Moral of the Story

The light of Giorno’s office is dim, wavering in the candlelight as the flames flicker to and fro. He knows it’s too far past his bedtime and that it’s foolish for him to still be awake, yet he continues to scribble in faint ink lettering down a weathered piece of parchment.

‘Pannacotta,

I know it’ll take longer than I initially anticipated for this to reach you. I trust you remain in good care, despite the questionable motivations of the doctor assigned to your case. Your illness has yet to be named but I’m hopeful that they will soon be able to fix you. I know your correspondence is irregular, but please do try to reply, even if it’s just through the word of mouth. It makes me feel awfully isolated living alone with my husband nowadays.

I’ve sent guards to watch over you, of course, so nothing out of the ordinary should occur. Cioccolata will be under heavy scrutiny from them to say the least, and even though he’s an... odd fellow, he has multiple credentials in which I trust almost completely. My father knows of his authenticity and you should be on your path to recovery soon as a result.

You’ll get better Pannacotta, I’m sure of it. I shall try and visit you whenever Mista permits it, but I can’t make any promises.

Love-‘

Giorno looks up. It’s very late now. Almost 1am. No wonder his mind was foggy. He scribbles out the last word and replaces it.

‘Kind regards,

Giorno Giovanna.’

He puts his pen down and folds the paper up. He must remember to seal it tomorrow morning, otherwise the-

“M’Lord, I’ve been told to come and check on you,” a small voice says from behind the door. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m alright. You can come in, Narancia, I don’t mind.” He sighs, sitting up and folding the paper.

The boy opens the door and smiles tiredly at Giorno. “You do know how late it is, don’t you?” He asks, shutting the door as quietly as he can behind him.

“Yeah, I do. I was just writing to Fugo.” Giorno nods.

Narancia walks up to Giorno’s desk, looking hopeful as always. “How is he?”

Giorno wets his lips (when had they got so dry?) and nods. “He’s, uh, he’s doing well.” He lies, knowing he’s too tired to even properly pretend this was the truth.

Luckily Narancia takes the bait and smiles at him. “That’s wonderful!”

Giorno nods again and Narancia’s reminded of his duties in the first place. “Would you mind coming to the garden with me?” Giorno asks him quietly.

“Oh, of course.” Narancia extends his hand to Giorno and helps him up from his chair, leading the blonde out and into the garden from his study.

The wooden doors click open easily seeing as Giorno forgot to lock them again and they walk out into the chilly evening air.

Narancia isn’t wearing shoes; he came to check on Giorno in his pyjamas but he walks along the cool slate path without a fuss. Giorno holds his hand and watches himself be led over to his swinging bench under the apple tree he knows Narancia loves.

“Is something on your mind, sir?” Narancia asks, watching the stars from the bench with Giorno.

“Not ‘sir’ now, Narancia,” he mutters. “And I’m alright. I’m just thinking about a lot of things.”

“Oh, sorry. It slips out sometimes,” Narancia laughs, his hand still in Giorno’s. “Do you wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?”

“I’m not entirely sure if I can pinpoint one thing to tell you about right now. It seems like more of an amalgamation of different anxieties today, so it’ll be hard for me to tell you one thing.”

Narancia doesn’t speak for a few moments, half wondering what to say and half trying to figure out what Giorno just said.

“The stars are bright tonight.” Giorno speaks instead.

“They are. Look at that one twinkling!” Narancia smiles and points at the brightest star there, to the far right of the skyline.

“Like it’s winking, hm.” Giorno yawns, leaning towards Narancia more.

“Yeah. Is it your Padre you’re worried about?” Narancia asks suddenly.

Giorno opens his eyes and nods slowly. “He’s been gone an awfully long time now, and I know Father’s been losing his nerve more often.” He tells Narancia.

“I think there’s just a lot of... y’know, things going on. He’ll be alright. They’re very strong on our side, we’ll win.” Narancia tells him in response, squeezing his hand for comfort.

“How long will that take? The mansion feels so empty recently.” Giorno murmurs with a pout.

“I don’t know, no one knows, Giorno. I’m sure Abbacchio’ll be able to find something out if we ask him.” Narancia sighs and stares at the stars again.

“Do you think he’ll still be awake?” Giorno perks up and rubs the sleep from his eyes after a second of silence.

“Yeah, but I don’t think he’ll be happy about it. It’s past his working hours.” Narancia frowns and rubs the back of his neck.

“His working hours are constant, he’s under my command- well, my father’s- but still technically my command, so he’ll have to do as I say.” Giorno stands up suddenly and takes Narancia with him.

“Giorno... it’s so late, we should just-“ Narancia groans.

“Please? I promise tomorrow we can play polo again, I know you love it.” Giorno smiles.

Narancia hates how he always falls into Giorno’s trap when he smiles and nods grumpily. He’s so easy to please. “Right, but if Abbacchio kills you it isn’t my fault.” He says.

Giorno makes a small hum of approval and Narancia’s led back through the office, through the house as quietly as they can be and out into the grounds of the mansion, towards Buccellati’s small cottage on the edge of the gardens, all without wearing any shoes.

***

He’s freezing by the time they arrive, but Giorno looks happy, so that’s one thing he’s done right. “Won’t Guido be-?” Narancia starts, remembering his face when he asked for Giorno.

“He’ll have fallen asleep by now, I’m sure.” Giorno bats the question away like a fly and knocks on the wooden door.

It’s answered by a very annoyed-looking Abbacchio who sees Narancia shivering and lets them inside with a groan of displeasure. It’s obvious he was just about to go to bed judging from his loose hair, lack of makeup and pyjamas, but Giorno pushes on, ignoring his scowl.

“I’m sorry to intrude at such an hour, but I was possibly wondering if you’ve heard any kind of news from-“ Giorno asks.

“Didn’t I give you Fugo’s last report? The doctor said he’s struggling but he’ll get through it soon.” Abbacchio sighs.

From beside him Narancia frowns and turns to face Giorno. “You said he was doing fine.”

“I-he- he will be... so I wasn’t completely lying,” Giorno pats his leg and Narancia grits his teeth. “I know about Fugo, I was wondering if you’d heard from my Padre.”

“It’s been a week or so since the last report from the front lines. I haven’t heard anything since then. It’s been all but radio silence.” He says bluntly.

Giorno’s smile falters for a moment but he recovers and remains neutral. “Are you sure the reports haven’t gone missing?”

“Adamant. I’d know if we were missing something. I’m Risotto’s next line of contact and anything I get I pass on to your father and sometimes you, when you ask.” Abbacchio shrugs.

“Oh, well, I see. If it’s silence that usually means bad news, doesn’t it?” Giorno asks naively, kicking himself for already knowing the answer was yes.

“From our side, yes. It usually means they’ve been cut off or kidnapped or killed, but hopefully they’re just trying to keep a low profile.” He sounds almost bored as he lists the possibilities, like he’s going through the motions with yet another clueless Lord.

Narancia takes Giorno’s hand and gives it another squeeze as he looks away. “Hey, he’ll be alright. Your Padre’s super strong. There’s no way he’d have gone down without a fi-“

“Boys? What on Earth are you all doing up so late?” A voice calls from the doorway and they all look up.

Buccellati wraps his arms around himself in the cool air of the night and Giorno looks down again. “I’ll be there in a second.” Abbacchio replies.

“I know, honey, but what about you boys? It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning.” He speaks softly, coming into the living room to sit down beside Abbacchio and try to wake up for Giorno’s sake.

“I was worried about my Padre, but I’m sure he’s alright. Panna- Fugo’s also failing to keep in contact with me.” Giorno huffs, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek.

“He’s very ill, Giorno,” Buccellati hums tiredly. “I’m sure he’s trying his best to keep in correspondence with you.”

“I know, I know. I’m just... it’s alright, I should be going anyway.” Giorno sighs and stands up with a slight bow.

“Giorno, wait a moment-“ Buccellati frowns. “You know you can visit Fugo anytime?”

“Father won’t let me leave the house unless Guido and Abbacchio accompany me.” Giorno sighs again.

“I’m sure they’ll come with you tomorrow.” Buccellati smiles kindly.

“Guido’s usually busy and him and Fugo don’t get along.”

“Can we figure this out tomorrow?” Abbacchio interrupts, rolling his eyes.

Buccellati nods and Giorno does the same. “Shall I come and see you again tomorrow morning? Or would you like to accompany me to breakfast? I’d like it if you could.” Giorno asks.

“It’ll be our pleasure,” Buccellati smiles again and Giorno notices how tired he looks. “Go and rest, now.”

“I will. Narancia?” Giorno taps his shoulder and the boy jumps a little, smiling apologetically.

“Sorry! I didn’t even realise I’d fallen asleep.” He laughs.

“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” Buccellati crosses his arms.

“Oh, uh, I forgot.”

“To wear shoes?” Abbacchio raises an eyebrow and Giorno smirks at Narancia’s embarrassment.

“Yes! Sorry for getting mud on your carpet, jeez.” He mutters.

Buccellati clicks his tongue and ruffles his hair after pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Go to sleep, Nara,” he sighs. “And you, Giorno. You need to be resting after last week’s fever.”

“Okay. Thank you, Abbacchio and goodnight, Buccellati.” Giorno yawns and follows Narancia out of the cottage.

“Bruno, it’s Bruno,” Buccellati calls after them, smiling. “Don’t let your father know you were out so late.”

“I shan’t!” Giorno calls back, running towards the house with Narancia in tow.

Narancia helps Giorno take out his hair, get him changed and tucks him into bed, turning off his light before Giorno jumps up and pulls him back by the wrist. “Candle.” He mutters.

“Oh, gosh, sorry.” Narancia apologises and lights Giorno’s bedside candle, remembering he’s afraid of the dark. It’s something unlike him, so he always forgets.

“It’s alright. Goodnight, Narancia.” He mumbles, sinking into his bed as Narancia leaves.

“‘Night.” Narancia whispers. He closes Giorno’s door and tiptoes down the stairs quietly.

Mista turns over next to Giorno and opens his eyes blearily. “Where’ve you been, eh?” He mumbles, stroking down Giorno’s thigh clumsily.

Giorno bites his tongue and moves away. “Me and Narancia went to ask Abbacchio something.” He mutters, closing his eyes and showing Mista his back.

Mista frowns and turns into his back. “Oh. You could’ve asked me, I would’ve taken you.”

“You would’ve told father.”

“Not at all, I would’ve given a reason for you not being asleep if he heard us-“

“I’m rather tired, Mista. We can discuss this tomorrow.” Giorno snaps, curling up into foetal position and playing with his hair.

“Yeah, sure. Goodnight, baby.” Mista pats Giorno’s back and he bites his tongue again. God, he didn’t miss Mista being away.

***

Giorno doesn’t sleep that night. Or rather, he does, but fitfully. He’s plagued by flashbacks and the lingering presence of Mista just makes him overthink it all even more.

***

He drifts in and out of sleep for a while until their room’s bell is rung by Mista, probably hungry, and he’s roused by the noise. He blinks his eyes in the morning light and notices a servant in the room, opening the curtains with a polite smile. He sits up on his elbows and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand,- had he been drooling?- waking up to a headache and a very groggy demeanour.

“May I have a cup of coffee, please?” He asks, sitting up fully and pulling the covers around himself.

“Who’re you asking? I dunno how to make one.” Mista chuckles, led beside him and looking rather handsome in the sunlight.

“The servants. I know you don’t.” Giorno replies, rubbing his eyes and fiddling with the ribbon tie on his nightgown.

“I don’t think they heard you, honey,” Mista sits up and kisses his cheek, running a hand through Giorno’s messy hair. “Excuse me.” He whispers before slipping out of bed and stretching.

“Where are you going?” Giorno asks, trying to shake the feeling of Guido’s touch. Mista pulls on an embroidered robe and smooths his hands over his silk pyjamas.

“I got business to attend to, darling. You’ll see me later.” He smiles, waving lazily before opening the door and being escorted down the stairs by a servant.

Giorno furrows his eyebrows and pouts. “Business?” He repeats. “I want a coffee, I’m having breakfast with Buccellati.” He hisses at the servant in the room.

She bows and exits, presumably to make his coffee.

Giorno closes the curtains and picks up the phone on his beside table. It rings a few times before he’s diverted to Buccellati. “What business does Guido have this morning?” He asks quickly.

“Uh, good morning, first of all. Secondly, I don’t know. Ask Narancia. Now, get downstairs and get changed, we’ll speak then.” Buccellati replies. He sounds so strict that Giorno slams the phone down but does everything he told him to.

He dresses himself for a change, getting stuck on his golden mess of hair and deciding to leave it down in waves rather than fiddle around trying to plait it. He looks tired, but as he fastens his earrings, he smiles a little and decides that if he remains neutral, they might not be able to tell.

His shoes click down the marble staircase and he’s handed a coffee as he enters the dining room. His father appears on his left, and before he can see his friends, he’s approached by him and taken aside.

“I heard you last night.” His father’s voice rumbles softly.

“Oh.” Giorno hums, holding his teacup gently. He looks down into it as the man’s eyes burn a brighter shade of scarlet.

“You look tired,” he frowns, lifting Giorno’s chin up to look at his face better. “You need your beauty sleep.”

Giorno bites his tongue again and feels a small bit of blood from the wound he keeps breaking there. “Mm.”

“You’re like talking to a brick wall, tesoro,” he sighs, tapping Giorno’s cheek and looking at his nails. “Your padre’s still not been heard from, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I know.” Giorno nods.

“Good. Now get some rest tonight, we have another event coming up and I don’t want you looking sickly like last time. Nearly threw up on Lady Capezzuto’s dress.” He chuckles, making Giorno turn red.

“Lord Brando, you have a guest, sir.” A butler calls from the meeting room opposite.

“Ah, I shan’t be long,” Dio calls back. “I’ll see you later.” He says to Giorno before leaving.

He hates his father sometimes, his obsession with looks and his need for power. Giorno misses his Padre.

He pushes open the door to the dining room with his free hand and is shown to his seat by another servant. He thanks him, and sips at his coffee again. “You dressed yourself, did you?” Buccellati asks, looking pristine as always, his hair tied back by a ribbon today.

“Mm. Why, does it look bad?” Giorno asks, watching his reaction.

“Of course not. It’s very floral, that’s how I could tell. It suits you more than those dark colours.” He smiles, tilting his head and making Giorno feel a little warmer.

***

Pannacotta Fugo wakes up to a throbbing in his head and a stabbing pain in his eyes. He grumbles a little ‘urgh,’ and sits up, flinching away from the light.

“You’re awake! You’re worrying the doctors more and more,” Cecelia mutters from his bedside. “Giorno keeps sending you letters, too.”

She extends a hand towards Fugo’s face and he pushes it away. “Can’t you wait a minute? I’ve got a fucking migraine again.”

“Do you want me to read it?”

“No I don’t want you to read it-“ he snatches it off of her and sits up, squinting over it. “Why haven’t they been sending my letters back?” He asks her.

“They’re worried you’ll pass the virus onto Giorno, and that isn’t allowed.” She pouts and folds her hands neatly in her lap.

“That’s ridiculous, that’s not how viruses work,” Fugo snaps. “I’m getting better now, anyway. That stupid father of his has no idea about anything.”

Cecelia stands up and walks off to the door. “I’m going home. Mother says if you don’t marry me soon you’ll be a disgrace to your family and mine for just knowing you.” She says, glaring at him. Her extended braids swish with her shorter hair as she speaks and watches for his reaction.

“Cecelia-“ he begins, flinching when she opens the door into the noisy corridor.

“It’s Sheila!” She yells back.

Fugo sneers and grips the bedsheets. Giorno’s so far away... just come and hold me again, just take the weight from my head and let me sleep in your arms, that’s all I want. He longs for the blonde, wrapping his arms around himself and wishing he wasn’t so ill.