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Giorno never really liked drinking. To start with he thought that most wines tasted awful and bitter and he had no idea why anyone willingly subjected themselves to it in the first place. Mista argued with him that he just had bad taste, but it wasn’t his fault that all of Italy decided that the social drink of choice was rancid grape juice. After suffering through the wine tasting that Mista had insisted on in an attempt to change Giorno’s mind, he did find that he could tolerate rosè. It was sweeter than red wine, but not as sweet at white wine. Not that white wine had been an option. Mista had looked at him with what Giorno thought was an uncalled for amount of exasperation when he had suggested it.
“Giorno, you’re the boss of Passione, you can’t drink white wine! That would be ridiculous.”
Giorno still wasn’t really sure what exactly was wrong with it, but he knew better than to question Mista about it. It was probably just some stupid social requirement like drinking wine in general. Even though Giorno would rather never drink, he knew that it was not socially acceptable to refuse. By refusing a drink offered to you, you were insulting the person who offered it. It meant that you didn’t recognize their hospitality and didn’t care to. In the same vein, to be at a social function and not have at least a glass of wine meant that you saw yourself as above everyone attending and that you did not consider them to be friends. So despite his dislike for wine and drinking, Giorno always made a point to have a glass.
Though, he would often do just that: have a glass. He would sip on it slowly throughout the function, sometimes never even finishing it. When they were in situations that it would be rude not to finish his glass, he and Mista had devised a way to swap glasses without anyone noticing.
It wasn’t just that Giorno didn’t like the taste of wine though. Yes, that was a contributing factor, but it wasn’t the main reason Giorno avoided drinking. In truth it was because of his mother. She had no problem with drinking, that was obvious to anyone who knew her, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t pass the gene for alcohol intolerance to her son. Giorno learned very quickly that he didn’t process alcohol the same as everyone else. After just one drink his face would flush red and he’d feel uncomfortably warm all over. At first he’d thought that maybe he just needed a bit more experience, but after a miserable night of violent vomiting he decided not to test that theory again. He never really explained this fact to anyone else, not even Mista. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt weirdly embarrassed about it.
This event had been going on for hours and Giorno just wanted to go home, but no opportunity to leave had presented itself yet. He’d already finished his first glass of rosè and had been sipping on a second against his better judgment. His suit felt much too hot and it was taking all of his effort to stay engaged and listen to the story the woman in front of him was telling their small group. He could barely concentrate on her voice over the pounding that was starting in his ears. Who was she again? His brain felt a little foggy. One of the cappos’ wives? How long was she going to go on about her nephew?
Everyone in the group chuckled politely, queuing Giorno to do the same, “Excuse me.” Giorno said, bowing out of the conversation.
He turned to walk away and the room swam for a second. He glanced down at his glass. Had he really drunk that much? He looked around the room, scanning the crowd as best he could. Everything felt a little too bright, making it hard to look at. Giorno’s head throbbed. He needed to find Mista.
Giorno walked slowly through the room, trying his best to look at ease as he searched for a sign of Mista. He normally never strayed too far from Giorno since he was always extra paranoid for his safety at events with so many people like this. So where was he? A fresh wave of warmth washed over Giorno and he had to push down the slight panic he was starting to feel.
Mista had been trying to get away from this girl for the past ten minutes, but every time he went to step away she seemed to intercept him. He knew Giorno had been talking to Mrs. Fraschio, but he didn’t like not having a clear view of him. The girl giggled and leaned into Mista, putting her hand on his chest. She put a good amount of her weight on him, forcing him to shift his footing slightly. He knew that she was flirting with him, but he also knew that she was extremely drunk, besides, he really didn’t have any interest. She was cute and very friendly and maybe if it had been a few years ago he would have considered it. She murmured something he couldn’t hear and he was hit with the strong scent of alcohol on her breath. On second thought, he didn’t think that he would have ever given into her flirting if she was this drunk. In fact, he didn’t really like the way some of the other men were looking at her.
Mista slid his hand around her waist and in one fluid movement, guided her to sit in a nearby chair. “Will you excuse me, Anna? I’ll be right back.” He said smoothly, turning away before she could respond.
His eyes settled on the spot that he had seen Giorno last and he felt his stomach drop. Where had he gone? He quickly scanned the room and saw Fugo in a far corner trapped in a conversation with the elderly Mr. Franzece, but he didn’t see Giorno anywhere. Then suddenly he felt a familiar touch.
“Hey.”
Mista spun around to see a very flush faced Giorno. He looked like it was costing him a great effort to focus on him. “Hey,” Mista let out a breath of slight relief, “Are you okay?”
Giorno gave him an almost imperceptible shake of the head. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching them before gently resting the back of his hand to Giorno’s neck. He felt warm and his heart rate seemed to be a bit too fast, almost like he had a fever.
Giorno closed his eyes for a second. The cool touch of Mista’s hand felt like a relief. Suddenly he felt Mista’s other hand firmly on his waist as he caught him. He hadn’t even realized that he had started to sway as he stood.
“Hey there.” Mista said seriously, searching his face. “How much did you have to drink?”
It took Giorno a little to respond. The headache was making it hard to think, “Just over a glass and a half.”
Mista’s eyebrows knit in a combination of confusion and concern. Giorno knew why; he didn’t understand how such a small amount of alcohol could affect Giorno like this. Mista watched him for a long moment, “I’m taking you home.”
Normally Giorno would protest, but he didn’t have the energy. Wordlessly he took hold of Mista’s arm, allowing him to lead him to one of the side doors. They stepped out into the hall and a sharp pain shot through Giorno’s head. The lights here were at full brightness and it hurt to look at. It made his stomach slightly queasy.
“Hey, I’m taking him home, can you stay for a bit longer and do me a favor: call Anna Castelli a cab.” Mista was talking to someone behind them, but Giorno’s head hurt too bad to open his eyes to see who it was.
“Yeah, sure.” It was Fugo’s voice.
Giorno tried to stand up a little straighter and look at him, but it just made him sway unsteadily again.
Mista quickly caught him, putting his arm around his waist and slipping under Giorno’s arm to support him. “Okay,” He said, “None of that.”
There must have been no one around. Giorno knew that Mista would never have walked him to the car in this condition if there was, he would have taken them another way that was less exposed. But then again, Giorno also knew that Mista could care less about public appearance if he felt that it was too much of a risk to Giorno’s safety. It was one of the few subjects that they had ever legitimately argued about. At this point, however, Giorno had learned to trust Mista’s judgment for the most part even if he thought he was being overly cautious. Giorno just didn’t ever want to have an argument like that one again. Sometimes when they started getting into it Giorno would remember the look of pain and desperation on Mista’s face as he had refused to look at him. The way the silence had seemed to vibrate around them. The aching he’d felt in his chest when he realized how deeply important his safety was to him.
Mista slid Giorno into the passenger seat and gently tilted Giorno’s head up so that he met his eyes. Giorno nodded slightly to his unspoken question of if he was okay before Mista closed the door, careful to do so as quietly as possible, but it still made Giorno flinch.
As they drove Giorno leaned against the window, trying to focus on the road instead of his increasing nausea. He could feel Mista glancing at him from time to time, but he wished he wouldn’t. For some reason he felt foolish for getting so sick. He should have never let himself get in this situation and while he was glad he had Mista to rely on when he needed him, he didn’t like that he was making him worry so much over something so dumb.
The car turned and suddenly Giorno felt a cold sweat wash over him as his stomach swam. His hand shot up to his mouth and he squeezed his eyes shut trying to concentrate on not getting sick. His hand was shaky and he could taste bile in his mouth. No. They were almost home. He just had to keep it together for another ten minutes or so. His heart was pounding as his whole body started to shiver. They needed to pull over. Now.
Giorno pulled his hand away for a second, “Mista…” instantly he regretted opening his mouth.
He smacked his hand back over his mouth and desperately started to crank the widow down. Why did it have to be this car? This was the only car that they had that didn’t have electric windows. Giorno only managed to crack the window before it was too late. Mista looked over at him just in time to see him violently jerk forward in his seat, putting one hand out to support himself on the dashboard as he vomited all down his front. He tried his best to stop some of it with his hand, but it hadn’t done much.
“Giorno!” Mista quickly pulled over the car, but not before Giorno retched again.
His whole body was shaking now and he covered his mouth again with his clean hand. Mista jumped out of the car and rushed to the passenger side, opening the door for him. Giorno squeezed his eyes shut as he shivered violently. He didn’t think he was going to be sick again, but that didn’t help. He opened his eyes and stared down at himself. He was completely covered in his own vomit. Mista reached toward him and Giorno jerked away. He could feel his eyes tearing up slightly. Mista’s hand hovered a few inches from his shoulder, but Giorno couldn’t look at him. He felt so stupid.
After a moment Mista let his hand rest gently on Giorno’s shoulder and Giorno gave a slight jump. “Hey…” Mista said quietly, “It’s okay.”
Mista stayed there, squatting by the open door, waiting for Giorno to steady himself enough to look up at him. Giorno wasn’t ready for the fresh wave of embarrassment he felt when he met his eyes, but as quickly as it came, it went. There was something so gentle and caring in Mista’s eyes that Giorno couldn’t help but feel calmer.
“The- the car…” he managed weakly.
“That doesn’t matter.” Mista said, “Are you okay?”
Giorno took a steadying breath and gave a small nod, “I think so.”
Mista looked him over, assessing the situation. His gaze surprisingly didn’t make Giorno feel ashamed. “Okay…” He sighed before standing up and slipping off his suit jacket.
He tossed the jacket onto the hood of the car as he loosened and pulled off his tie. Giorno tried to wipe his face with the back of his hand as he watched Mista in confusion. Mista unbuttoned his dress shirt and pulled it off, handing it to Giorno.
“Here, clean up your face, I’ll be right back.” He said before disappearing around the back of the car.
Giorno stared at Mista’s shirt for a moment, not wanting to ruin it. He looked at himself again and resignedly wiped his face clean. Mista reappeared after a minute holding his clothes from earlier that day in his hands and suddenly Giorno remembered that Mista had changed at the venue.
“Sorry I don’t have anything clean for you.” Mista said apologetically, “But why don’t you get that off.” He gestured toward Giorno.
Giorno felt his face grow hot and this time he didn’t think it was from the alcohol.
“Mista…I-”
“I’m not going to make you drive all the way home like that, now come on.” he held out a hand, beckoning Giorno to hand him his soiled clothes.
Giorno sighed shakily and started to take off his jacket and shirt. He was surprised when he took off his dress shirt to see that it had soaked through to his undershirt as well. Mista folded each of his pieces of clothing to make sure that the vomit was contained and set it aside as Giorno pulled on his shirt. Mista then handed him his pants and turned his back to him, keeping watch over the sidewalk to make sure no one was coming.
“Okay.” Giorno said quietly as he sat back down in the car.
Mista turned back to him and looked over the passenger seat. “You know, you kinda managed to miss the car. Impressive.” he smiled at Giorno who smiled back weakly. With a nod he closed the door and climbed back into the driver’s side. Mista paused for a moment and looked at Giorno, “You sure you’re okay?”
Giorno nodded and Mista shifted the car into drive, pulling back onto the road. Giorno tugged slightly at the sleeves of Mista’s shirt. He was taller than Giorno and a bit more broad shouldered than him so his shirt was a little big on him, making the sleeves slightly too long. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered again. He felt a bit better, but his whole body still felt wrong.
“Sorry.” Giorno said quietly after a long moment.
“I told you not to worry about it.”
“No, I-” he wasn’t sure how to explain. “I should have told you, it’s not that I just don’t like to drink, I kind of can’t.” Mista glanced at him confused. “Alcohol makes me extra sick because I’m half Japanese, my body doesn’t know what to do with it. That’s why I get so red after just one drink.”
“Oh.” Mista said quietly. “I never thought that much about it. Why didn’t you tell me? We could have figured something else out.”
“I don’t know.” Giorno’s cheeks felt warm again and he rubbed at them with his sleeve. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Mista touched his leg lightly for just a second before returning his hand to the wheel.
Silence fell, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the sort of comfortable silence that happens between two familiar people. Giorno watched Mista as he stared straight ahead pretending not to notice him staring. Slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of Giorno’s mouth and he looked away. He put his hands on the back of his neck, tucking his head down for a moment as he took in a deep breath. The shirt smelled like Mista and he found that comforting.
·༻❀༺·
When they got home Mista tried to convince Giorno to take a shower or at least change, but Giorno just wanted to lay down. Mista walked him to his room since his knees were still a little shaky.
“Wait.” Giorno blurted out as Mista turned to leave. “Could you stay with me?”
Mista’s breath caught for a moment as he stared at Giorno sitting on the bed. Mista couldn’t help but think that he looked extra cute in his clothes with the way they were too big for him. He looked kind of soft and cuddly the way he did in the mornings when he first woke up.
Mista smiled gently at him, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, “Sure.”
He walked over to the opposite side of the bed as Giorno slipped under the covers. Mista layed down on top of the covers and Giorno blinked at him.
“You can get in if you want.”
Mista’s face grew hot, “Oh, um, yeah.” he awkwardly got up and joined Giorno under the covers.
He stared up at the ceiling trying to remember how to breathe normally, not really sure what to do with himself. Giorno turned towards him and curled up, scooting closer. Mista closed his eyes for a second, gathering the courage to roll onto his side to face Giorno. Almost the second he turned to him, Giorno shifted, nestling his head just under Mista’s chin and resting one of his hands on his chest. In that moment Mista completely forgot how to breathe as he held himself in his position, terrified that if he moved at all Giorno would notice him there and move away. Giorno gave his chest a small squeeze with his hand and Mista sucked in a breath of surprise before letting his body relax. He felt Giorno’s body settle next to him and closed his eyes.
·༻❀༺·
Sunlight streamed into the room. The curtains had been pulled back so that Giorno’s bed was bathed in the warm sun. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked at the empty place next to him in bed. He sat up. Had Mista went back to his own room last night? Had he made him uncomfortable?
Standing up, Giorno slowly shuffled across his room and opened the door. He was immediately met with the smell of something sweet on the air and the unmistakable sound of Mista in the kitchen. He smiled to himself as he made his way quietly down the hall.
“Did you make cake?”
Mista looked over his shoulder at Giorno as he set the moka pot on the stove. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
Giorno reached up to run his fingers through his hair while he considered the question, but was met with his braid. He’d never taken his hair down. He really had felt awful last night. “I’m okay, I think.” He said as he absentmindedly started to undo his hair.
“Good.” Mista smiled at him and the room felt a little warmer.
Giorno watched him as he shuffled about, cutting them each a small slice of the fresh cake on the counter. It was clear from Mista’s messy hair and shirt that making the cake was the first thing he’d done this morning. Giorno didn’t really know why, they didn’t normally eat breakfast. Half the time they would both just have a cup of coffee, nothing special. A fuzzy feeling had started to spread through his chest and he smiled to himself, walking over to Mista.
“Why’d you make breakfast?”
Mista glanced at him for a moment before turning to check the coffee, but Giorno could have sworn he saw a tinge of pink in his face. “Oh, um, I just thought you’d probably like to have something in your stomach after…” he trailed off.
Giorno reached out and touched his hand lightly, the warm feeling in his chest spreading through his whole body now. Mista stopped fiddling with the moka pot and turned to him. They locked eyes for a moment.
“Thank you.” Giorno said quietly before sliding his arms around Mista’s waist and pulling him into a hug.
Giorno leaned comfortably into Mista who slowly wrapped his arms around him. He closed his eyes and after a minute he felt Mista press his mouth to his forehead. It wasn’t a kiss, but something about it felt almost just as intimate. They stood there like that for a long while. Giorno didn’t want to pull away. It felt comfortable and safe. He could just barely hear Mista’s heart beating a little too fast in his chest.
Giorno opened his eyes. Something smelt bitter. He looked up at Mista, “The coffee.”
“Shit.” Mista pulled away and lunged for the moka pot, leaving Giorno feeling strangely cold.
Giorno warped his arms around himself and watched as Mista grimaced slightly at the coffee.
“It might be a little burnt…” he said apologetically.
“That’s okay,” Giorno said, stepping close to him. He placed a hand on Mista’s arm, raising himself onto his toes before pressing his lips lightly to his cheek. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”