Mista’s favor.

"That guy stole my bag and my phone," the brown-haired man pointed to the thief who had recovered his perfect composure. How on hell was he able to do that?

"Police is on their way. We call them as soon as we saw you rushing out the airport. We thought you were some sort of dangerous lunatic."

The two guards then smirked when they saw who the felon was:

"Serves you right for picking on an olympic runner!"

**

13:45. Mista clenched his teeth when he saw the time on his phone. They've been waiting in the police station for more than an hour now.

And it was his first day in Napoli.

Gosh - why the hell did he have to be here? They've caught the thief, they knew what had happened - and it wasn't as if the guy would magically disappear in the blink on an eye. He had things - so many things - to do today and instead he had to be here. Stuck with the company of a pickpocket that looked too comfortable in such a situation. In the fucking police precinct.

He glared at the blond man sitting next to him who was reading an old Vogue edition.

The thief briefly raised his head and shot him a curious look.

"Is everything alright?", he still had that innocuous tone.

Mista stared at him with mild anger.

"Do you know for how long we've been sitting here? A fucking hour! Did they forget about us?"

The blond shrugged and turned a page:

"Well, this kind of thing always takes time. We have to be patient."

"How can you be so calm?," Guido exclaimed. "Wait, it's not your first time here, right? You're some sort of a professional pickpocket or something like that."

The gorgeous golden-haired man smiled and Mista frowned - it wasn't a compliment.

They were interrupted by the arrival of a police officier - thanks god! The man who sat on the opposite side of the table had some sort of washed-out green hair and Mista couldn't help but wonder if he truly didn't have a chin. But what really mattered was that out of the three of them, the thief still seemed to be the more relaxed.

"So, um," the policeman began in a weak voice. "You're here because of an attempted robbery near the Airport, is that correct?"

They both nodded in silence.

"I need your names to complete the report," he looked at Mista. "So, you are Mr...-"

"Mista. M-i-s-ta. And first name's Guido."

The constable carefully tipped it into the computer.

"And you are...?"

"Haruno Shiobana."

Mista looked at the thief in surprise, Haruno? What the hell - that guy didn't look Asian at all.

"You're.. a foreigner?," the policeman asked, puzzled.

"My family is from Japan. But my name might be difficult to understand, here's my id card for reference."

"Thank you."

They waited until the officer stopped tipping.

"You don't...," he was frowning. "...really look like your picture..."

'Haruno Shiobana' didn't seem the least affected by how dubious the policeman was.

"It was taken before I started dying my hair. Look." he placed his hands around his face to hide the blond strands.

Guido took this opportunity to take a closer look at the thief. There was no sign of dark roots so this guy was either lying about not being a natural blond, or he had a really skilled hairstylist.

"Oh, I can see it now!," 'Haruno' was granted his card back and Mista rolled his eyes.

Whatever - he simply wanted to get the hell out of here as fast as possible.

The officer cleared his throat and began his questioning:

"So... Do you often target tourists, Mr. Mista?"

...

What the fuck?

Guido opened his mouth wide. He didn't miss the smirk that the thief managed to conceal a few seconds later.

"How often do I what?," he shook his head in exasperation. "Hey! I'm the victim here. He is the thief, not me! I've done nothing wrong!"

Haruno snorted.

The officer looked at Shiobana and then at him.

His eyes lingered on the blond's immaculate tailor-made suit. Then on his leather shoes. And finally on the pretty face that was displaying nothing but a disconcerting serenity.

Then, he looked at him up and down - from his red beanie to that old vintage rock band sweater. Mista knew how nervous he must have looked in that moment but well - everybody would be in such a situation, right? Being trapped in a police station wasn't pleasant.

Especially after the last months he'd spent.

In the end he couldn't really blame the officer: he was sweating like a pig while Haruno's skin was simply glowing.

"I can't believe it - Giorno fucking Giovanna!"

The three pairs of eyes turned to the door where another policeman was now standing.

**

Mista quickly unlocked his phone (one-two-three-five-six-seven) to check the time while the two policemen were arguing - it was now 14:10. He didn't notice how Haruno (or 'Giovanna', or whatever his real name was) had peaked over his shoulder with curiosity.

"He said his name was Shiobana.", the first officer was trying to push back the newcomer who had already settled on the desk.

"He's a pathological liar. You can't believe anything he says. Let me take care of that."

The two men were as different as chalk and cheese. The new officer was exuding confidence and had that whole 'quit your bullshit' demeanor.

"But Prosciutto put me in charge of the case!"

"Then go make him a cappuccino or something." The grey-haired man rolled his eyes and took his cap off to place it on the desk. "I'll deal with Giovanna."

"You can't stole my case like that!"

Mista shot a quick look at Giovanna who shrugged in return.

"Inspector Abbacchio has never seemed to quite fond of me," he quietly told Mista for sole explanation.

Their discussion was cut short by the tearful departure of the green-haired policeman. The new detective was already reading the report.

Well, at least, Mista hoped that things would be over soon.

"So...", Abbacchio glared at the thief. "You had to pick on the first clueless tourist you could find, huh?"

Mista almost protested, feeling hurt. He wasn't a stupid tourist - he was even supposed to settle in Napoli on that very day.

Unfortunately for him, the inspector had a keen sense of perception: "You have something to say about that?"

He quickly shook his head and the 'questioning' continued.

"I can't believe you finally get caught right in the act - I wish I could have been there."

Giorno Giovanna didn't bother to answer - his arms were folded over his chest, he was looking calmly at the policeman. But from where he was, Mista noticed the fact that he was slowly taping the ground with his left foot.

Seems like they were both nervous now.

"Well, I'm waiting?"

Mista suddenly stopped daydreaming and raised his head as he realized that the officer was talking to him. He screeched his cheek: "Sorry, what were you saying?"

The policeman rolled his eyes in annoyance but still repeated:

"You want to press charges, right? I'll get the papers."

"Hmm yeah, I guess?"

Abbacchio stopped on his track and both he and Giorno turned to look at Mista as he had grown a second head.

"'You guess'?", his eyes were shining with sarcasm. "I'm sorry, you're not sure you want to?"

"No!", Mista almost began to stutter. "I mean, of course I do. But do I have to do it now? I've been there for almost two hours already, and I really need to go!"

He had arrived in Napoli at noon and he's been trapped in the police station ever since. There was no way he was going to wait here for another two hours - not when he still didn't know for sure if he was going to have a roof under his head for the night.

The policeman's jaw tightened. And Mista realized that Giorno hadn't taken his eyes off him for a while now.

Gosh - he wouldn't have complained about the attention in another situation, but it was putting some pressure on him.

"You have better things to do than getting the felon who fucking robbed you in the airport arrested?"

Inspector Abbacchio had always taken great pride of his gut feeling - he knew for a fact that Holy Giovanna was nothing but trouble. And right now, he definitely knew that there was something wrong too with the dark-haired young man.

"Well..," stammered Guido. "Not when you put in that way but..."

The policeman cut him off:

"You'll have plenty of time to go for a walk and take pictures later. I guarantee you that Giovanna won't kindly agree to come back here tomorrow. "

Mista shot a glance at the thief who almost looked offended.

"Can't you keep him here tonight?," he tried his best to ignore the daggers he received from the two others. "And I'm not a dumb tourist!"

Mista immediately regretted what had just come out of his mouth.

"What are you, then?" - it was Giorno's voice. Fuck him.

Guido didn't know if the latter was really invested in the discussion or if he was just being used as a mere tool of diversion.

"Hey!, you don't get to ask me questions!"

"You're right, shut up," the Inspector glared at Giovanna. "But that's what I'm wondering too."

And that was it - his stupid loudmouth had once again gotten him into trouble.

"I live here."

Abbacchio was quick to retort:

"No, you're not. I don't know you."

"Well - I'm living here starting today. This is why I have to hurry to see if I can still crash at my friend's for the night. "

Guido cringed as he realized that he had probably over-shared but the policeman wasn't even listening to him anymore.

"You're moving in today - and all you bring with you is a suitcase?"

Abbacchio wasn't glaring at the thief anymore, he was glaring at him.

He seemed to had caught Giorno's curiosity too as he was also staring at Guido, eyebrows frowned.

Mista now knew for a fact that he was fucked.

"Open it."

**

Giorno Giovanna was once again the one who ended up breaking the silence - of course it had to be him. His voice was as calm as usual, it was as if he didn't know that everything that had happened up to that point was entirely his damn fault.

"I swear that I didn't know what was in there, Inspector."

Guido wanted to shot him a venomous glance but failed once he realized how intense Giorno's stare was on him.

Gosh - he almost blushed when he met those deep emerald eyes. What the hell? That guy was a criminal.

"Why do you have a gun with you? And why the fuck didn't the customs arrest you?"

The three of them had turned pale at the sight of the ancient pistol.

"Well... It's not really a gun," he felt obliged to justify himself. "It's more of an old family memento, you know?"

His argument didn't seem to win over his audience.

"I'm not even sure if it works for real. My bisnnono told my padre that he got it from his zio but we're kind of estranged from them now. But well, I guess it's still a very valuable family possession?"

Abbacchio was still glaring at him so he quickly added:

"And I have a permit for it. It's in the bag. I mean - that's where I put it this morning. But then this guy..."

He pointed at Giorno but stopped mid-track when he realized that the latter was smiling at him. What the hell was that for?

"I mean...," he tried his best to ignore his quickening pulse rate - what the hell? no matter how dazzling and cute that smile was he was still a con artist for fucks' sake - and continued. "Never mind, I'll go fetch it."

The policeman flinched but remembered that he had safely put the gun inside a drawer as soon as it was taken out the bag.

"Here, see?"

He didn't bother to look at the paper the brown-haired man was handing him and snatched it out of his hands to bury it in the same drawer as the gun.

"I'm still not giving it back to you today."

Mista nodded - well, that worked just fine for him.

At least he was sure that he wouldn't get arrested for possession of a prohibited weapon as soon as he'd get the hell out of this place.

"I'll see by myself if what you're saying is true," the Inspector was scowling at him with suspicion. If it was up to him, there was no doubt that he would've thrown them both in a cell long ago. "And I'll do a background check. Where do you come from?"

"Roma," Giorno stated matter-of-factly.

Why the hell did he have to butt in? They were not discussing his case, yet.

Abbacchio raised an eyebrow at that.

"And where precisely?"

Giorno shrugged and crossed his legs, the policeman took out his notebook and Guido grew even paler.

There it was.

"Rebibbia."

The two men immediately raised their heads and looked at him, eyes wide open.

"You were in jail?"

**

Guido Mista was a simple man. He liked to go out, listen to music and mess around with his friends.

But his life wasn't simple - he was a constant victim of bad luck.

For instance, if he hadn't met this Giovanna - if the thief had chosen another victim at the airport, then he wouldn't be here now, forced to explain what had went wrong in his life to complete strangers.

It seemed to him that he was always in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

That night, he had simply wanted to buy a bottle of Martini and had taken the wrong shortcut - he had instead got mixed up in a sorrowful event. Four assholes were assaulting a girl - all Roma must had heard her screams of terror, but Guido was the only one who had somehow managed to approach the crime scene. He didn't know any of them - and although he liked to fight from time to time, he was clearly no match for them. What he had intended to do was to call the Police but he hadn't been discreet enough. The abusers had then tried to silence him and he had ended up smashing his bottle onto their heads. It was thanks to the cutting glass of his Martini bottle that he was still alive and that the attackers and the victim had ended up in the hospital.

But one of them must have been somewhat relevant because Guido was the one who had been sentenced to four years of prison for assault. He had been released after only two months spent in jail when the victim had finally gathered enough courage the testify.

Mista had tried to be a good person in a rotten city. And it had not worked out for him.

That was why he had such high hopes and dreams for Napoli - the city where he had innocently spent the best vacations of his childhood.

But it was his first day here and he was already in trouble.

Guido scratched his cheek as he basically finished telling the story of his life. Well - he had now over-share for good, that was for sure.

How embarrassing.

The silence that followed his explanation was heavy.

To be fair - it was quite an astonishing story.

The two other men in the room probably didn't know what to answer yet so they remained silent. And skeptic.

Then, Giorno once again decided that it's been dramatic for enough time:

"I believe him."

That dear Giorno - finally someone who understood that he was just always incredibly out of luck. Mista could have almost cried with relief if he hadn't recalled that everything that was happening was because of him.

"How sweet of you Giovanna, but no one asked for your fucking opinion."

The brown-haired young man glared at the Inspector. Why was it so difficult to make him understand that he was the most honest and unlucky citizen?

"Just do your background check on me then. I told you the truth."

"I definitely will," Abbacchio lifted the tip of his pen. "In the mean time... I'll keep your id card as well as your passeport. Don't leave the city for now."

"I just told you that I'm literally moving here today. I don't plan on vanishing into thin air or anything."

"Well, one's never too careful."

Mista was pretty sure that it was meant as a cutting remark for the thief but Giorno remained utterly unbothered. He was playing with his expensive watchband instead.

"Well...," the policeman cleared his throat. "Moving on - let's talk about the case now."

Mista let himself fall back on the chair, hard. He couldn't believe it. Even after everything that had happened, the detective had his head screwed on right.

"I still really need to go. Can't you just..."

"Bullshit," Abbacchio scowled at him. "We could have been done by now if you hadn't boasted about your life. I've listened to your non-sense for over an hour."

"An hour?," Mista turned pale as Giorno reached out his arm to show him the dial of his wristwatch.

15:47.

Holy shit.

Forget about meeting up with Narancia - he needed to ensure he still had a job now.

"Okay," the dark-haired man rose to his feet. "That's enough. I can't miss the job interview on top on everything. I still have rights, no? I really need to go."

Abbacchio's scowl was no longer having any effect on him.

Fuck him.

"You can't - if you go now, Giovanna's going out too."

Giorno was looking at him with interest.

Well - fuck him too.

"I don't care - I'm dropping the charges, okay? It was a misunderstanding 'cause we have the same suitcase." The look of surprise on Giorno's face was for once genuine. "And if you care that much about the tourists' safety.. Just reinforce the damn airport's security. That’s not my problem!"

If one look could kill, Mista would have never had the further opportunity to settle in Napoli. But it seemed that Abbacchio, for once, couldn't think of a clap back.

It wasn't as if he could handcuff him to the desk and force him to sign the complaint. Unfortunately.

The policeman looked in considerable detail at the punk who was already standing up, smoothing the creases of his pants, and the supposed victim, glaring at him.

"A job interview you say? Who could be dumb enough to employ you?"

It was Abbacchio's turn to grow pale.

**

Il Libeccio Ristaurante.

Your traditional family restaurant located in the midst of downtown Napoli. When his friend (and hopefully future roomie) had told him about the opportunity, Mista had hurriedly tried to find out more on the internet. And the Libeccio was the kind of restaurant which only had four or five star reviews.

He had contacted two weeks ago the owner - a welcoming man, who hadn't paid any attention to his police record and had offered him an interview followed by a trial period.

Today at 2pm. So he'd had the time to brief him for dinner-the rush hour.

It was past four o'clock when Mista passed the doorstep of the restaurant, followed by the grumpy policeman who had furiously insisted on escorting him.

Everything was just fucking great.

They were welcomed by a dark-haired man wearing a chef's hat and apron - and fuck, Mista immediately recognized the voice he had spoken to over the phone.

Shit - he wasn't expecting to have to face him so soon.

"Hmm, hi," he bowed his head sheepishly. "I'm Guido, Narancia's friend. I'm sorry I know we were supposed to meet earlier but so many things happened. I...-"

The Inspector behind him grunted and Mista understood that he'd better not start telling the story of his life all over again.

The chef looked at him inquisitively for a moment before addressing the policeman:

"I wasn't expecting to see you this afternoon, Leone. How did you meet the newest member of my staff?"

A sigh of relief escaped from his lips when he heard the words of his superior. God bless this man.

"It’s a long story," Abbacchio sighed and loosened up the collar of his uniform before approaching Bruno Buccellati. "Why do you keep on hiring people with that much issues?"

"He's a family friend."

The grey-haired man rolled his eyes - there was no way that Ghirga troublesome kid was family, even though he had to admit his shenanigans were as absurd as sometimes hysterical.

The chief turned to Mista and smiled warmly, as if he exactly knew how much of a tyrant Abbacchio was to anyone but him.

"Please don't mind what Leone had said. Napoli can really be impressive so I understand it took you time to find the place. Shall we start by a tour of the kitchen?"

"Yeah! Uhh, I mean, yes please. And thank you so much for disregarding how I was late and stuff."

Bruno nodded and motioned for Mista to follow him, but as they were leaving the entrance, the Inspector grumbled something about "fishy tourist" and the chef turned to face him.

"You seem awfully tensed today tresore mio. I'll help you relax."

Guido tensed as it suddenly came down to him that the reason why the police officer had been so adamant in following him there wasn't for the restaurant in itself.

And that was just an innuendo, wasn't it?

"I'm still on duty you know that."

Abbacchio's voice was gruff, but he still took place at the nearest table.

"I'm not offering you a drink, but some dessert. And why don't you take care of Guido's suitcase? Put it in the locker-room. "

**

Mista couldn't believe how lucky he was.

He was getting on very well with his boss (that man was a saint), the staff was welcoming and no one had commented on his sweater that definitely didn't respect the dress-code. God - they had even offered him the most delicious brushetta he had ever eaten when his stomach had growled in hunger and embarrassment.

Mista was now officially on trial until the end of the week - and it already felt like his future was so much brighter.

Luck seemed to be finally turning in his favor.

Once the tour was over and after he had taken the time to run water over his face and put on the waiter's uniform, the brown haired man was surprised to see that Abbacchio was still in the restaurant, savoring his pannacotta.

The doorbell suddenly rang and Guido almost fainted when he saw who had just appeared.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here, Giovanna?" the policeman roared.

His exact thoughts.

**

18:24.

The waiter sent a hesitant look to the client who was reading the menu with attention. He still couldn't believe what was happening - just why was he here? Why was fate so keen on playing pranks on him? The blond man suddenly closed the card, ready to order. He swept the room with his emerald eyes until they landed on Guido.

And Giorno then had to audacity to wave.

There was no way he was going to serve that thief. Someone else would have to.

Mista promptly looked away in annoyance and went in search of a coworker to dump Giorno to. He might be the newbie there, the other waiters seemed cool enough to help. Unfortunately for Guido, the first person he came across was Buccellati coming back from the outside with a box of free vegetables.

"Need a hand chef?"

Bruno shook his hand gently. "No, thank you I'll be fine. Why don't you go attend to that customer instead? It seems like he's been waiting."

Shit. There was no way he could refuse. Mista had just managed to convince him to take him for a trial period - he couldn't let him down.

"Uh, sure," he screeched his cheek. "I'll go right now."

And there he was - serving the damn crook with whom he had spent half of the afternoon in the commissary.

"I'm glad you got the job." Giorno smiled at him, he almost looked sincere.

But Guido now knew better.

"It's not thanks no you. Why are you here?"

The blond man seemed surprised by the question.

"I was starving, I had an exhausting day.."

Mista clenched his fist and Giorno took notice of that.

"Fine, I was starving and I wanted to piss Abbacchio off."

The waiter was about to comment on how he was seriously pissing him off too when the thief motioned discreetly in the direction where his boss was standing. Buccellati was watching from afar his exchange with Giorno - and he was frowning. Crap.

There was no way he could let this saint man down, no matter how much it was costing him to serve the blonde.

It was some sort of divine test.

"So...,", he took his notebook out. "What would you like to order, sir?"

Giorno smirked but - thanks god - he didn't try to push his luck. He ordered a Caesar salad and the waiter returned to the kitchen with the promise of being back very soon.

**

The charming thief thanked him politely when he put the plate on the table, but if he was expecting Guido to wish him buon appetito, he was wrong.

"Don't you even think about stealing something."

It was a serious warning, he really needed the job but the blond rolled his eyes to heaven:

"Well what would you like me to steal? The knife? The chili sauce?"

Mista instantly removed the red bottle and put it in his uniform's pocket.

"And what if I want some hot sauce now?", Giorno's voice sounded annoyed and offended.

But how could you blame Mista for being careful?

"Spicy food is bad for the health so just eat your damn salad!"

Hell, in that moment Mista would have loved for Abbacchio to have stayed - the latter would not have let the thief out of his sight and Mista could have peacefully attend to the other table. But the Inspector had reluctantly agreed to return to the police station once Buccellati had intervened, not appreciating the fact that he was visibly trying to scare off one of his customers.

God - why did they have to make so painfully obvious who wore the pants in their relationship?

Anyway, all he had to do now was to ensure nothing would go wrong again because of Giorno.

Therefore, he had to place the other clients as far as he could from the thief's table.

**

Giorno only noticed the fact that he was being isolated when the third couple was sent off to the other corner of the room. Despite their plea to be near the window.

He stared icily at the waiter who grinned at him in return.

**

Guido was loving this job - he knew he was real good at it. It wasn't his first time as a waiter, and his performance (as the tips were demonstrating) had always pleased his employers. He was quick, remembered easily what today's special was and what was on the menu - and he was a smooth talker.

The old grannies, the hipsters, the teenagers who enjoyed music and tv shows, the impressionable timid girls - hell, even those who needed help on their first date: the brown-haired man knew how to get on anyone's good side very quickly.

The pretty brunette let out a chuckle as Guido wished her to enjoy her meal, bella.

It would be a lie to pretend that his looks weren't helping him with his work. Or with girls. And boys.

Mista shot a quick look at the blond thief.

Giorno huffed and glared at him.

**

The Libeccio wasn't that big so the thief ended up having company anyway. Mista was about to ask the two girls of the table near if they had decided what to order when he overheard their conversation.

"I hadn't seen him since High School but wow, Giogio looks as cool as ever."

'Giogio'? What a cute nickname. He was certain the blond man hated it with passion.

But 'cool'?

Mista took the time to recall the long eyelashes, the faint fragrance of lavender and the slender silhouette of the crook.

Nah - he wasn't cool, but more like really pretty.

The waiter felt his cheeks reddened when Giorno raised a delicate eyebrow at him. Shit, he had been caught staring.

He cleared his throat and walked to the blond's, faking sudden mistrust.

"Do you really need the little spoon for your salad?"

Giorno Giovanna might be absolutely charming, he was still a sneaky thief. God knew what he was planning to do next.

And there was no way Mista would fall for that act.

"I will need it for my dessert," said Giogio. "Because I'll take a scoop of chocolate ice-cream."

Guido took out the note-book to take his order but the pickpocket cut him off:

"Once I'll be done with my salad."

And he sure was taking his sweet, sweet time.

**

Giorno ended up paying for his meal twenty minutes after. He used his card and took a small minty candy from the box on the counter. Mista cleared his throat and politely opened and hold the door for him. In the end, the blond had nothing funny - he guessed that he was truly hungry after all.

And then, he felt it.

A very light touch on his back-pocket.

He fucking knew it: that guy was a restless criminal.

He wasn't going to fall for it a second time. "You!," he roared as he realized that... His phone was still in there.

"It was delicious, thank you," Giorno was now whispering. "I left a tip under the napkin."

The blond man winked at him and then he was gone.

**

Mista didn't rush immediately to the now vacant seat of the blond, no. It would have make him way too happy.

He managed to wait for two minutes before clearing his table and discovering...

A ten-euro bill, and nothing more.

He checked around the table, but that was it. Nothing else.

And the little spoon was still there.

Well - it wasn't as if he was really expecting to find his phone number.

**

It was way past midnight when Mista finally managed to throw himself on Narancia's sofa bed - he sighed happily. It had been a long day, filled with unexpected twists and emotions but he had made it - he was in Napoli. He had a job, Narancia was way too happy to have someone to share domestic chores with and he was even already starting to make new friends.

His team had invited him for a drink at the end of his shift and Guido had gladly accepted a few rounds of tequila.

His phone vibrated and Guido smiled and stretched out his arm. It must be Buccellati, his new boss, who he had found out earlier could be a real mama bear and had asked him to send a message once he'd get home safely.

But it certainly wasn't him.

What the hell?

Mista quickly opened the conversation he didn't know even exist between him and a certain "Giorno G."

How...?

Guido realized that he had sent (or rather that someone had sent for him) a picture to this number earlier. He almost chocked when he saw the selfie of the blond man taken in (he recognized the curtains) the restaurant.

When exactly had he managed to do that?

The waiter had kept him under close surveillance all the time.

The message he had just received was another photo - it was a very familiar bottle of chili sauce.

His phone vibrated again but this time it was a text:

"I knew you wouldn't notice."

Guido opened up his new contact info and saw that the thief had even taken the time to sent another selfie as his profile picture.

He replied to Giorno without thinking:

"why, just why??"

Giovanna almost immediately texted back.

"You seem like a lot of fun to be around."

"you fucking tried to rob me?!!!"

"You're too easy to fool Guido."

Well, he was right about that.

"Thanks for not pressing charges, I really appreciate it."

Mista paused for a moment and wondered whereas he was really texting a thief. And why he was doing that.

What the hell was happening to him?

"well, you returned my stuff and the situation was messy enough"

"and i still nailed the interview so"

"I'm glad you got the job."

"you already said it"

"I mean it."

Embarrassed, the waiter took another sip of beer. He and Narancia had also wanted to celebrate their newfound roomie situation once he'd gotten home.

"The chef is really good. I might go visit the restaurant again."

"you should, you're a good tipper"

"And you're okay as a waiter."

Mista giggled at that.

"u know i'm the best"

"I wonder what makes you think so."

Guido knew for a fact that he was drunk - there was no way he would ever text that to a thief if he was sober.

No way.

"well i always know what's on the menu"

"and next time, it'll be me-n-u"

Despite his state of drunkenness, Mista still cringed hard (very hard) at his joke.

And the fact that Giorno was taking what felt like hours to answer was making it even worse.

"Ahahah."

...

Well - maybe the blond was drunk too.

Or maybe (just maybe) he somehow enjoyed his pathetic attempt at flirting?

Mista nearly chocked on his drink - god, no.

There was no way he was really trying to flirt with that crook.

"There's something I'm wondering."

"?"

"The gun really doesn't work?"

"i dunno, i never actually try to put bullets on"

"why? are you into gangster and stuff"

"Ahah, I was just curious."

He still didn’t answer Mista’s question.

"wait, i should be the one worrying"

"Why do you say that?"

Mista hesitated one last moment before sending the message.

Fuck it - he had the excuse of being drunk.

"'cause you have to be on the fbi's most wanted list, it's illegal to look this gopd"

"good*"

"Thank you Guido."

The waiter raised an eyebrow, baffled.

Okay, it wasn't really the kind of response he was expecting.

"You're quite handsome yourself."

Mista started giggling again. Louder this time, because Narancia actually came out of his room to see if he was okay.

Of course not.

He was shamelessly flirting with the guy who had stolen his fucking bag at the airport twelve years ago.

"ya know, you r definitly on top of my to do list too"

The euphoria subsisted almost as soon as he sent the message.

What the fuck was he saying?

"uhhh"

Giorno was now taking his time to answer - it was a classic Mista move: ruining everything by being too much, straight away.

"sry, too soon?"

"No, it's fine. I just didn't know what to say."

Guido let out a sigh.

"sorry im a bit drunk"

"and often awkward"

Thinking about how much he had overshared in the police station was making him want to down another bottle.

"You're not. I think you're funny."

Oh caro, precioso Giorno - that guy really had to be send from heaven.

"I think I'll definitely go back to the restaurant now."

Guido found himself grinning like a moron at his phone.

Shit - he had to think of a witty come-back.

"well as long as u dont try to steal from me again i guess its ok"

"Aside from your heart? Nothing more, I swear."

...

"Gosh, sorry I'm so bad at it..."

Guido was at loss of words.

He couldn't wait to try all of his thief-themed pick up lines on him.