Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stands in theory do not create something non-existent, Golden Experience knew that, but Golden Experience Requiem is not so sure. The bullets that Aerosmith launches are invisible to the eyes of anyone who is not a Stand user, however these bullets are not actually tangible; they are only a momentary part of Aerosmith, they recharge again no matter how much he has used them, his bombs do too. Hypothetically what Aerosmith does is create holes and explosions in their enemies. The bullets that the Pistols manipulate are real, existing, metal bullets that stay in their victims, Narancia's bullets disappear as soon as their stand does and only leave the hole or in the case of the bomb, the scattered pieces of the corpse or object that was the target.

Moody Blues is easier to explain, it works as visual evidence but does not alter matter, rather it becomes itself the vision of someone's past, the phantom form of the memories that are reborn from Leone Abbacchio's fingers, of course they can recreate a pilot without problem and then make an object go from point A to point B; but it does not create the object, everything is still part of Moody Blues. Stiky Fingers doesn't create either, his zippers disappear when Bruno wants them to and the space within his zippers is not something that can remain without Bucciarati's explicit desire. Spice Girl manipulates mass, but she can't create it either and Golden Experience can change atoms of something into atoms of something different and that this change in its structure results with life, but it's not like Giorno makes something out of nothing, he needs raw material, he needs something to replace it with flesh and bone and blood and sweat and whatever else he requires at the time.

Purple Haze on the other hand, creates virus out of nothing, a virus that doesn't disappear when Haze or Fugo want it to, if there is no light they could multiply for hours. The virus lingers and consumes everything it touches that could die, but viruses in theory are not alive either or at least that's what Giorno learned in his biology classes, viruses are not considered living things; they are codes that corrupt cells, they are something Giorno cannot create because it is not within the powers of his stand, maybe not even Golden Experience Requiem.

It was early October, Fugo was tired, he had spent the whole week doing the math on the budgets for the last quarter of the year. He would have to cut back a bit in some department in order to cover the New Year's party and he wasn't sure where it would be best to make some kind of resource savings. Giorno had been irritable lately and although he wasn't sure why, Fugo had made a point of talking it over with his Don eventually.

Mista and Narancia had officially started dating two months ago and Narancia was all the time talking about it to Pannacotta and bugging him that he should get a girlfriend. Bruno and Abbacchio had asked him for help with planning their wedding for the middle of next year, Trish had a tour starting in March and also had to finish school and wanted Fugo to give her private lessons to pass her exams. Sheila and Murolo had their weekly card game and what Murolo called “The Big Feast” which consisted of eating as much junk food as they could on Saturday nights. Everything seemed to fit into Fugo's schedule, but he knew better than anyone that time must be used with precision and when you have so many responsibilities it was best to plan in detail and with the efficiency of a well-oiled and polished watch, every gear in its place.

So in order to carry out all his tasks he had to sleep as much as possible, which implied a meticulous night routine so as not to succumb to occasional insomnia and to avoid resorting to sleeping pills that caused him nightmares too real to seem the simple product of his subconscious; therefore Fugo was a bit frustrated when at 2 a.m. GER woke him up.

Fugo stayed in the large villa overlooking the sea, long corridors, stained glass windows imported from all over the world, perfumed gardens full of life and polished and shining chandeliers, there with the rest of his companions and his devotion to his Don. Occasionally he spent his nights in an apartment he had bought in the center of the city, where he could indulge in his sporadic misery in the seasons when his work was heavier and his patience was sapped by stress, his refuge where he could forget his labors at the end of his day and which had become the headquarters of the Traitor Trio, to which Fugo belonged along with Sheila and Murolo.

Leone and Bruno had Bruno's childhood home, Mista and Narancia were very happy to live in Giorno's huge villa. Fugo was somewhat regretful now that he had not left for his apartment when Sheila offered to give him a lift. She also had an apartment in the city although she rarely used it, being Giorno Giovanna's bodyguard was almost a full time job, but occasionally she took turns with Mista and GianLuca.

—Pannacotta Fugo —Said GER in the midst of the darkness; he was not an imposing figure, rather creepy. His head barely showing his eyes fixed and eternally open from the end of the bed, his hands clamped to the mattress on the sheets, like a small child trying to see over a shelf.

Fugo almost jumped out of bed Purple Haze Distortion immediately made its presence known.

—Ah shit... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... What are you doing here? —Fugo replied trying to calm down. Purple Haze Distortion let out a soft grunt. Fugo was much more confident in his stand after his mission against the narcotics team. PHD was calmer, his anger and lack of control had diminished considerably although he still had things that according to Fugo, could be improved.

—I need Distortion for a moment.

—I don't understand —Fugo retorted, getting up from the bed, GER got up as well, rising with feline and lurid grace. Fugo had only met him a couple of times; the first time when Giorno formally introduced him after Fugo's return to the organization. They had only exchanged a couple of words and Fugo was amazed that GER was practically a completely different person from Giorno, not as a stand in, but as a kind of guardian angel, he could almost imagine him with a flaming sword and wings on his back to protect the sun child, Giorno Giovanna and all his sacred existence. The second time was something much more mundane, on an occasion when Giorno and his Stand were having an argument that Fugo unfortunately had to witness. It was only for a moment when Fugo was forced to enter Giorno's office to drop off some very important papers and although he had knocked on the door and received an affirmative response to step inside the opulent office, Giorno and GER did not seem to notice Pannacotta's existence as neither of them had stopped talking about Giorno's family and although they were discussing it in Japanese, Fugo could understand almost everything because one of the several languages his parents had forced him to learn had been Japanese. Pannacotta decided to ignore him because Giorno probably didn't know that Fugo could understand them and didn't want to make him uncomfortable, not that he wanted to pry into his life, not that he wanted to unveil the secrets of the origin of Apollo's reincarnation, it was simply that at the end of the day Giorno's personal life was none of his business.

GER on the other hand needed Pannacotta Fugo to resolve a pending matter in Giorno Giovanna's personal life.

—Is it really necessary? Is GioGio all right? —Fugo doubted it was an emergency, but he still had to ask. He folded his arms and PHD did the same behind him, GER almost seemed amused with the reaction he had gotten from Pannacotta and PHD.

—Giorno Giovanna is fine, he is sleeping in his room since 10:30 pm.

Fugo let out a tired snort, he was sure he would have to take some sleeping pills to get back to sleep now and that put him in a bit of a bad mood, but not enough to do anything about it, his fits of anger had subsided quite a bit although not enough in Purple Haze Distortion's opinion.

—Can it wait until tomorrow? Giorno must be very tired and you should go back to him.

—Are you implying that you can disregard a direct order from your Don? —GER asked, it was not threatening, it seemed a genuine question, as if this divine entity had no idea of the proper conventions to follow. Fugo pursed his lips.

Under the logic of having a Stand, GER was Giorno and Giorno was GER, therefore both had the same level of authority over Fugo; but somehow the fact that GER was an individual entity made him feel uncomfortable, like when he was hiding murderous missions behind Bruno's back a few years ago. Abbacchio and Fugo were only doing their duty even though they knew they were lying to Bucciaratti, because as much as Fugo wanted to deny it, omitting the truth was also lying.

—I guess you're right, but something tells me GioGio is not aware of this and that makes me feel bad. I don't think it's appropriate.

—I guess you are right too; however, I must differ. Giorno Giovanna has been tense.

—I have noticed.

—It is part of my job to help him with it, so I would like to do an experiment; but I need Distortion and for that I need you, Pannacotta Fugo, to keep him out of you for a few minutes, also I would prefer it to be just something between Distortion and me.

—Why do you use GioGio's name and my full name, but you only call Purple Haze by Distortion?

—Seems appropriate to me. Does it bother you?

—I guess it doesn't.

—Does it bother Distortion?

—I don't think so... —Fugo looked at PHD and his stand tilted his head a little, he looked at Fugo and then at GER and nodded with something that almost looked like a smile on his face. His lips were no longer sewn together at all, he only had a couple of stitches on each side of the corner of his lips and he could better articulate his grunts, snorts and occasionally some words. —I guess that's an acceptable response.

—It is, but about my request. Can I count on your cooperation?

—If it is to help Giorno you have my full resolve. Do we have to go somewhere?

—No, just allow us a few minutes outside, you can go back to bed, just make sure Distortion doesn't disappear if you fall asleep.

—Okay.

—No peeking.

Fugo rolled his eyes.

—Whatever —He said tiredly, then opened the dresser drawer next to his bed, took out a bottle of melatonin and popped two pills into his mouth, swallowed them dry. —You have 10 minutes.

—More than enough. Thank you for your help Pannacotta Fugo.

And both stands disappeared into the darkness behind the door.

Chapter Text

Giorno woke up feeling more tired than usual; as if all his energy had been drained from sleeping, his head hurt and he was nauseous. He could feel GER out of his self, he stretched on his bed and let out a yawn before getting up, GER was on his back next to the window.

—Good morning Golden Experience Requiem —Giorno greeted, putting on his slippers.

—Good morning Giorno Giovanna.

—Could you at least drop the formalities when we are alone?

—Good morning Haruno.

—Ugh... forget it.

GER let out a sound that Giorno guessed was some kind of laugh.

—I'm not feeling too well today, I'll be in the tub for a while.

—Did you know that viruses are not living things? —GER asked and Giorno raised an eyebrow.

—I know and you know I know.

—Did you ever consider that you could manipulate them and turn them into something living?

—Why would I do something like that?

—The capos have been bugging you lately about having an heir, they want you to choose one of their daughters as your wife and enshrine a legitimate son to preserve the line of succession. That is why you are so upset.

—What's that got to do with it?

—Doctor Jotaro Kujo asked if you have considered having a family. He seemed enthusiastic about the idea. I don't think Doctor Jotaro Kujo is someone who says such things lightly.

—GER, I'm not in the mood to entertain your crypticism.

—Doctor Jotaro Kujo said he would like Jolyne to have family around her age. He said Jolyne and Shisuka want more cousins to play with, he also said Joestars tend to grow up alone and that's not nice.

— He was just trying to make small talk because his mother wants me to visit them at Christmas. They want to meet me, make me part of their family and such... And I don't know if that's a good idea.

Giorno was starting to get frustrated with his stand. GER had a strange way of bonding, Giorno felt like there was always an ulterior motive, as if GER wanted to throw Giorno into the chaos of his repressions and unnecessary gratification.

—I have found the solution to your problems.

—I have no problems Requiem.

—Golden Experience Requiem.

—Goldy.

—Haruno.

—Sometimes I miss when you couldn't talk. Why doesn't it bother you when I call you GER but it bothers you when I only use parts of your name?

—GER is an efficient way to use my full name.

 —Fine —Giorno let out an exasperated sigh.—Anyway, I don't have time for this, I'll take a bath.

—I need milk.

—Excuse me?

—He will be hungry soon.

—Enough, come back. —Said Giorno trying to get GER back inside but GER didn't obey. —Don't be difficult.

—I am not. —GER turned around and Giorno for once in a long time was completely confused.

—Where did you get a baby? Why do you have a baby?

The aura around GER felt ethereal, glowing. Giorno knew that this image was used by him to present his image to others, to give an impression of celestial magnificence, but seeing it on his Stand caused him to shiver, like an omen of chaos.

—He is ours.

—How? I don't... I don't understand!

GER advanced to Giorno and showed him the little sleeping baby, his breathing was calm and he looked like a little cherub out of a French romanticism painting.

—It's yours and Pannacotta Fugo's. I made him from Distortion's virus.

The white hair and freckles, the snowy skin and the star near the shoulder.

—I'm still dreaming. I'll go back to bed and wake up in a moment.

—This is not a dream, Giorno Giovanna. I have solved your problem.

—Problem? You think this isn't... I can't be a father at 18! No... I don't need a baby made with a deadly virus!

—I'm not going to undo this... I don't think I could even if I wanted to.

—You're lying and you know it!

—Fine, do what you want, but without me. —GER laid the baby carefully on the bed covers and then disappeared inside Giorno.

—Come back here! —Shouted Giorno in exasperation in an attempt to get GER to come out again but he couldn't.

Giorno stood motionless on the Persian carpet with golden brocade and a color he could not remember the exact name of, he was trying so hard to concentrate on it, on the color of the carpet.  It had been Trish's suggestion; it was a dark burnt pink, like the dried petals of a rose, through the window the colored light filtered and reflected shapes on the floor, the birds trilled gracefully and everything was quiet, so quiet as to seem like a dream; GER had said it wasn't but Giorno still clung to that possibility so he stayed there in his place for several minutes that seemed like hours, months, decades.

 In front of him there was a baby and it was not just any baby, it was technically his son, Giorno could evaluate that, he would be lying if he had not thought before about the possibility of creating human life with his stand, but it was not just a matter of taking a book on human anatomy and start experimenting with clay until he achieved it.

Creating organs, functional human parts to alleviate the suffering of the few or the many; he had even discussed with Fugo and Bucciarati the possibility of organ trafficking to compensate for the monetary losses with the elimination of drugs. It was a future project; Giorno had to consider the ethical factors of the whole matter so he had left it in the back of his mind and concentrated on what he already had at hand to improve the organization.

He had forced himself not to cross the line from a part to a whole body, to a whole human being and what was most disturbing was that this child was synthesized from one of the most dangerous materials Giorno had ever encountered and even worst of all, it was born from fragments of Pannacotta Fugo's soul.

The child's eyes slowly opened and a soft and tender little squeak came from his lips, his eyes were the same color as Giorno's, very similar in shape to those of a Joestar. The babbling brought Giorno out of his thoughts.

—Uuubasha! —The sound shot like an arrow into Giorno's heart, even stronger than the requiem arrow so many yesterdays ago.  

Giorno approached the bed to gently caress his face. There was no way Giorno could try to force GER to undo this now, that child was his and will be forever. He couldn't do what his mother did to him, he couldn't let anything harm him, he couldn't, he simply loved him now and always would. He was the embodiment of his unrequited infatuation, the personification of his most hidden desires, that baby was a self-indulgent and selfish gift but there was nothing he could do to change that he existed now and nothing would keep him away from him for the rest of his life. 

Giorno never thought about having children when he was younger, many times his schoolmates would mention to him about the future, about getting married and starting a family, but Giorno seemed oblivious to it, his family life was never good.

His fondest memories were of his mother completely drunk, happy, almost manic and carefree. In Japan when it was just the two of them and in Italy when Giorno’s stepfather was away; she would arrive in the wee hours of the morning, her hair a mess and her breath rotten from cocktails, then she would get almost affectionate and tell him about Dio and his charm, the charisma and the velvet voice, how handsome he was and how deeply, so deeply she adored him, how she wished Dio would take her away and never let him go again. Then Giorno imagined that if that happened he would have a happy family, that his parents would love him and he would never be lonely again, but the next day his mother would go back to ignoring him and pretending she couldn't see the painted kisses that Giorno wouldn't wipe off because it was the only proof he could keep that his mother even for a moment loved him just a little bit.

And now more than ever he felt hurt and frustrated with that woman, because there was a baby that was part of the person Giorno loved the most, Giorno could feel nothing but adoration for him. How could his mother not love him then, if Giorno was the proof of her love for Dio? Why didn't she love him as Giorno now loved the baby in front of him? It didn't make sense, how could she call herself a devotee of Dio if she didn't love what was left of him? Why could he never be as dear as this baby was now? This child made of the most exquisite beauty of death and decay, rising like an angel out of the lethal mist of the soul of such a precious being as Pannacotta Fugo.

He never thought of hurting his mother before, but now he believed that if he had her in front of him he would slap her face. Giorno could never forgive someone who would treat his son the way his mother treated him.

—Ubasha —Giorno answered as gently as he could, took the child in his arms and kiss his forehead.

He was warm and soft, on his left ear there were three small moles; It was a strange mixture but he could see himself, his Joestar/Brando heritage and Fugo’s clearly. It was as if GER had taken the most essential part of each one's family tree.

—Are you hungry? —He asked softly, taking him carefully and then went to his closet, grabbed a cashmere sweater and wrapped the baby in it. He knew that the situation would be complicated to explain but he needed help and if anyone could help him now, that would be Bruno Bucciarati.

It was early but Giorno knew that Bruno was an early riser, he would normally be the first one up to put the coffee pot on and read the newspaper, so he went to his room and knocked gently on the door hoping not to wake Abbacchio in the process.

Unfortunately for Giorno, Abbaccio's psychosis was stronger, and a grumpy Leone opened the door to the room shared with Bruno.

—What? —Asked Abbaccio in annoyance.

—Ah, could I speak to Bucciarati please? —Giorno's nervous fingers lightly brushed the soft cashmere hair

—No, he is asleep. He was up late reading some reports and I don't want him to wake up because of some stupi... What's that?

—Ah. It's… —Giorno took a breath, he was nervous but hiding what was going on felt wrong, as if trying to lie about the child in his arms was somehow sagrilegious, he looked at Abbaccio in the eyes with the same determination as when he decided he would become a gangstar—This is my son.

—If you turned my favorite trench coat into one of your stupid animals again I swear on Mista's revolver I'm going to kick your ass!

—Ubashaaaa!

Leone tensed up at the child's sweet squeal.

—That doesn't sound like your weird creatures....

—It's a baby. My baby.

Leone closed his eyes, squeezed the bridge of his nose, took a very deep breath and held it in his body for at least five seconds and then calmly let it out, opened his eyes and pressed his palms together.

—I'm sorry, what?

—I need to talk to Bruno please. —Giorno asked again with the air of a conqueror, as if Alexander the Great himself wanted a meeting with one of his generals, but Abbacchio was in no mood to entertain Giorno's pompous dramatics.

—No —He left the room —I... I'll help you with whatever... let's go to the kitchen.

—But...

—Kitchen!

—Basha!

Leone closed the door of the room behind him and walked past Giorno, walked without stopping and went down the stairs; Giorno for a second thought about just going into the room now that Abbacchio was walking away, but he knew it might be a bad idea considering that Abbacchio actually seemed to be trying to help, so he opted to follow him into the kitchen.

—On the table, put him there —Leone said as soon as they arrived, Giorno looked confused. —Table, now!

It was Giorno's turn to take a breath but he obeyed. The baby looked happy and Leone examined him, there were no wounds, no signs of malnutrition. Leone swaddled him again and handed him to Giorno. Something about the child unsettled him, as if he had seen him before, familiarity was injected into his body with every second he saw him and the star on his shoulder at least seemed to authenticate his family ties with Giorno. 

—Well, explain. —Leone questioned, leaning against the frame of the kitchen doorway.

—I don't know. GER said that... well it's complicated.

Leone looked at his watch.

—And it will be a lot more complicated in an hour when everyone is awake and down for breakfast.

—I don't think I want to discuss it with the rest at this moment... I didn't even want to discuss it with you. I’m not ready.

It wasn't that Giorno wanted to hide it, but it was one thing to tell Bruno that he had magically acquired a child and quite another to give explanations of how it had happened, which would undoubtedly happen if Mista or Narancia were present. He could deal with telling Bucciarati and Abbacchio about his sudden possession of an infant and how it would now be part of his family, but he wasn't sure how he would tell Fugo.

—That's too bad, you're screwed. But I guess you're right. —Leone turned around, grabbed the marker on top of the fridge, and tore a page out of the notepad where they wrote down what was needed.

Their lives were very domestic even though they were part of the mafia, not that they didn't have servants, but the less people in the village the safer they felt. It was already enough with Sheila and GianLuca, so they reserved the use of extra help unless it was too necessary. Abbacchio preferred to stay in the villa; life in Bruno's house was even calmer and that far from helping him to be relaxed made him twice as tense, so they only used it on the weekends, then after getting married Leone would do his best to enjoy Bruno's old childhood home and be away from the chaos he was so used to.

“The brat needs me to take him shopping for something. We won't be long. Abbacchio.

P.S. Narancia don't touch my Chinese food!”

—Ready, let's go to the supermarket so we make sure your Fugo clone doesn't starve to death and you can explain everything to me on the way.

Giorno's ears turned completely red.

—Wait... it's really Fugo's? What did you do to Pannacotta?! No, don't tell me... Wait for the car, but God, you couldn't have been more obvious, whatever happened here has at least something to do with Fugo if anything means the hair and the freckles. —He hurried Giorno to the garage, Giorno followed him without saying a word but his whole face was red now.  —That's why he looked so familiar! ugh, I didn't think you were that desperate. Not that there's anything wrong with Fugo, but rather because this is a very fucked up way to have a relationship.... You're so creepy. —Giorno's embarrassed face was a good reward for getting up early, Leone held back the urge to laugh at him.

Giorno stood next to the car not knowing what to say because deep down Abbacchio's words, although with an almost friendly tone, felt a bit true.

—Hurry up and let's get out before the rest wake up or that I regret helping you. 

They left the villa in Abbacchio's old Lincoln, which he drove as calmly as possible even if his body was asking him to step on the gas and end his lapse of kindness. He could do that to Giorno but not to a baby, besides Giorno was a maniac at driving and would surely be much less than scared if Leone pretended the traffic signals didn't exist.

Chapter Text

—Wait, you're telling me that this baby.. —Abbacchio asked shocked, he was carrying the child in his arms while Giorno was going through the baby formula cans and bottles —...was made by your fucking freaky little shit stand from the super dangerous and deadly viruses of Purple Haze?

—Distortion —Said GER materializing and making Abbacchio almost jump in place, if he didn't already have platinum hair he was sure he would be getting premature gray hair from all this.

—Purple Haze Distortion is this kid's dad?! —Continued Leone, almost horrified at the mental image of Pannacotta's slightly less rabid stand. —And you're his mother?

—There is no mother, he was not gestated. —GER answered, touching the baby clothes he liked the most. — Giorno Giovanna has a biological mother and two biological fathers according to Dr. Jotaro Kujo. In this case I removed the mother's part. Unfortunately I don't think I can mix your genetics with Bruno Bucciarati's for a similar result. Neither Moody Blues nor Sticky Fingers produce non-living matter that I can synthesize in a baby.

—I don't need biological children, I have enough with all of you. —Said Abbacchio, the baby then grabbed his hair.

—Bash...a!

—Yes, yes Fragola... Ubasha. —Abbacchio answered, it was impossible not to accept GER's explanation as a reality. The baby was strangely similar to Giorno and Fugo and also spoke like Purple Haze.

—Fragola? —Asked Giorno.

—Look I don't know his name, I don't think you've named him either and since this child is Fugo's according to your impregnating stand, I'll call him Fragola because I think that's cute.

—Well, I guess that's a suitable name for the time being.

—Promise me you won't call him Pomeriggio* or something stupid like that.

—I don't know. —Said Giorno putting three different cans of formula and various baby accessories, the cart was already filled with diapers and sundries. Suddenly he wanted to cry, his mother never bothered to feed him properly, his clothes were hand-me-downs from neighbors and his crib had been used until he couldn't fit in it. Giorno was going to make sure this baby never felt the way he did.

—Are you all right?

— No. —Giorno replied and then turned away. —The rest we can get later, for now I think we have what we need.

Leone put one hand on his shoulder while holding Fragola with the other against his chest.

—Kid... what are you going to tell Fugo?

—I don't know, I... —Giorno bit his lower lip hard. —I don't think he'll be amused.

—You know that you have to tell him, don't you?

—I don't have to...

—Giorno.

—I don't have to... I don't want him to hate me. I'm not ready for this.

—I'm not going to keep it a secret for long, you have to think about it...

—Thank you.

The return trip was much less relaxed, Fragola had been in a very good mood until a few minutes ago, dressed in a pink jumpsuit with white stars, but now he was bawling with the intensity of one of Fugo's angry tantrums, probably because he was hungry.

—Ugh, you should have made him with a full stomach. —Abbaccio complained as he sped up the car just a bit.

—He was created around 2 am and has a biological estimate of 1 year, so it is normal for him to be hungry now. I figured a neonate would be much more complicated so I made him this age.

—Well, you should have made it 10 years old then!

—That wouldn't make much sense. It would be difficult to develop emotional bonds with his environment, plus it would be risky for his overall health.

—Ugh, anyway, we're almost there, try to keep him calm.

Giorno held the child against his chest and made gentle circles on his back trying to think of an explanation that would at least give him enough time to be able to approach the situation properly.

Leone put the cans of formula on the table as soon as he walked in the door, he had almost run out of the car when he arrived at the villa, the rest of them looked at him as if he had grown an extra head.

—What is this? —Asked Mista

—Baby formula.

—Why do you have baby formula? —Fugo continued, Abbacchio pushed them next to Pannacotta.

—Help the brat with the other brat, I need my headphones. Where is Bucciarati?

—He finished breakfast earlier and went to his office.

—Fine. —Leone concluded and left the room.

Giorno then entered with the baby bawling uncontrollably.

—Jesus Christ! What the hell? —Asked Mista getting up, Narancia and Fugo got up too and approached him.

—Giorno, where did you get a baby from?

—GioGio, what happened?

Giorno let out a sigh.

—He was in the car when we got back, I don't know who his parents are or why they left him in our car. We think it was a Stand or something that left him there since Moody Blues couldn't find anything relevant. It's like when the stand fish attacked Narancia or something. —Giorno concluded by putting a couple of bottles on the table. —Could you help me with this please?

—Ah, sure... uh, I'll boil them. —Said Fugo who took the bottles and went straight to the kitchen.

—Well I'll help you carry the baby. —Mista took it from Giorno's arms and Fragola slapped him in the face. — Hey, no punches! —He smiled, pulling him into his arms without much success.

—He looks just like Fugo! —Narancia laughed and Giorno felt his heart race.

— It's true, he looks just like him.

—Oh, what if his horrible family had another child and then they don't want him anymore and left him in their car because they know that you know Fugo? —Narancia said almost as if he was trying to discover the plot of a detective movie, Mista started laughing.

—I don't think so. —Said Giorno, a part of him wanted to go take the shower he should have taken in the morning and another part of him wanted to just be there and hug Fragola until the end of time. —Let's go to the kitchen, I have to feed him.

Narancia took the cans of formula and he and Mista followed Giorno, Fugo had a big pot with water and the bottles inside.

—Why do you have to do that? —Narancia asked, leaving the cans on the kitchen table.

—It eliminates any virus or bacteria that may have the container, babies have an immune system much less developed than a child or an adult, any disease could kill him. It is important to boil their bottle before preparing the formula.

—What the fuck? —Mista shouted, covering the baby instinctively and moving several steps away.—Fugo for fuck's sake!

Purple Haze Distortion had materialized while Pannacotta had his back to the rest of them checking the bottles.

—Haze?! What are you doing outside? Come back!

Fragola then let out a happy squeal.

—Ubashaaaa! —He shouted and everyone stood still, all except Giorno who was incredibly nervous and just wanted to grab Fragola and get out of there before they realized what was going on.

—Ubasha —Purple Haze Distortion answered calmly, almost in a whisper.

—Baba! —Shouted Fragola again, raising his arms towards PHD in an attempt to be carried by the stand.

—He can see Purple Haze?! —Narancia was confused and excited.—Wow! —He made Aerosmith come out and circle around the baby. Fragola let out a giggle and tried to catch Aerosmith.

—He has a stand! —Said Mista. —If he can see Haze and Aerosmith then he must have a stand! Maybe that's why he just showed up in the car!

—That sounds like a pretty good explanation —Giorno replied.

The Pistols then came out too and Fragola seemed very happy trying to catch them with his little hands while the Pistols made faces and gestures and danced back and forth to entertain him.

Fugo summoned all his willpower to bring Haze back inside, the water was boiling. Giorno watched him from across the kitchen. Mista and Narancia seemed to be in their own world trying to make Fragola laugh, Giorno approached Fugo.

—Could you pass me a can of formula please GioGio? —Asked Pannacotta, there was a small teapot behind the pot of water where the bottles were.

—How do you know all this? —Asked Giorno, bringing the can to Fugo, Fugo opened it, put two spoonfuls of formula in the bottle and then filled it halfway with hot water and began to shake it.

—I once read a book on baby care, I was bored and it was the only thing available. It was years ago.

—Oh.

Once the formula was dissolved Fugo filled the bottle with room temperature water and shook it again. He checked to make sure it wasn't too hot by splashing a few drops on his arm and then handed the bottle to Giorno.

—All yours.

—Thank you. —Giorno sat down in one of the chairs and Mista handed Fragola to him. Giorno gave him the bottle and the baby drank immediately.

—And do you know if the baby has a name? —Narancia asked.

—No, I don't know.

—It's not like it's a lost pet Narancia. —Fugo grumbled.

—Maybe it had the name on the clothes, my mom did that when I was little.

—We should look for any reports of lost babies. —Continued Mista.

—Good idea, I'll go do that now. Anyone who has lost their baby, even if it was just a few minutes, would have called the police by now, I'll go check it out. —Said Fugo.

—Fragola. —Said Giorno before Fugo left the kitchen.

—Eh? —Narancia asked.

—It's not his name, but Abbacchio called him Fragola for now.

Mista laughed loudly.

—Because he looks like Fugo!

Leone had gone to his shared room with Bruno, his noise blocking headphones were on his bedside table, Fragola's screaming had stopped but Leone could not trust that they were not coming back soon, the hustle and bustle of the rest was far away and calm, he could have a few minutes to himself and maybe if Bucciarati was not too busy he could also have some pampering and a few kisses.

He took his headphones and put them on; Who can it be now? from Met At Work started to play and Leone lay down on the bed before going to look for Bruno.

The situation was very strange and he knew it was not his place to talk about what had happened, not even with Bucciarati, even if he had been Giorno's first choice, but he didn't like the idea of lying to his future husband or to Pannacotta, to who he would probably only tell on his deathbed, but he considered the closest thing to what it would ever be like to have a biological child. Leone had not lied about never having children, in his heart he had 3, 5 counting Trish and Giorno, but with them he did not have the level of closeness.

Fugo had been his first contact with the idea of a family, he had taken care of him one weekend when he had a horribly high fever, Bucciarati was on a mission from Polpo in which only he had been required, so Leone and Fugo spent a few days together. Pannacotta had a panic attack after Leone, drunk and annoyed, had grabbed him by the shoulders trying not to fall in the kitchen.

Leone had to look for Fugo after an hour when it started to rain torrentially, that day he promised himself to stop drinking. Something in Pannacotta's terrified eyes had given him the motivation he needed, not because Bruno hadn't tried, but because he could see the reflection of the fear for which he had begun to drink, a mirage of what had broken down his control.

Leone did not apologize for touching him and Pannacotta did not apologize for running away from home, but both knew the other was sorry. Fugo woke up in the middle of the night coughing heavily and Leone gave him all the home remedies his mother had taught him many years before. Somehow that weekend they forged a mutual understanding and a sort of trust in each other.

When Bruno returned home he noticed two things, the bottles had disappeared from the house, even the ones that were hidden and Fugo no longer went to his room when Leone entered the room.

Leone wondered what time was enough and what risks he ran with Giorno if he spilled the beans. Where did his loyalties fall between Fugo and Giorno? Between his son and his boss? The answer was obvious, but he should at least give Giovanna some credit, after all he didn't know what was going on. 

—Narancia! —Bruno's voice was heard from the first floor- Aerosmith! Now! 

Suddenly everyone was on guard, GER was out, covering Giorno and Fragola, the Pistols were also out and Aerosmith was circling around, Narancia had his radar counting everyone in the villa. 

—Narancia, is anyone inside? —Bruno asked, entering the kitchen where Giorno, Mista and Narancia were.

— Fugo in his office, he's on his way here and Abbacchio is coming down the stairs. No one else inside the area.

—What happened Bucciarati? —Asked Mista.

—Did something happen?  —Giorno asked.

—Is everything all right? —Fugo said agitated, entering the kitchen.

—What's wrong? —It was Leone's turn.

Bucciarati took a breath.

—Narancia, are you sure there is no one else?

—Nothing breathing at least. —He answered, Bruno nodded.

Bruno was still a little nervous.

—The door to the music room was ajar, I assumed it was Fugo but... well, there's a circle made of candles, they're unlit and it doesn't look recent but I have no idea how it happened. Fugo, I doubt it but... was it you?

They all turned to look at Pannacotta.

—No! I wouldn't... my grandmother would kill me if I did something like that.

It was rare for Fugo to talk about his grandmother, but every now and then something about Frida Fugo would come from his lips, Giorno paid special attention to that kind of detail.

—It doesn't seem to have been done recently, at least not in the last hour. The candles are only slightly deteriorated and not hot. —Bruno continued.

GER approached Giorno and whispered so low that he could barely be heard by his user.

—It was Distortion and me... No one else was in the house.

Giorno could almost feel his blood pressure rise.

—Abbacchio and I will go investigate... Bucciarati, Mista please take care of Fragola. Fugo and Narancia please check around the house. —Said Giorno before the rest could have another idea.

Giorno handed Fragola into Bruno's arms.

—Fragola this is Bucciarati. Bucciarati this is Fragola. Mista will tell you the rest. —Said Giorno who took Leone by the arm and almost ran to the music room.

—I suppose you know what happened here? —Abbacchio asked once they entered the room.

—GER says he did it.

—I'm not surprised... So he summoned a baby? What, he stabbed Purple Haze?

—Distortion

— Yeah, you stand stabbed Purple Haze Distortion with a knife from the kitchen and made a pact with the devil? Or did the two of them sacrifice a chicken? —Abbacchio was trying hard not to laugh at Giorno.

—I don't know... GER could you explain to me what happened?

GER went to the center of the circle surrounded by the candles.

—I needed as much raw material as possible. Fragola was synthesized at 2:25 am on October 7th of this year. I asked Distortion to use all his capsules, as you know Distortion's virus is only weak to light, by doing it at night I could keep the virus multiplying for several minutes, with the speed he had it took me 4 minutes and 16 seconds to get enough to make it feasible to create Fragola with the right weight for the age of 1 year. The candles were used as a barrier to prevent the virus from spreading to the rest of the house, plus the music room is Distortion's favorite place, after the greenhouse for strawberries, but here there were no plants that could be injured by the virus. It is the ideal place to conceive a baby.

Abbacchio couldn't take it anymore and burst out laughing.

—God! How are you going to explain this to them? Your stand is even more deranged than you are! Is this your stand's idea of a romantic date with Purple Haze? —Abbacchio said, crossing his arms.  

— Distortion. —GER repeated annoyed.

— Whatever the fuck.

—Well... I... can put on my pajamas and recreate this, then have Moody Blues recording me setting one of the candles. We'll say it was me and that I'm sleepwalking.

—This is stupid. —Abbacchio replied without moving.

—Do you have a better idea?

—You can tell the truth... It would be more appropriate.

—GioGio? —Fugo and Narancia entered the music room, Abbacchio gave an amused look to Giorno. — We found nothing, no sign of an intruder. Were you guys lucky?

— Ah, well... It was GER. I don't know why but... It was GER.

—Oh...

—Okay, bye... Narancia come with me! —Abbachio took Narancia by the arm and led him out of the music room.

—But...

—Come on!

Purple Haze Distortion came out of Pannacotta's body and pressed the G note on the piano.

Chapter Text

—This is my fault, I'm so sorry GioGio.

Giorno froze in place, not sure what could have happened for Fugo to be apologizing.

—Why would it be?

—Last night GER came to my room and... well, GER and Haze....

—Distortion.

—I'm going to call my Stand whatever I want, thank you. —Fugo continued a little frustrated. —GER asked me to keep Haze out for a few minutes... I guess they just wanted to do this although I don't understand why... I should have told you or tried to say no but.

—But?

—But GER and you... in theory they are both you and it was an order and...

Fragola's bellowing was getting louder and more desperate in the distance and Giorno wanted to get out of there and go after him but he didn't want to leave the conversation half way through either.

—It's okay, I understand. Don't worry, it wasn't your fault. It's me who should apologize to you, for waking you up and for all this.

—No GioGio, not at all. It's all right.

—Just to clarify, both of you. —Giorno looked at GER and then at Fugo —You don't have to obey my stand, unless it's an emergency or you consider it prudent.

—Is that an order? —Fugo smiled graciously and Giorno smiled back.

—A suggestion. I have always trusted your judgment.

Fugo blushed. Fragola's bellowing could be heard closer and closer, Mista kicked open the door to the music room.

—Enough! I can't take him! Abbacchio took Bruno to their room and Narancia and I can't get Fragola to calm down!

—Baba! —Shouted the baby throwing his whole body backwards; Mista held him tightly which prevented the baby from falling head first to the floor but Fragola was struggling violently in his arms.

GER then picked him up and Mista let out a sigh of relief.

—Can you and Narancia please go to my room and put Fragola's things on my bed? And prepare the bathtub with hot water, please? —Giorno asked, sitting down on the piano stool next to Purple Haze.

—Of course! —Narancia said and they both left the music room.

Fugo approached the piano and ran his fingers along the black wood of the lid.

—I'm going to keep him. —Giorno continued, Fugo looked at him awkwardly.

—Uh?

—I mean Fragola... I'll be his father.

Fugo tried to force a smile.

—You're joking, aren't you?

—No, I'm serious. Do you have any suggestions for a name?

Fugo pressed the bridge of his nose and let out a frustrated little grunt.

—I don't want you to think I'm trying to question your authority, but GioGio, you can't just keep a baby you found in a parking lot. A baby doesn't belong to the mafia. I don't think that...

—Fugo, I know this is very extreme; I understand that, but I've made up my mind.

—What about the baby's parents? It's only been what? a couple of hours since he disappeared from his house. Maybe if he was alone or taking a nap his parents didn't notice? If he really has a stand maybe his parents have too and then we would be in trouble and I know it's not like we can't get out of any trouble but I don't think it's wise to....

—Pannacotta —Giorno interrupted him with that velvety tone of voice he used when he wanted to be firm but kind, not with his capos, not with his soldiers, but with his friends. —This is all settled now, okay?

—You've been in such a bad mood lately, I promise you that a baby crying all the time is not going to solve what's going on. I'm telling you this as one of your counselors.

—And I'm telling you now, not as your boss.... Panni —Giorno took Fugo's hand, Pannacotta blushed for the contact and the nickname, for the infinitely sweet voice. — I'll be fine, besides this solves perfectly the reason for my bad mood. Sorry about that too, I hadn't realized it was so noticeable to you. The capos have been trying to make me date their daughters, they demand that I provide an heir.... Even my biological family has asked if I ever plan to have offspring.

—At your age I don't see why that's such a big issue, it's not like you're 70 years old and dying?

—No, it shouldn't be that important, but since it happened I think it's best to just embrace it. So, what do you think of Jonathan? That was my father's name.

—I thought your father's name was Dio.

—One of them, yeah.

—One of...? — Fugo released his hand from Giorno's and brushed his hair back, exasperated and slightly annoyed. —Give me three days to find the baby's parents, if I don't find them in that time...

—Will you give me permission to keep him? —Giorno said with amusement.

—I know I don't have the authority to demand anything from you, I'm just worried that all of a sudden you'll decide it's okay to keep a child out of nowhere.

—Like you did with Narancia?

—You know it's not the same.

—I just want to know if you think Jonathan is a good name, I'll take suggestions.

Fugo could feel his discomfort growing in his chest, Giorno wouldn't steal a baby just because he can, he would be looking for his parents, he would be looking to return him home, not just keep him to get rid of the harassment of his capos and his family.

—So... He has no parents? He's an orphan and you and Abbacchio just went to pick him up? That's what happened? GioGio if you tell me that's the truth I'll believe you... If you tell me that you made this decision then I won't say anything else, nor will I question anything about it... Just tell me that we are not taking a baby away from a loving family. If his parents are dead or don't want him then I understand.

Giorno was his father, how could he not love him, how could he leave him alone. He did not want to lie to Fugo but maybe this was the best option, Fugo's conclusions gave an adequate explanation to the situation.

—So, was it a stand and appeared out of nowhere or does he have no family to go back to? —Fugo's pleading look was too much for Giorno. As if begging him to remain the light of his life, the embodiment of perfection, justice and the only truth in the world, it was too much for Giorno to bear.

—Fugo, I...

A happy squeal from Fragola distracted them, they both turned to look at him. Fragola in GER's arms, Fragola holding PHD's hand, Fragola breaking the virus capsules enveloping the three of them in the purple haze of Fugo's stand.

—No! —Pannacotta's piercing scream broke Giorno's soul, his eyes terrified. PHD disappeared at once and Giorno thought for a second that Fugo would tear his face off, his hands were fiercely pressed to his face, he fell to his knees on the ground.

It was only a second, a tiny moment of time in which they both saw the scene, one that would forever haunt their minds. Pannacotta killing a baby with his stand, Giorno seeing the soul of the person he loves most shatter into a thousand pieces. All in a second.

—Baba! —Shrieked Fragola suddenly frightened by PHD's sudden disappearance, GER held him in his arms, forever immune to the virus, they both were.

Fugo poured the contents of his stomach onto the carpet next to the piano, breaking out in a cold sweat and feeling every vein in his head throbbing. Giorno ran to the baby and took him in his arms.

—Is he all right? —He asked, checking him carefully.

—He is, there's nothing to worry about, Giorno Giovanna.

Giorno left Fragola in the arms of GER who began to rock him to calm him down, Giorno then turned to Fugo.

—Are you all right?

—How could I be all right?! How do you expect me to be all right? —Fugo rant, his throat stung, the bile, the fear, everything had destroyed his voice or maybe it was the memory of when he ended up with the narcotics team, when he himself was consumed by the virus, the taste of blood that soon ceased to be felt because the virus destroyed his tongue along with his taste buds, the sting of living skin, red and boiling, of his teeth breaking and slowly falling apart, of his nose rotting and filling with putrid mucous, of his skin dying, of his lungs burning as he tried to breathe, the most physically painful seconds came to his head like a gunshot, the very thought of putting a baby through something like that had turned not only his stomach, but his soul, his heart, everything Fugo was was being pierced, cut and shredded in a whirlpool of chaos, misery and pain and Giorno Giovanna with his magnificent bearing, golden hair and heavenly eyes dared to ask him if he was all right.  Fugo felt that Giorno had the power to make him rot faster than the virus.

—I'm sorry.

—Why are you sorry? That for a moment I thought I killed a baby in the most horrible way possible and that I could never forgive myself for something like that or that it's obvious you're hiding something from me? I understand that you don't owe me any explanations but, I thought we were better than this.... I thought you trusted me, but I obviously overestimated your closeness.

—I trust you, of course I trust you, of course I do... I just don't know how to explain.

—Whatever. —Pannacotta could smell the sour aroma of his waste on the carpet. It would cost him at least three weeks' salary to renovate it, one week's salary to have it cleaned. —I have to clean this.

—No, someone else can do it. I can do it even... GER could you?

GER approached and Fugo felt annoyed, he put Fragola in Giorno's arms, the baby looked sleepy, almost about to sleep. GER touched the carpet and Fugo's vomit turned into a few butterflies.

—See? Nothing happened.

—Everything happened! Everything is happening GioGio! —Fugo kept feeling his anger boiling inside his body. —How is it that a baby is resistant to Haze?

—Distor...

—No, I don't care just.... Look if you want to call him Distortion that's fine, but I'm not go... agh! GioGio, how did this happen?

—I don't want you to hate me.

Fugo was annoyed, frustrated and tired but he couldn't conceive of hating Giorno, how could a plant hate the sun that feeds it? How could Fugo hate Giorno if he had already promised the eternity of his soul to him alone.

—I don't think you should worry about something like that.

Giorno took a deep breath, wrapped in his arms Fragola had fallen asleep, his face serene and happy. Giorno wondered if he had ever looked like this when he slept as a baby, if someone had ever held him with care and love back then.

—GER did it for me.... From you, from your soul, that's why it's immune, because it's made from Purple Haze Distortion. It was made from the capsules of the virus, it was born today at dawn in this very place.... It's mine, mine and yours. —Giorno was trembling by the time he stopped speaking, unable to look up at Fugo, his eyes clinging to the baby sleeping in his arms, Giorno imprisoned in the flesh of his body; shivering as if he were in the middle of the harshest winter of his existence.

Fugo looked almost offended, as if Giorno was playing a bad joke on him. His reddish irises looked at the baby with a mixture of terror and sadness.

—Fugo, please understand that it wasn't a conscious decision... GER just brought him to me in the morning.

Fugo put his hands on his face, Giorno could see Pannacotta's nails burying themselves again in his forehead, his cheeks were red.

—So it was just a fancy whim of Golden Experience?

—Requiem.

—The hell with you! —Fugo blurted out, dropping his hands from his face, showing his strength at having irritated the skin, then turning back to Giorno —You! —He said barely able to pronounce it, his voice had a sharp and viseral tone, but also miserable and full of emptiness. Fugo's devotion to Giorno seemed to crack, as if the temple of his God was now crumbling to pieces, as if the heavy marble was falling from the heights to shatter to the ground, the rumbling of the broken and betrayed heart tearing apart the foundations of his adoration for his Don, for Giorno Giovanna who had saved him from misery and now stabbed him so deep in the core of his existence, but Fugo had been so willing to take as much pain as Giorno offered him, he was feeling hypocritical.

He felt hypocritical, he had agreed to give him his soul, his heart, his body, everything of Fugo's was Giorno's. Was there any point in even reproaching him? Did Fugo have the right to feel this way? No, in his past life maybe, in his past life he would yell at him and make Bucciaratti throw him out of there, in his past life he had beaten Giorno to a pulp, he wouldn't even need Puple Haze, he would impale him with as many forks as necessary, he would tear his throat to curse him a thousand times while beating his face with his fist. And his tears would burn his skin and he would be short of breath and he would not stop until Giorno knew that what he did was horrible and even Abbacchio would try to stop him from killing the golden boy, the sun child made of pure celestial light, but that life had ended that day when he swore to him total and complete control over his existence, now he could in no way disagree, but Giorno was right about one thing, in his past life Fugo would have hated him.

Giorno wanted to be still, he wanted to be able to look as he always did, sure of his decisions but he couldn't, his body trembled like a leaf at the mercy of the wind. He couldn't help it even if he put all his determination into it. Fugo turned around and Giorno trembled a even more, Fugo said nothing and left the room, as if he had been defeated by something, as if the strength of his whole body had evaporated in a second and Giorno, shivering and infinitely sad, could not move his feet to go after him.

Chapter Text

Sheila had a bad feeling, the same one she had the morning her sister died and the same one she had when she was recruited by Guido Mista that day she would start her search for Pannacotta Fugo, which eventually led to the bad feeling on the day of the events of the mission known to them as “The Feedback” with the elimination of the narcotics team and the near death of the three of them.

Her first instinct was to send an SMS to Fugo and another to Murolo. They had a rule between them, messages, as many as they wanted, except in missions, then only the one who was in one could write to the rest to inform that they were still alive, the calls were exclusively for emergencies. They had to answer a call as soon as possible, so far none of them had called before but something in Sheila's heart felt wrong. She called Fugo then and there was no answer, something was definitely wrong.

She got dressed as fast as she could and got on her motorcycle, she arrived at the villa around 11:00 am and rushed inside, she ran to Pannacotta's office which was empty so she went to Giorno's office.

—Woah! Sheila, are you okay? —Asked Mista who was going the other way, he was carrying a big cheese sandwich and a lot of thinly sliced salami on a plate.

—Fugo? Where is he? Is he all right? —She asked a little nervously.

—Ah, oh... yes, I think so. He was with Giorno in the music room just now. I think I heard some screaming earlier but I'm sure it was just Fragola.

—Fragola?

—Yep, we have a baby now. —Said Narancia who arrived with them and a plate with a slice of pizza that was covering what looked like Chinese food.

Sheila began to chuckle.

—You have a baby? Mista I didn't know Narancia got you pregnant! —She mocked and Mista turned red as Sheila and Narancia burst into laughter.

—Of course not! —He shriek indignantly —Giorno found a baby and we are taking care of him while we find his parents... Fugo should be looking for them but... Well, I don't know what happened to that, I guess he took a break.

—Yeah, Fugo and Giorno were in the music room because apparently someone tried to summon the devil in there last night... It was all very weird but it's lunch time. Breakfast wasn't enough so we'll go eat more in the garden.

—Well... I'll, uh... I'll go see Fugo then.

The door to the music room was ajar and inside was Giorno with a sleeping baby in his arms.

—Boss? Is everything all right? —She asked, there was an aura of melancholy and everything felt very strange. Giorno normally exuded security, he was an imposing figure in an almost poetic way but now he looked like an old statue of an angel in a forgotten graveyard.

—I don't know. —Giorno answered, Shiela's voice had brought him out of his stupor and he sat down on the piano stool. —You can take the day off, I'll be in my room today and Mista can take care of guarding the door.

—Sure, uh... Is Fugo all right?

Giorno looked at her questioningly.

—I don't know either, but... Well, it's not like I can stop you from going to look for him and make sure he doesn't get lonely... Right?

It wasn't an order, but it was all Shiela needed. She nodded and pulled out her cell phone before turning and running back out the way she had come in.

—Murolo! I'll meet you at Pannacotta's apartment in 5 minutes... No, I don't care if... No! It's... well I don't know if it's an emergency but... Okay! Yeah, yeah great. —And she hung up as she got back on her motorcycle.

Fugo had left the villa after the confession of Fragola's origins, his slow but heavy steps took him to his apartment; he wanted to be alone, he wanted to be away from everything, especially Giorno. When the door of his apartment closed, he was finally able to run to his room, kick that door shut and throw everything he could before reaching his bed and screaming into a velvet pillow. Tears welled up, there was an emptiness inside him, a feeling of disgust, revulsion pulsing through his body.

His anguished cries escaped like chants of tragedy and pain, small spasms twisted his body occasionally and Fugo, lying in the fetal position on his bed, could only cry and keep crying. All he was dealing with was the shock of what had happened, of how betrayed he felt.

He loved Giorno, had loved him for too long, more than he would have liked to accept, loved him more than he ever thought possible, but even though he knew it, even though he had often dreamed of touching him, of kissing his lips, of running his fingers along the bare skin of his shoulders and playing with the long silky hair of gold and sun, Fugo felt strangely horrified by the situation.

Thinking about Giorno brought him guilt most of the time, the idea of having anything carnal with what he considered sacred was shameful, the thought of licking God's tears and biting his lips was too great a blasphemy for him to accept in his heart. So with time and patience Fugo was able to minimize his intrusive thoughts, his instincts and desires, the hormonal responses of his adolescent body. Age helped with that, the years diminished his needs, there was no longer a trace of the latent fantasies of cornering Giorno against a wall and kissing him as if his life depended on it.

Fugo had a problem with intimacy and he knew it; he had worked on it as much as possible, the idea of being intimate with Giorno was one thing, but the mere fact of touching him on a daily basis made him repulsed, it was too much to bear, as if he were allergic.

Fugo had come to the conclusion that he was addicted and allergic to Giorno and from that point on, much less emotional and with a false scientific approach, he broke down and catalogued each of the reactions that his Don provoked in him. He was able to survive with it, he was able to avoid heartbreak and selfhatred. He had long ago read that allergies reset every 7 years, so he had a chance of not being allergic to touch by the time he was 21, though it was absurd to think that the trauma of human touch would be the same as an involuntary reaction of his immune system, yet Fugo wished he could feel good when someone touched him. Not necessarily in a sexual way, although being able to enjoy that part of himself was also something he longed for; but what mattered most to him was being able to have some emotional intimacy from physical touch.

There were few moments when his mind tolerated touch and at the same time desperately asked for it. Like when Narancia would fall asleep on his shoulder on movie nights, like when Bruno would ruffle his hair after a hard day, like when Leone would pat him on the back and tell him he had done a good job, when Mista would give him a high five when they got things right, even when Trish would gently poke his arm with her finger to get his attention and ask for something. But what he enjoyed the most was when he kissed Giorno's hand on important occasions, Fugo loved kissing that soft hand with the scent of roses and manicured nails, but outside that small space, that piece of skin, the contact became a torture. The situation made him feel overwhelmed, intoxicated and ridiculously absurd, because his emotions and his logic were at opposite extremes. 

Fugo did not fully understand the reason for feeling so assaulted, the mere fact of being united with Giorno for the rest of his life should be enough to make him happy, but he did not feel happy and putting a name to what had happened made his stomach churn. Giorno was not a person to take things by force, at least not from Fugo. From the world maybe, but never from his friends, so wasn't Fugo his friend?

Even the Virgin Mary had been asked for her consent to bring Jesus into the world, why didn't Fugo have that courtesy? Perhaps because deep down he knew he could never have refused. If the answer was given long before the question, is there any point in being angry about the outcome?

“If you were a woman I would divorce my wife”

“Come on Pannacotta, don't you want to know what it's like to be an adult?”

“If you were a girl, it would be a dream come true to make you have my children.”

His eyelids burned and he rolled over in his bed, wiping his tears with one of his sleeves.

For Fugo procreation was not related to love, his parents had him because it was convenient, because as Giorno had said, an heir was necessary. Someone who could fulfill the unfulfilled whims of their parents, love was not necessary or relevant.

When he entered college his professor made him feel that having children was a purely fetishistic act, as if the idea of forcing your genetics on someone else's was an act of self pleasure and not of love. It was a form of belonging and not of affection or respect for the other and that ended up ruining any hope or desire that Pannacotta Fugo might have retained about ever having offspring. 

Fugo had not realistically entertained the idea of children until then, but after considering it the first time his teacher mentioned it to him, he realized that it was not a good idea in a calculated way. He didn't have a personality suitable for something like that, he didn't feel he could sympathize with the idea of it; he could be a son and a very good one as he was before for his parents, even if he detested it, now for Bruno and Abbacchio even if it was slightly absurd because of the minimal age difference between the three of them. He could be a good brother to Narancia and Trish, even to Mista. He could be an excellent soldier to Giorno, there is nothing more loyal than a soldier in love, so he could pour his desire to be needed into all of them, but he didn't see himself being a father.

Why would anyone want him to be a father to begin with? His professor did not want a husband, in masculine, he wanted a new wife, the current one was already a mature woman and Fugo was the desire of a pervert who wanted to possess the innocence of a young body. His teacher wanted a wife, in feminine, submissive and easy to manipulate and possess. It wasn't Fugo's qualities as a human being that was attractive about him, it wasn't the type of person he was that made him a good choice. His intelligence was the only thing that was worth a little bit, maybe his looks. Narancia once told him that day he pulled him out of the trash he thought Fugo was an angel.

Fugo knew that he was by conventional standards a hegemonic person, that he was attractive and one might even say sexy. Among his many personal researches he had come across an article that talked about how some people who had been victims of sexual abuse or rape tended to over—sexualize after the traumatic event. This is because their minds desperately need to replace the unpleasant sensation with new memories and it also gives them control over their own sexuality.

Fugo felt slightly validated at the time, locking himself in his room to cry as he assimilated the information. Mista often questioned his choice of clothing, especially after his thong strap was visible on a mission where his pants ripped while trying to escape from the enemy.

Fugo knew the question came from curiosity and not from judgment, because Guido didn't know why Fugo had ended up in the mafia to begin with, but he did resent the feeling that maybe it was his fault. But Fugo loved to be told that he was a good boy, that he did things right, that he was cute, that he was valuable, maybe that's why he liked to dress like that and draw stares from others. Maybe he even did it even prior the trauma, when he was in college; he gave smiles whenever possible because it gave him sympathy that his parents never gave him and that was what led him to the most disgusting situation of his life, but even with all that he still fed on feeling loved and validated and seen.

The looks from a few girls and guys, the feeling of being desired and having control over it gave him more peace and satisfaction than he would like to admit. He used the holes in his clothes, the silk and cotton thong, the perfume, the lip balm and the occasional eyeliner to feel good about himself, knowing that no one would touch him, no one would force himself on him for being part of the mob, being part of Bucciarati's group and although he hated it, he also had Purple Haze, his personal hell was with him everywhere and he could get rid of anyone who even bothered him a slightly. He almost never resorted to his stand, Fugo was a good puncher, although there was also Bruno and Leone, who took care of him from any predator that wanted to overstep his bounds. To the girls Bruno would talk in a caramelized voice and explain that his boy didn't need a girlfriend, to the boys Leone would break their fingers.

The dynamic worked, even with Narancia and Mista when they joined in. There was an unwritten rule about how much Fugo could tolerate touch from them or others and when someone had to intervene and avoid the explosive wrath of Pannacotta Fugo or worse, a surprise appearance of Purple Haze and its virus.

Fugo rolled up in the blankets and then threw them on the floor, he was anxious, his heart beat so fast but felt so slow. His body didn't seem to have enough blood to keep him alive, but by then all that was in his head was the contemplation of his mortality. If Fugo died, would Fragola die? Fragola was made of the virus and the virus was theoretically not something Pannacotta could control, yet it was still a part of him. The virus died in the sun, Fugo had very little resistance to ultraviolet light. If the baby spent too much time in the sun, would he die? Perhaps it was allergic to the sun as Fugo was allergic to Giorno.

Did Fragola have a soul of his own? Fugo didn't quite believe in souls before his encounter with the stands. His grandmother often told him that he needed to have more faith and Fugo wanted to believe her. He wanted to be able to have confidence in God and that his soul would eventually be rewarded or punished. Fugo wanted to be a good boy so that when he died he could join her in paradise.

When his grandmother died Fugo tried to convince himself that the soul was real and that his grandmother was in a better place and he also thought about following her. Fugo was a hypocrite, many times before he thought about death and how to touch it, to wrap himself in its cloak and not wake up again, but he was also a survivor. Fugo was always looking for the best option to make sure he would open his eyes when the next dawn came; it was absolutely absurd. When he got Purple Haze then he was sure of two things, that his grandmother was well and that Fugo would never return to her, because someone with such a horrible soul like him could never be anywhere near heaven.

The door was knocked, Fugo wanted nothing to do with anyone, there was no way it would be a thief so he didn't have to worry about trying to defend himself or kill anyone in the process, it had to be one of them, maybe Bruno, maybe Abbacchio; he hoped it wasn't Giorno.

He wrapped himself in the darkness of his mind, in his room with the lights off, the curtains closed and the scent of the air freshener which this month was bergamot.

Chapter Text

—Hey!— Sheila's voice broke through his apartment. Sheila was the best at picking locks, much to the annoyance of Mista who had been undefeated champion until her arrival. Bruno was the obvious absolute winner, but there's a big difference between breaking a door in half with Sticky Fingers and using a hair pin to open it. — Are you there? —She asked nervously, checking the place quickly, Voodoo Child at her side in case something happened. Not that Sheila was afraid of Fugo, but if her gut feeling was anything to go by, there might be someone else in there. —I just want to know if you're okay... —Her tone was worried and Fugo couldn't resist it, it wasn't fair for Shiela to suffer because of Pannacotta's foolish heart.

—I'm in my room. —He said and Shiela approached.

—How do I know it's you and not an enemy using your voice? —She asked half seriously and half jokingly.

—The J of spades is your favorite card in Murolo's stand.

Sheila let out a giggle and leaned against the door of Fugo's room.

—Are you okay?

—Yes

—We both know that's not true, but I guess the answer is enough to at least know you're not dying.

—I feel like I'm dying... I feel like I'm drowning inside, like everything I am is consuming me. I feel like the virus is rotting me again, but this time it's my soul and not my body... and it's not really Haze.

—Can I... Do you want to tell me?

—No...Yes. I don't know.

—Do you want me to go?  I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You didn't answer. I called you and you didn't answer and I guess I haven't felt this terrified in a long time, not since my sister.

Fugo felt a lot of guilt, he didn't think he could feel more than he already held in his chest but it was possible, Fugo wondered if any stand in the world could have such a ridiculous and at the same time terrifying power, to keep your heart in perpetual guilt. The idea caused him anxiety.

—I came straight from the villa and left my cell phone in the office. I'm sorry about that. I really am.

Shiela shook her head and then smiled, Fugo couldn't see her do it.

—It's okay, I understand but please don't do it again, I almost had a heart attack, you know?

—Okay.

—Okay. Can I come in? or do you want me to leave?

Fugo considered it for a moment, Sheila could touch him, Sheila was like Narancia, both were safe places. Maybe because they were both like little siblings that Fugo wanted to protect and because they weren't people he felt he had to be perfect with all the time. He couldn't yell at Bruno, he would feel much worse if he burst into tears or said something too rude, but Sheila and Narancia wouldn't take it so badly, they couldn't look sad or disappointed.

Not that Bucciaratti wasn't a safe place, it was perhaps where Fugo felt happiest, at least before Giorno, but Bruno and his infinite love for his family, made of bums and lowlifes that Burno himself picked up from the misery of their own lives, was too much for Pannacotta. He was ashamed to be so unworthy, so full of mistakes, because even if Bruno would never be like his biological parents, Pannacotta wanted Bruno to always be proud of him and to see him whining or having a tantrum now, after having improved so much, would be too embarrassing to add to his already deplorable mental state.

—You can come in.

Sheila entered and saw the things lying around, some of them broken and the blankets on the floor.

—Who do we have to kill? —She asked a little jokingly but Fugo knew she meant it.

—Nobody...

—What happened? Seriously, you know I can kick ass for you. Just tell me who hurt you and I promise I'll bring you their head on a platter.

—I don't think you could, even if you tried.

—Doubt me? — She said feigning indignation.

—I'm upset with GioGio.

—Oh... Well, you have a point.

—Do you want to talk about what happened with Giorno?

—I'm not sure.

—I don't want to make you uncomfortable by asking you all these questions. I just want to know how to help. Is there anything you want to do?

Fugo had thought about it, even before Fragola, sometimes he still thought he wanted to kill his teacher and this seemed like an appropriate time to do it. Somehow he wanted to be free of it, of the feeling of hatred that overwhelmed his chest every now and then, but before he was terrified of the idea, because the existence of his teacher was proof that the bad in his heart was not his fault, if it disappeared and he was still the horrible person he felt he was, then there was nothing that could justify his resentment, his hatred, his anger. If there was nothing to be angry at then he would just be an idiot. But now Fugo felt he had to do it, he wanted to free himself from it, he wanted to try. He wanted to throw off the chains that bound him to the unpleasant events that made him feel so dirty, because if he could clean himself up at least a little then he could look at Fragola without feeling disgusted with himself and the baby's origins. Because if he wasn't dirty then maybe he could better understand how someone like Giorno Giovanna had chosen scraps of his soul to create something as beautiful as a son.

—Giorno had a baby... with me.

—What?

—Fragola... Abbacchio called him Fragola. Giorno took Haze's virus and made a baby with it, somehow he mixed my soul and his into a baby. I can't even understand how he could mix it at the genetic level. It doesn't make much sense, dna shouldn't work like that!

—Oh wow... Hmmm, so that baby was yours. That's the most dramatic and disturbing romantic gesture I've ever heard of. I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to react. I mean... Congratulations? I guess I understand that this is probably the worst way to confess your love to someone, Giorno is extremely peculiar in most situations.

—Confession of love?! Sheila! Ugh! —Fugo screamed against the mattress of his bed.

—What? Giorno is completely in love with you.

—I don't need this now... He is not.

—We all know that he is. —Sheila put a hand on Pannacotta's shoulder. —And also that you are in love with him. The only ones who haven't realized it are you two.

—Of course not... why would Giorno do something like... love me. Me of all people?

—God! You're both so stupidly dense. Why else would he tie his life to yours forever? People like Giorno don't have kids just because they were bored on a Saturday night. Do you really think someone whose essence is life itself would make a baby with someone else, emphasis on someone else, just because they can? If Giorno wanted a baby just because, believe me, he wouldn't need anyone but himself to make it happen.

—But…

—Fugo, I promise there are no hidden reasons, you're just idiots.

Pannacotta felt frustrated, but at least his sadness had diminished, talking with Sheila, discussing with her always helped him to get out of his deepest states of depressing contemplations.

—It is convenient that Giorno used me, my immune system has improved a lot after Haze's capsule. It fused with my white blood cells, according to the SpeedWagon Foundation's research. Doctor Kujo mentioned that they could derive vaccines with my blood in the future.

—Oh my God, please stop with your attempt at logical justification! This is stupid!

—That my legacy to mankind is an efficient method of disease eradication?

—No, that you think Giorno would make a baby with Haze for something like that. He could make him immune to practically anything if he wanted to, he doesn't need you for that.

— But…

—He's in love with you and he's stupid... just like you!

Fugo could almost laugh at Sheila in that instant, so adamant that Fragola only existed because Giorno was in love, but if that was true then Fugo had to do something about it. He made a decision at that moment, wiped his tears and straightened his suit.

—Call Murolo, I need help with something.

—He's downstairs waiting for me... —Sheila opened the small window overlooking the street— Hey Murolove, come here!

—Murolove?

—It's funny

— Well, it will be his new contact name— Fugo laughed. 

All allong the watchtower did its job efficiently and now Murolo was driving them in his car to a well to do neighborhood near the University of Napoles, Federico II. According to Fugo it was founded in 1224. The afternoon was clear and the wind was coming in softly through the windows of the car, Sheila in the back, lying completely flat in the three-person seat and Fugo as co-driver guiding them every now and then through the streets, the radio on low with a song in French that Fugo could swear he had heard in his childhood.

Sheila, even though she knew Fugo was fine, still had that bad feeling that had been with her since she woke up.

—So... What's the mission about? —She asked, incorporating her body to take Pannacotta's seat from behind and leaning her face on the headrest. Then she continued. —Are you sure you want to do this?

—I'm as sure as I can be. I need to do that and I know it can get us into trouble for it being outside of Passione business, I understand if you want to just drop me off at my destination and go home.

Murolo speeded up and got into an alley that would serve as a shortcut to reach the exit they were looking for.

—Is that a joke or what? My friend, if the Don knew that we left you alone in whatever it is you're planning, I'm more than sure he would cut off our heads. —He teased.

—Besides, you're our family, like it or not. We'll accompany you to hell itself if we have to.

—Don't exaggerate Shei. —said Murolo. —Maybe just to purgatory. —he laughed.

Fugo couldn't help but smile.

—Thank you... I really appreciate it.

Fugo had found a different refuge in Sheila and Murolo, he knew he could ask for help from Mista and Narancia, from Bruno and Abbacchio, even from Giorno and Trish, but as much as he trusted them, as much as he could explain to them, Fugo did not feel he wanted to, maybe they would not ask but something in him would urge him to try to justify his actions, as if he owed them, as if he had to always give some kind of explanation for his actions. Sheila and Murolo on the other hand shared a bond about his reluctance to give more information than necessary. He could tell them, he even wanted to but it was nice to feel that he had the option of never speaking out and knowing that he would not be questioned in any way by them.

—You have nothing to thank, I'm sure you would do the same for us.

Fugo didn't say anything but he knew it was true, that if Murolo or Sheila asked him, he would do it. Especially Sheila. He also knew he would do it for the rest, for Mista and Narancia, for Bruno and Abbacchio, this time he would not doubt Trish and for Giorno he would burn the whole world if he told him to.

—Anyway, it is still early, we could go for a drink before arriving at the place.

—Only if you're buying, —Said Murolo who sped up again, there was a coffee shop nearby that was under Passione's jurisdiction, it would be good to have an alibi in just in case.

Fugo ordered an espresso and Sheila a chocolate cake, Murolo a dry wine, unlike Abbacchio who, as rough as he wanted to be, tended to prefer fruitier wines. It was comfortable, familiar and simple.

Hidden in the exclusive area where no one else could see or hear them, Murolo's Stand scattered around standing guard, Fugo wanted to enjoy this moment, because after killing his teacher he didn't know what was going to happen, he didn't know how he was going to feel, if it would be liberating or not, if he was just throwing the noose around his neck, so accompanied by Sheila's laughter and Murolo's humming, he took a breath and then finished his coffee before the sky turned red and magenta and he had to commit a homicide, one more of many that he had on the list of blood on his hands, one of many that he would inevitably continue to carry out in his line of work.

Fugo remembered the professor's house perfectly, he remembered that it was beautiful, almost cozy. Much smaller than his parents' house, but elegant. Full of books and the bust of Thomas Hobbes. The curtains were heavy and brocade textured, there was a white ceramic pot at the top of the stairs, it was small but pretty, it had an exotic monstera that had been imported from Latin America. His teacher himself had mentioned it to him the first time he had taken Fugo to dinner at his house, he had been so gracious, Fugo had felt so pleasantly loved, so graciously respected.

Murolo had the vehicle set and his stand standing guard in the surrounding streets, Sheila opened the door beating her record, she would throw it in Mista's face the next time she saw him.

Pannacotta Fugo was ready, he had to rid his soul and the world of a being as disgusting as that man was. He should have done it that day in the library, he knew now, he should have killed him right then, in the library with the encyclopedia. Maybe if he had given him one or two more blows, he would have succeeded, this time he would have a quicker but no less painful death. Purple Haze was the monster that man had created, not Fugo.

Fugo often wondered what Haze would have been like if his professor had never done anything to him. Haze would probably exist, his Stand was something Fugo could not deny, but perhaps he would have more pleasant qualities, the virus was a reflection of the circumstances. Haze had changed, maybe this would make him change again. Haze was not a grotesque entity just because he belonged to Fugo, Fugo wanted to believe that now, it was his hope at this moment, that his stand could also be something more than a ghost of decay.

The knob to the main room was not locked and the last time Fugo was there the door had been locked with the inside latch. He never knew what was the important case that had saved him from being abused that afternoon. His teacher had left him sitting on the bed, his bow tie undone and his eyes full of terror. The phone hadn't stopped ringing and after several minutes of Fugo pleading with him to let him go, his professor finally left the room to take the call, minutes later he returned, making Fugo tremble with fear, then threw him into a cab and asked to be dropped off at the university dormitories.

Fugo opened the door, he didn't make a grand dramatic entrance but he didn't take care to be too quiet either. He knew the man was alone, or at least that was the most likely scenario. The scandal had given his now ex-wife a divorce and custody of his children, as well as half of his assets, but it wasn't punishment enough, not for Fugo.

Fugo saw the bed, it was the same, it even appeared to be the same set of sheets, he could feel his anger and disgust flood his throat, he never wanted to have to sit on that bed ever again, he wanted to set it on fire, maybe he would do it when he got out of there, there were a few scented candles on the dresser.

The professor did not hear him, but Fugo knew he was in the bathroom, so without moving he waited for him to come out to start with the end of his life.

The knob rattled before the bathroom door opened and then Fugo for a second was 13 years old again, there was no doubt in his heart, but there was something similar to longing, as if behind the face of that man was at last the release of his inner child.

—Pannacotta! —His voice was rough, older than he remembered it. —Look at you, so big! You are still as beautiful as when you were young.

A child, Fugo thought disgusted and suddenly the smiling image of Fragolastruck him and Fugo swore to himself that he would never let him go through something like what happened to him, that he would never be like his own parents, that he will protect him from the scum of the world.

Purple Haze materialized immediately.

This time Fugo felt more in control, all the emotion of despair had eaten him in the morning, he had already cried and bawled, he had already poured his stomach out, now only the severity of his gaze remained. He would start below, to consume vital points would be too merciful, so Haze approached, so tall and large, while the man's almost rapt gaze remained riveted on Fugo.

—You came back to me? Why? — he asked, but Fugo did not speak. He had nothing to say.—Sometimes I still dream about you... Do you still hate me Pannacotta?

It was just the babbling of a dead man. Fugo paid no attention and Haze ripped a capsule from his knuckles and threw it on the floor next to the carpet. It didn't break.

—I've missed you... I always wanted you to be here again. In my room by my side. You were so beautiful, even now you are still lovely, although you are a little older than I would have liked you to be.

Haze stepped on the capsule releasing the virus.

And then the symphony began. The screams of pain, the rot, the despair and two bullets embedding themselves in Pannacotta's shoulder and a lung, the blood and the burning. Haze ripping the gun from the man's fingers, the confusion, the agony and martyrdom.

Fugo expected to want more, expected to find some kind of morbid, macabre glee, but in his mind, even with the physical pain of having been wounded, there was only peace and the desire to leave, to see Giorno and hold his hand. Haze took the matches and lit the scented candles, laid them on the bed and helped Pannacotta out of the room.

Sheila was climbing the stairs, frightened when she heard the gunshots.

—Goddamn it, Fugo! —She shouted, Pannacotta's suit was covered in blood.

Sheila and Vodoo Child each took Fugo on one side to help him down the stairs. Purple Haze took the pot with the monstera and they all went outside, the professor's screams becoming more distant and the smell of burning flooding the house. Haze set the plant aside, Giorno would be very sad that such a beautiful specimen would perish in the flames. Sheila put Fugo in the car and Murolo sped off towards Giorno's villa.

—You're an idiot! — Sheila said, tearing off a piece of her clothes to put over the wound.

—I am... I should have considered that he would have a gun. If I survive I'll keep that in mind for next time.

—If? Of course you'll survive!

—If you needed someone dead, you just had to ask. I could have done it myself, you know. —Said Murolo, passing a stop sign. His old car had been his father's for more years than he could remember but it was in as good a condition as new, there was only one grape soda stain on the roof, courtesy of a pothole and a clueless Sheila, the mustard stain on the dashboard of Fugo's potatoes had been easy to remove, the soda never came out.

And now Fugo wondered if they could remove the stains of his blood completely, the vestments were the original leather of the vehicle, Murolo only used it to go out from time to time and not on missions, it had been a mistake to bring it but it was a moment thing, not something planned. Fugo was thinking about it, about the cost of cleaning the vehicle or if they would have to change the vestments and where exactly that payment would come from. Maybe Giorno could also turn his blood into butterflies like he did with his waste on the carpet in the music room.

—Hey! Hey Pannacotta! Don't fall asleep. —Sheila patted him on the cheeks. —Don't fall asleep!

The blood was still coming out, somehow it felt good, like when you can finally rest after a long day of work, it was comfortable.

Murolo almost went through the fence of the villa with his car, parked in front of the main entrance and ran out to help Sheila with Fugo's inert body.

—Boss! —They both shouted, the blood had stopped but Fugo had passed out on the way.

Sheila and Murolo put him on the couch. Giorno came down from his room, Fragola had finally fallen asleep, Giorno looked tired and sad.

—What is it?

—Boss, it's Fugo! —Shiela shouted from the living room and Giorno ran to them.

Pannacotta was lying on the sofa, his suit soaked in dried blood and a bit still fresh, his face calm. For a second terror overcame him and GER materialized to work on Pannacotta's motionless body which writhed in a few spasms as Giorno's jewelry and a cushion disappeared into living tissue.

—Make sure no one interferes with me until GER is finished. —Giorno asked and Murolo left the room, Sheila wanted to stay but she trusted Giorno, she knew that Fugo would be fine, after all the bad feeling that had accompanied her all day had disappeared.

Pannacotta began to cough after a few seconds and opened his eyes.

—Hello GioGio —He said barely audible.

—Don't talk, I'm not finished yet. —Giorno answered, his tone was serious but tinged with concern, almost with an undertone of desperation.

The whispering of the rest could be heard in the distance, Murolo trying to explain the situation and keep the others calm.

—I just want you to know, Jonathan sounds like a good name to me. —Fugo continued, trying to smile.

—Shut up. — Said Giorno, putting a hand over Fugo's mouth as GER gave him a new lung.

—And I also want you to...

—Silence

—know that...

—Please stop now

—I love you.

—What?

Fugo said nothing and tried to breathe, he felt the taste of blood in his throat.

—What did you say? — Giorno repeated nervously and annoyed.

—You told me to shut up.

GER finished his work with a last sharp jab in Pannacotta's body.

— Fuck GioGio, you didn't have to do it so hard. —Fugo mocked, breathing again.

—You know I don't like to repeat myself.

— I said — Fugo took Giorno's face in his hands, the position was not comfortable but there was no other place where Fugo wanted to be more. —I love you. —He concluded kissing the tip of Giorno's nose, who turned completely red.

It was rare to see the Don of Passione, with the world in the palm of his hands, with the face of an angel, with the power of life, being completely helpless, vulnerable, Fugo thought he was adorable.

—Please let me be a part of your life for the rest of mine, let me take care of Jonathan with you until the day I die. There is nothing I want more than to be worthy of you.

—You already are — Giorno answered without hesitation — I'm sorry for everything....

Fugo shook his head.

—It wasn't your fault.

—It was, I guess. It was something I didn't plan but deep down I wanted, in a way.

—It's okay.

—Do you really think so?

Fugo then pressed his lips against Giorno's softly.

—Whatever you believe, whatever you do, whatever you wish, it's okay. — He continued as his lips parted just a few centimeters.

Giorno knits his eyebrows together in a small worried frown.

—Are you sure of this? To raise a baby with me?

—We can have more if you want.  

Giorno smiled stupidly and buried his face in Pannacotta's neck.

—Since when are you so direct?

—You don't like it?

—I think I like it more than I should.

Fugo laughed and Giorno could feel his vocal cords vibrating under the skin of his neck.

—Can I ask for something?

—Anything you want.

—Can you clean the blood off Murolo's car like you did with the carpet?

—Sure.

—And I'd also like to know if we can kiss again?

—As much as you want. — Giorno smiled and kissed him.