Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If I ask myself how to judge that this question is more urgent than that, 

I reply that one judges by the actions it entails.

 I have never seen anyone die for the ontological argument. 

Galileo, 

who held a scientific truth of great importance, 

abjured it with the greatest ease as soon as it endangered his life.

Maybe today would be better

Maybe today would bring the sun, its rays melting through despair and torment, creating a atmosphere full of vibrant hues

Maybe today would be better

Maybe today the kitchen would be full of a aroma of love and care, the soft embraces of which would bring him joy

Maybe today would be better

Maybe today he would look upon a full family, each person playing their role and giving to others what they themselves would receive

Maybe today would be better

Slowly he dragged the tattered blinds away, allowing the sun entrance to his room. The ropes of light quickly made themselves known, swiftly and greedily snaking into his room, using each and every available opportunity to flood the dark room with its presence. This presence was quickly disliked, the bright lights only serving to blind the boy, bringing not what he had hopped, instead being nothing more than a nuisance

Quickly he shut his blinds.

Slowly he got out of bed stretching slightly before wincing at the shooting pain from his chest. It rippled like the small increment of waves from disturbed water, flowing slowly, albeit painfully, throughout his nervous system. He managed to soothe the pain away, its lingering effect still present, but now abated

The boy went about gathering everything he needed. Firstly he put on his clothes, it was a fairly boring and basic outfit, yet it was nearly the only thing he had. Firstly was a thin tattered sweater, over that he wore an old brown leather jacket his step father had given him, then lastly a pair of jeans, ones that had a hole near the knee cap that everyone thought was for aesthetics. Secondly was to gather all the books he would need for the day, luckily this day was fairly short, only requiring a textbook for math, english and history. Now thirdly his electronics, which consisted of a old busted up laptop,his old phone, and a pair headphones

Now however came the worst part, slowly he cracked his door open, the old hinges squeaking lightly, the sound cutting through the air before disappearing quickly. And so, excruciatingly slowly, he opened his door. The boy looked around the dark room, slowly taking in any forms he could see, the tv was always the first thing he would see, the sharp brightness contrasting with the dark room, most likely his step father had forgotten to turn it off before going to bed

Slowly the boy walked into the living room, intentionally stepping on the right floorboards in order to not draw out a single creak. He moved silently in the dark, and with every step he moved closer towards the kitchen, usually if the tv was on then that would mean that his step father had fallen asleep in front of it and never turned it off. Now however it seemed the boy was lucky, his father must have moved into his room and simply forgotten.

He had reached the separation between the kitchen and living room, which also meant one step closer to the door out of the apartment, which lay firmly in the corner of the kitchen. However before he could fully enter the kitchen a door was flung open, the slam brought the boy to a complete stop, not even breathing as he now locked eyes with his step father

The man had clearly only recently woken up, sleep pulling at his features. He hadn't even bothered to put on anything presentable, instead draping himself in an old robe, the soft furry material showing signs of neglect. The man's face was similarly neglected, patches of unshaven scraggly beard making itself known across his sharp features.

“Where are you going?” The man asked with a gruff voice, his impatience leaking through him as the boy only stared back “You answer me when i'm talking to you”

The boy looked as his the man, his heart thumped as everything in his peripheral vision disappeared, in this moment it was only him, the thundering of his heart and his step father

“I have a name you know” He whispered looking over to the door, the door that led out to the rest of the world

The man raised his head and stared at him, his eyes showing several warring emotions billowing around him

“I know that better than most…” The man paused, letting the name sit on his tongue before forcing it out through closed teeth “Giorno Giovanna”

They both stood staring at each other for several seconds, the tension only increasing as they stood. Giorno had always found that his name, somehow, sat wrong whenever the man said it, like it was a thick poison that would stream out of his mouth. He had tried to ignore it when he first became aware of it, explaining it away as his step father simply preferring nicknames or such. Yet as the hateful glances became more frequent, and as the icy tension grew ever stronger it became more and more obvious his step fathers hatred for the name. Ironic considering the name he hated was the very one he had chosen

“I have school today” Giorno softly answered as he held onto the straps of his bag, not moving as he waited for the man's response

“Well go on then” The man said, bringing Giorno out of his thoughts as he gestured with his hand for his “son” to leave “Can't have you skipping school”

Giorno said nothing in return as he swiftly moved towards the door, quickly he opened it and readied himself to walk out. However before he fully left he heard the man call out one last thing from the place he still stood

“Bring home some cash” His father roughly said “Don't care how you get your hands on it, just get some!”

Giorno didn't bother answering, he knew that it would make no difference either way, instead he simply closed the door and began walking to school. The boy looked up at the blue sky as he walked, the once captivating blue hue that he remembered from his childhood now sat dull. His glance towards the sky only lasted a few more seconds before he cast it back to the road, continuing his walk. However as he walked one thought rang through his head

‘Maybe…

Maybe tomorrow will be better’

And if it is true, 

as Nietzsche claims, 

that a philosopher, to deserve our respect, 

must preach by example, you can appreciate the importance of that reply,

for it will precede the definitive act. 

These are facts the heart can feel; 

yet they call for careful study before they become clear to the intellect.

Everyone was always too loud for his liking

There screams and banter bouncing around the walls like heavy waves, shattering any peace that could once have been found in the room

Giorno sighed to himself as he brought out his earbuds, they were the cheapest pair he could find, yet they brought an indescribable comfort to the boy. The prospect of being able to just shut out the world and to get lost in one's own world had always been an attractive prospect for him

Quickly he brought out his phone, the device shining to life as he brought up Itunes. He scrolled for a solid minute, weighing the pros and cons of each artist and album. Eventually he decided on a comfortable city pop tune, the calming steady beat of the drums and the bass of the song always bringing him great comfort.

Giorno was quickly brought out of his thoughts as a hard slam was heard right next to him, the sound vibrating through the metal legs of the table. He would have jumped, deeply frightened by the sudden noise. However, rippling burning pain held his hand down onto the table. On top of his hand was a shoe, or more aptly the foot of another one of his classmates, Romeo. 

Giorno had always been a quiet and unassuming child, never getting in anyone's way, or really even standing up for himself. This had worked for him most of the time, no one ever bothered to bully him before since he never did anything, only floating by similarly to a piece of debris. Romeo however was the complete opposite it seemed, always a very headstrong kid, persistent in everything he did and never one to give up or bend to others wishes. Ever since Giorno had begun the school he had Romeo had been at odds, this had then quickly developed into daily harassment since Giorno never stood up for himself, which seemed to only annoy Romeo further

Romeo dug his foot into Giorno's hand harder, trying to purposefully drag out pained noises from the other “You're always so quiet Giorno, and those headphones hmm, you trying to hide from us?”

Giorno clenched his teeth but gave no verbal response, the only evidence of the pain in his hand being his quickened breathing

“God you're a freak you know that” Romeo said as he dug his foot deeper into Giorno’s hand “What are you gone do uhh, you finally gone do something you fucking coward”

Suddenly the door to the classroom flew open, their teacher walking in. The man was in his mid 30s but definitely not a person to trifle with, he was known to have a short temper and an even shorter tolerance for disturbances. His eyes quickly landed on Romeo and Giorno

“What are you two doing?!” He yelled, his voice booming over the room

Romeo quickly jumped off the table, calmly walking to his desk. Not saying a word as he sat down and crossed his arms over his chest. Giorno quickly checked to make sure his headphones were alright, however evidently they were not. The white device lay shattered in his hand, several pieces being spread out across his hand and on the table. One small metal piece had even logged itself into his hand, jutting out of the skin like a metal monument dug into the ground. However the most worrying part was the blaring pain from the top of his hand, he quickly hid it away as the teacher approached his desk

“Giorno show me your hand” The teacher demanded, his authoritative tone leaking through his words

“im f-fine sir” Giorno stuttered, his nerves getting the best of him “My hand d-doest really h-hurt

His teacher leveled a stare at him before sighing and roughly grabbing Giorno’s arm, pulling him up before grabbing Giorno and his bag and pulling him out of the classroom

“Listen kid” The teacher said after he had pulled him out “Just go to the damn nurse, you haven't missed a minute of class time before. Go”

Giorno quickly complied and began walking to the nurses office, deciding, as always, that fighting this was simply meaningless.

His footfalls sounded softly throughout the hallway, broken by nothing except the endless quiet of school. Giorno never liked the school generally, the students were rowdy to say the least, in fact his class was surprisingly one of the calmer ones. However what he disliked most was the white of the walls and how they seemed to pass him endlessly, only broken by the occasional stream of light through the windows. It was all encompassing, the only safety net being the brown wooden floor, the only part providing some escape from the white abyss

Gioro however quickly looked down into his hand and realized something, the only escape that actually helped now lay in his hand, crushed. He could see white specks from the earbuds, the comfort they once brought now replaced by a ever crushing anxiety

Giorno stared and stared at the shattered piece of technology, almost trying to will it back into shape. Yet it did nothing but waste second after second, minute after minute. For Giorno there existed nothing but the trickle of blood running down his palm, the rest of the world felt so far away, disappearing from his peripheral vision as his eyes began to run with tears. His body began to shake as he held his head in his hands. Giorno tried desperately to get himself to calm down, desperately grappling for any sense of control. However it was nowhere to be found, instead all that he found was more panic, more fear, more pain, more panic, more fear, more pain 

Giorno tried to center his breathing, he tried to fall into a comfortable rhythm that would save him from his panic. Giorno tried to center his mind, desperately digging his nails into his hands or trying to distract himself with anything that he could spot. Giorno tried to calm his now racing heart, doing anything in his power to be able to calm the violent thumping of the organ.

Yet it all seemed to fail, whenever Giorno managed to fall into a comfortable rhythm of breaths it would quickly collapse, swiftly being replaced by frantic and frankly useless grasps of air. Whenever he wrestled his heart to a comfortable beat it would once again thrum harder, panic overtaking the muscle. He felt as if he would die, the breaths barely getting oxygen into his system as his vision began to blur, his heart began beating so hard that it threatened to beat out of his chest

Giorno only continued to fall deeper and deeper into pain, his shaking only growing worse and worse as panic gripped every part of his mind. However as his mind swam he was able to pinpoint something, one thing that he was able to focus on even in his fully encompassing panic. Pain, it bloomed fully from his hand, feeling as if a part of his palm had been dug out and exposed to the outside elements. Ever so slowly his vision focused on his palm, and on it were 4 lines of deep red, irritated skin. Irritated skin that burned, the feeling comparing to knives stabbing into his hand simultaneously

His panic had now subsided, the horrid thing being tamed and pushed into the deepest corner of his subconscious, preferably never brought out again. However in order to return from his panic he had once again hurt himself, once again he had destroyed a small piece of who he was. The first time it had happened was a week after his mother had left, weirdly his step father had refused to let him see her at the airport when she left, instead he had locked him in his room for the day. Giorno had been so angry back then, stomping around his room and periodically crying, screaming and then crying again. Eventually it had all boiled over, the storm of emotions causing him to punch his wall repeatedly in grief and anger. However this had only caused him more pain as he had broken one of his fingers

Now he had done it again. However unlike before he truly felt nothing, when he was younger he became sad, the pain being seen as something bad, something to avoid. Now however the pain was only a dull thud, another small disappointment in his usual bleak days. However as he looked at the skin he couldn't stop himself from scratching just a little bit more. As soon as his nails dug into the marred skin a cold shiver ran through him, it went through his entire body quickly sobering him up, swiftly Giorno stood up and looked down both sides of the hallway, ever vigilant of others eyes. Thankfully it seemed that no one was there to witness his breakdown, frankly if someone had Giorno was sure he would die from embarrassment right there and then.

Eventually Giorno began walking again, only after double checking that no one had seen him, remaining as vigilant as ever. Yet now instead of rippling pain and suffocation panic, he was now faced with claustrophobic walls and mind numbing white, truly Giorno didnt know which one was worse. 

However the endless abyss of blinding white did eventually end, instead being replaced by an oak door. The door sat like a beacon of another world, proudly guarding the inhabitants from the world outside it, and inviting in any traveler that managed to set foot near its ever present guardianship. The door opened smoothly, gently guiding Giorno into the room, showing him a different world than the rest of the school. The nurses office was cozy, beds evenly spread out across the room that matched with the sofas that sat opposite them, the space also held a rich floral aroma, one that brought thoughts of a cozy home. Even the nurses desk reminded one of safety, being lined with papers and pictures from the nurses own family, which consisted of her husband, and their two kids, one daughter and one son. They were all people who held warm smiles, all of them captured in the polaroid.

“Giorno?” the nurse's voice came from behind him. Giorno quickly turned around. The nurse, Aiko, stood in the doorway, a question already forming on her lips as she looked Giorno up and down. Aiko herself was a fairly small lady, being only a few millimeters shorter than Giorno who himself was only 16. However her short stature certainly didn't slow her down, she had once carried one of the bigger kids all the way across school after he had passed out. She was also known to be very engaged with the students, always helping out wherever she could

“Hello Aiko” Giorno said, masking his nervousness as best he could under a well trained mask of indifference “My teacher sent m-me here”

Aiko looked at him for a moment before he showed his hand. Aiko first looked at the palm of his hand, the scratches on them were irritated and red but not something to worry about, just give the skin time to heal and it. Then however she flipped his hand, a small audible gasp emerging from her. The skin, which previously only held an off red color, was now fully bruised. A ugly yellow bordered by a deep blue/black color, a truly off putting sight

Aiko looked up into Giorno's eyes, her question forming through her eyes “Giorno, What happened?”

Giorno was stunned for a moment, not moving a muscle as Aiko’s kind eyes looked into his. He simply did not want to answer the question, he knows that he is a coward, he knows that he could never stand up for himself. Yet he knows it's better that way, the others… well they haven't learnt that yet

“Ohh yeah well you see” Giorno said as his other hand scratched at his neck,  the only sign of his nervousness “I just you know, slipped on ice on my way to school”

Giorno found that lying worked better if you included some truth in your statement, it was true that he had slipped on ice, the April weather freezing the ground to a dangerous degree. Yet he had landed harmlessly, not even a bruise from the fall

Aiko seemed reluctant to let it go, her warring emotions evident on her face as her finger gently danced over the bruise. Slowly however her shoulders relaxed as she sighed, walking over to her desk and bringing out bandages and an ice pack

“Well alright then” Aiko said as he got everything she needed “You ought to be more careful Giorno . You got have gotten a much more serious injury” Aiko said as she gently grabbed his hand, placing the ice pack over the bruise “If that actually is what happened”

Giorno froze and looked at Aiko, she wore a dejected expression as she too looked at Giorno. Giorno knew that Aiko knew that he was lying, it was obvious, he was an extremely easy person to read. However it seemed for whatever reason she would not intrude, this time

“Hold the ice pack on top of the bruise please” Aiko said. Giorno was quick to follow, swiftly holding on to the pack

“Now keep that on for 20 minutes, after that i will be back to bandage your hand” Aiko said as she went for the door, the wooden object opening swiftly as she took one last glance at Giorno before leaving, the door shutting softly as she left

Giorno sat and he waited as minutes passed him by, at one point he moved from the bed to the sofa, letting his body weight relax into the soft cushions. Although despite the relaxation Giorno couldn't stop himself from worrying, not for the missed school time, he was a fairly good student and had yet to miss a single class up to this point. Instead he was worried about being in Aiko’s office alone, Aiko’s office is where everyone would go for their injuries, everything from an itchy mosquito bite to a broken leg. So if some moron would come stumbling in it would mean that they would try talking with Giorno, and he would rather catch the plague then have to converse with some egoistic delinquent, or worse some sweaty soccer douche. The possibilities were endless 

However despite Giorno’s prayers it seemed that he would not be left alone for long, hurried footsteps were heard from the hallway, the thunder of which apexed as the door to the nurses office was flung open. In came an assortment of different people. First in was surprisingly a member of the faculty, Bruno Buccirati. Bruno was the assistant to the school psychologist, from what Giorno knew the man was only 21 years old and had already plowed through most of his education, even working at the school while he himself studied at a university close by. Bruno too was always a man of fine dress, usually he could be found clad in plenty of white and gold textures, the material hinting at a wealth unbecoming of such a young man. Today it seemed that he had chosen something more comfy yet still classy. He wore a white polo shirt, a pair black jeans and two gold brooches adorning his head

Next to him walked one of the more infamous students. His name was Pannacotta Fugo. Fugo was a bit of a mystery to the school, he had some kind of a troubled past, whispers of dark tales hanging around the boy, Giorno himself never bothered with picking up the thread which others seemed to be interested in. Frankly he felt somewhat sad for the boy, their positions on the social ladder seeming equal. Something they also seemed to share was their dress. Both of them wore what Giorno assumed to be old clothes, the only difference being the nicer jacket Fugo wore, in fact Giorno could swear that he had seen that jacket on Bruno once

After them came three others. The first Giorno spotted, and heard, was a fairly short, black haired teen by the name Narancia. Narancia was what Giorno would call erratic, he had enough energy to fuel a town and could nearly always be found sprinting to a class or roaring with laughter at another joke told by his friends. However recently Giorno noted that he had been spending more time with Fugo in the library, their interactions always seemed tense yet there was an undercurrent of support and friendship. Narancias' clothes reflected him in more ways than one; he wore an orange bandana which caused much of his hair to stick out in multiple directions, he also wore a bomber jacket which was filled with different messily sewn on patches from several bands whom Giorno had never heard of, and underneath that he wore a orange skirt and a simple pair of black pants.

Behind Narancia came Mista. Mista was actually the only one out of the group whom Giorno had talked to before. It was during a presentation assignment where they had spoken, forced together to talk about stale slides which both parties clearly disliked, however Mista was nice to him. Other than that he did not know much, he had heard that Mista wanted to be a chef when he graduated, however Giorno couldn't not remember where he had heard this from. Mista came in dressed in his usual “Fashion disaster” as some of the girls so lovingly called it. He usually wears a crop top cashmere sweater consisting of diagonal grids, the same design being on the hat he wears, this is complemented with tight fitting tiger striped pants

The last member however was a completely foreign face to Giorno. The man currently had his arm draped around Mistas shoulder, the other boy fully holding him up as they walked into the room. Something stranger was the man's clothing, he wore usual white collar clothes, a button up shirt with a tie and well fitting pants. Yet with that he had black makeup dotting his face and long silver hair, an unusual combo to say the least. However this was not even the weirdest part, instead what pulled Giorno's attention away was the fish hook that lay firmly planted into the older man's leg. Giorno openly gawked at the sight, not knowing whether or not he should help or just watch, the sight being somewhat comical, yet still horrific considering the blood running down the man's leg

“Hey where's the nurse?” came a voice from his right, it was Narancia, the boy seeming to have moved in a near instant. His face pulled with worry and concern. However he had also placed himself way too close for Giorno’s comfort.

“I do…” Giorno stammered, shocked at the swift pace of his speech “I think she might soon be”

“Hey, Narancia” Bruno said with a chastising voice, accidentally interrupting Giorno “Don't jump into others peoples faces like that

“What? I just asked the gloomy guy-” Narancias statement was quickly cut off as Burno walked up to him, a scary aura emanating from the man as he practically dragged Narancia back to where the group had laid down the man

Giorno stared slack-jawed. He had no idea that anyone even knew he existed in the school, let alone that anyone had bothered to remember him, or even give him a nickname

“Sorry about him” Bruno said as he walked back to Giorno, his demeanor now more caring “He just got really worried about Leon’s leg and well frankly he gets a bit active when he is worried

“Y-yea i… i felt that” Giorno said, the awkwardness of the entire interaction and Giorno's own trepidations about the entire day causing him to short circuit his answer. responding instead with something asinine and barely connected to the conversation. Bruno for his part seemed to pick up on Giorno's apprehension, smiling somewhat as he tried to reassure Giorno in the small part he felt was applicable

“If you don't mind me asking, where is the nurse?” Bruno asked, his demeanor and easiness in the conversation helping to calm Giorno down somewhat “She is usually hear whenever i stop by”

“Oh y-yeah w-well i dont k-know where she is now. But she will be back in like… 10 minutes i think” Giorno answered, his calm mask slipping as the confusing events clouded his mind

Bruno raised one eyebrow at this, a small part of confusion written on his face as he slowly nodded. Giorno however started panicking slightly, the man was obviously confused regarding his answer, and that could never be good. Pain always came from confusion

“Oh it's just she ordered me to put ice on my hand for 20 minutes. And 10 minutes have passed so she should be back soon” Giorno said, managing to keep his voice steady

“Ohhh yeah alright makes sense” Bruno said as he looked towards his group then back towards Giorno “Well thank you for informing me” Bruno said with a smile as he walked back towards his group

However someone stayed, their eyes firmly planted on Giorno. Fugo stood, most likely having wandered up next to Bruno as he spoke to Giorno. Now however he stood, his eyes planted on Giorno as he seemed deep in thought. Giorno didn't exactly know why he was looking at him so intensely or even why he was still standing here

“A-ahm why are… why are you still here?” Giorno asked, his nervousness forcing him to pause in the middle of his sentence. His words reached Fugo however it only seemed to awaken anger in the student, the boys eyebrows furrowing as he responded

“Yeah im here” Fugo said, anger leaking through his voice like a poison “Why am i not allowed to be here?!”

Giorno cringed at the obvious miscommunication and the anger now emitting from the other boy. Giorno never liked confrontations and he knew anger all too well. Yet this was different, it wasn't his step father

“Well why are you here and not over there?” Giorno said as he pointed over to Bruno and the rest of the group, finishing his gesture with the last of his sentence “You know, with your friends” His mask was now fully back on, a thick layer of cold approaches that would keep him safe

Fugo looked at Giorno, then back towards the group, his anger quickly dissipating as he realized what Giorno meant. Giorno for his part simply stared, his expression neutral as he waited for a satisfactory response

“Hmmm” Was all Fugo said as he looked back towards Giorno, his face pulling back into concentration. Giorno for his part was now more confused than ever. He was not sure what would be the best course of action. And frankly he did not want to stay in the nurse's office any more

“Do you like fishing?” Fugo asked, his expression fully serious

Giorno considered his question for a brief moment before shaking off the ridiculous notion, to begin with, Giorno had never fished, only catching glimpses of others partiking in the activity as a child. Plus it seemed extremely boring, standing for hours and hours wasting away as you waited for the possibility of catching a small thing, barely enough for lunch. However what truly made Giorno say no, what truly made him rush out of the room at the very first possible second, was the fact that he was terrified of the prospect of being with others

He yearned desperately to have people to talk to, to be able to open yourself up to others. And he knew this was his moment to be able to do just that, after all this group seemed friendly, the type of people who would take in anytone to make them feel at home and safe. Yet Giorno still said no, he still tucked his tail between his legs and ran

He still left in isolation

Because that was always easier

All the rest 

whether or not the world has three dimensions, 

whether the mind has nine or twelve categories

comes afterwards.

These are games; 

one must first answer.

The sun shone its orange hues across the horizon, the color leaking through leaves and branches, creating a bright backdrop for the day. Giorno never understood how people could get awestruck by the sight, sure the colors were a spectacle, almost perfectly blending the bright hues of the day with the darkness of night. However a sunset always promised night, it was an inescapable fact about the phenomenon. 

Giorno remembered the first time another classmate had asked him what he would wish for if he could get anything, and many possibilities had made their way through his head. Maybe he could wish for his mom to visit, maybe he would wish for riches to solve his fathers issue. However what won out, everytime, was the wish for the sun to never set, for the giant orb to remain a constant vigilant protector up in the sky.

However this of course never came to be, the sun could never stand there for him, it could never be his protector during the nocturnal hours. This made sense of course, since the rest of the world too needed sunlight. Yet there was always a small youthful part of him that cried out at every sunset, that urged him to reach out for the orb, to force it to stay. As Icarus before him had proved however, that would always be a futile action

Instead he continued walking, bathed in orange hues he walked home, his hand still humming with pain. After Giorno had left the nurses office he only had his English class left, and as usual he sat in the back, his presence only being registered when the teacher took attendance. Giorno was by no means surprised, it was after all how he had lived most of his life, away from the attention of others by nearly any means possible. Yet the interaction with the weird group had left an impression on him. He remembered the crawling feeling in his skin as they had talked, the feeling of their harsh eyes raking over his every flaw. However as he thought about it he felt a certain warmth within the group. Giorno of course wasn't privy to it, barely being worth the air he breathed in on a daily basis, yet as he had watched them he couldn't help but wish that he had something similar. 

However reality quickly set in, he could barely talk, the most simplest of sentences leaving him stuck in purgatory as the words were forced out. He noticed that he yearned for what they had, yet was terrified of the idea to put in the effort. So he did as he always did, he squashed the idea under the full weight of his own anxiety and fright. Instead of accepting the proposition, and daring to go out of his own comfort zone, he had run, pathetically leaving the only last sliver of hope.

Now he found himself walking home, the interaction replaying over and over in his mind, running through every possibility of what could have been. Giorno knew that running himself in circles like this was useless, it only led to sleepless nights and anxiety filled weeks. However knowing it was useless seemed to do nothing to stop his racing mind, on the contrary it seemed to fuel it to grow more desperate, digging even deeper and deeper trying to find what he knew he would never find

Giorno sighed as he rubbed at his temple, massaging away some parts of the incoming headache, he didn't need both his hand and head hurting after all. After a few seconds some of the pressure had dissipated, slowly running out through his spine and away into the air. Giorno breathed out with relief at the dissipating pressure, the release being cathartic as his mind cleared, allowing him to once again find himself taking in the nature that surrounded him on his way home.

To the left of Giorno lay the harbor, docks full with varying sizes of vessels, the small waves running through the water being the last vestige of their activity. The harbor was a keystone to the community, providing everything from food to the people to entertainment to divers and fishermen. Yet most importantly it brought calm, even Giorno with his ever present anxiety managed to find a certain amount of peace in the waves. Almost letting the soft fall of water lap away at his worries, ebbing away the sharp edged of Giorno’s shore until there would be nothing left but smooth sand and rock

A powerful force of wind hit him then, the braid he meticulously put up being flung back as the powerful force pushed against him. In fact his entire body would most likely have fallen if he hadn't steadied himself, keeping his core steady as the wind pushed against him. The docks were beautiful, however they were also windy, especially in the cold April weather, the wind seeming to become even stronger whenever anyone would walk past the docks.

Giorno looked out as the wind continued, quickly cooling down his entire frame, causing shivers to run through the boy. The wind nearly fully ignored his jacket as it hit him. However something else hit Giorno as he stared out at the sandy beach. It was a memory of warmth, of small uncoordinated footsteps on sand. He remembered so vividly the feeling of his small ungrown body clumsily coordinating itself on the warm beach.

He also remembered the person next to him, their warm loving hands picking him up as she went on about some platitude about safety and staying close to grownups. Giorno knew even then that she lived a hard life caring for him, nearly all of her time disappearing at work or at home. Yet even as he left him alone, his tears falling down onto the stuffed animal he held, he still felt her love in the fleeting moments where she was near him. 

His body shivered, yet this time not because of the cold. It was a feeling that was quickly spreading itself through his body, eclipsing any other warmth he could feel. The feeling stood like an icy monolith, cooling down and cracking the very foundation of what made Giorno into what he thought as Giorno.

Swiftly he made his way into an alleyway on the side, hurriedly bringing up his phone and scrolling to one of his contacts, with the name…

Mom

Giorno took a long second to look at the name, a deep primal fear shooting up his entire body. It confused him, he always loved his mom, and she had told him to message her as much as he wanted. She had even sent her number to his step father so he could give it to Giorno, all so he could message her when she was away.

So why was he so scared?

Giorno started scrolling

Januari 1 - 00:02 am

Happy new year's mom. Hope you have it well

Read

He remembered that new years, after all, had only been a month. Giorno had been sitting in his room, eating chocolate he had bought from the store, then he watched the fireworks in the sky from his room, it was the happiest he had been in years. So why had he been crying?

Giorno continued scrolling

December 24 - 11:25 pm

Happy Christmas mom! Hope you got a good tree

December 28 - 2:54 am

Thanks for the message Giorno. The tree was nice

Giorno remembered this one, he had been sitting waiting for his step father to come home with nothing. Yet he had only brought home beer and groceries, seemingly ignoring the holiday entirely. He had felt like crying that night, yet he didn't

Giorno continued scrolling

November 23 - 8:32 pm

Happy Labor Thanksgiving day mom! Hope you had a good day at work

November 24 - 3:21 pm

Thanks for the message Giorno. It was nice

Through the messages there had always been this stale nature to the conversation, similarly to talking to the wall, any attempt to engage only bouncing back. Even this message where he had remembered a specifically Japanese holiday was met with nothing but a cold indifference. 

Giorno continued scrolling

August 14 - 3:35 pm

Happy birthday mom! Hope you have a wonderful day. 

August 15 - 1:01 am

I really miss you

August 17 - 6:23 pm

Thanks for the message Giorno. Miss you too

This one always stung, it was as if she hadn't even read the first message, only ever seeing the boys desperate plea

Giorno continued scrolling

July 20 - 4:49 pm

The summer weather is really nice here. Hope you also have it well

July 25 - 3:54 am

Thanks for the message Giorno. The weather is nice

Giorno was always grateful that his mother took time to respond to his messages, there was a small part of him that wanted more, that desperately needed more. However he always crushed this part, after all as his step father always said

“Your clinginess pushed her away, don't do it again”

Giorno continued scrolling

May 25 - 4:35 pm

Springtime is here mom! Hope the flowers are beautiful for you too!

May 29 - 11:54 pm

Thanks for the message Giorno. The flowers are nice

Through all the messages over the years it had always been Giorno starting the brief conversations, always Giorno reaching out to hold onto his mothers hand. However every year without fail on the 22 of April his mother would reach out her hand, brining him one message, from her

April 16 - 3:32 pm

Happy birthday, Giorno

Three words that always brought an indescribable feeling of joy to the boy, always being the highlight of the day, week, month and year. Yet now something felt off, he realized that it was a feeling of impending doom, that the shaky foundation of a child would threaten to come down, topple and fall, leaving nothing but an empty space where once lay something.

His hand shook as his thumb slowly went to the top of the screen, methodically tabbing out of the messaging app and bringing up the home screen.

Tuesday, 16 April

17:12

His throat burned and tears threatened to spill over as he swiftly re entered the messaging app, instantly he began scrolling back, dates blurring together as he looked at the most recent message sent

Januari 1 - 00:02 am

Happy new year's mom. Hope you have it well

Read

Tears welled up at the sides of his eyes, his hand shook violently, causing his phone to go tumbling onto the cobbled pathway he stood on. Slowly he lowered himself, hugging his knees to his chest as he leaned his weight on the wall next to him

It felt all encompassing, like a force crushing him from all sides, bending and breaking everything he had to protect himself. However what was worse was the warring emotions within him, anger burning with the heat of lava, sadness all engulfing. Both of these intense emotions raged, pushing at the boundaries of Giorno, wanting so to engulf the world around it, anger wanting everything to burn, sadness wanting everything to stop. For Giorno it hurt, his head was beginning to thump, a violent sharp pain that felt like a hammer shattering his skull. Then came the hyperventilating, the forced pull of air into lungs, his throat burning as he abused it, vying to not pass out

Continuously he shook, his whole body convulsing as Giorno weeped. He hadn't cried like this when his mother had started to become distant. He hadn't cried like this when she moved out. He hadn't cried like this when he hadn't been able to visit her before she flew back to Japan. He hadn't even cried all the times she had refused to visit him. But now it felt as if he had fully lost her, that last connection between mother and son being severed

The tears continued running as he pulled himself up, his legs shaking as he slowly stood and continued walking. His tears continued running as his crying transformed into sobbing, snot forming at the base of his nose and his wails being transformed into shrieks, shrieks of grief and crushing sadness. Giorno rarely cried, even the hardest times with his step father only bringing up small hiccups which he hid the best he could. However now it felt as if his heart was being destroyed, torn into ribbons that would fall into the abyss of nothing

The wind seemed to respond in kind to his pain, fiercely pushing itself through the streets, gliding swiftly over metal poles and pushing hard against windows. In the process pushing its own shrieks out into the streets, it created a haunting sort of duet, a sorrow filled song carried on the back of the wind that harassed the young boy

Eventually however everything would float to a calm place, the wind slowing its assault and Giorno reaching the stairwell to his house. As always it was a very daunting place in the dark, the concrete pillar standing impossibly high as he looked up, the top being hidden away in the dark

One step

The foreboding feeling in his stomach never left, sitting itself weirdly in his stomach like a protruding cancer, pushing and forcing itself into place

Two steps

Maybe Giorno had finally gone and done it, finally pushed away his mother

Three steps

Or maybe she had just wised up, looking at the dragging baggage with a face of disgust

Four steps

Maybe she had then thrown her phone into the river

Five steps

Maybe her shoulders had finally relaxed, finally getting rid of the weight placed on them

Six steps

Maybe it was what Giorno deserved

Seven steps

After all he was unwished, a plague, a stain on the life of his step father and mother

Eight steps

Maybe she would visit him on-

Nine steps

The light from the apartment leaked out onto the concrete floor, spilling out of the open door like a poison spreading itself across a healthy world. In the doorway stood his step father, he had yet to don any presentable clothing, letting the old robe shield himself from the outside world. However what was most apparent was the redness of his face and a flask of wine in his hand

The man was drunk

“G-Giorno” He burped out, the alcohol clinging itself to the man's tongue like a snake, Poised to strike

Giorno refused to move, he needed to consider every possible action. He already knew he was not fast enough to outrun the man, even with the alcohol destroying his sense he was a fast man, Giorno knew that. Instead he could just play along, dance along with the man and then escape to his ro-

“GIORNO!” The man yelled, swiftly causing Giorno to stand with rapt attention, staring at the man like a young cadete, ready to follow any command from his seniors

“Y-You” He pointed to Giorno, his bony finger pointing dangerously towards the young boy “Wh-Where is the money?”

Giorno stared like a fish out of water as the mans face grew angrier and angrier

Well of course the money. How could he forget

“Oh”

Ohh

Ohh dad?

Ohh

Oww

Ahh!

AHHH!

AHH! DAD

P-PleASE STOP

DAA-

His head spun as he lay on the cool floor, his own heat being rapidly stolen by the wooden floor. Pain thrummed throughout his body like the hum of old machinery, emitting from each and every spot he could think of. His ribs, having met the end of a pair of steel toe boots, lay both back and blue, the skin promising to darken and twist into an abomination. His stomach screamed with pain and emptiness, having recently hurled up whatever had remained. His throat burned as if set on fire, a truly disgusting taste lingering in the recesses of his mouth, never disappearing. Minutes passed as he lay on the floor, his tiredness only being compounded by the beating his body now endured. However when he eventually felt a ominous wet feeling on the back of his head he knew he had to move

Every part of his body immediately protested, yelling out as he pulled and stretched them out. It was a herculean task, not only to endure through the pain but also to not swiftly pass out. Although eventually he stood, his frame in full view in front of the mirror in his room. Even with his swimming vision he already knew that what he saw was not good. There was blood caking his clothes at sporadic places, a trickle of blood was found running from his now bent nose, his hand now hurt even more and bruises littered his body from head to toe.

As he looked at himself a weird feeling swam in his gut, its silhouette shrouding everything else in darkness. It brought him down with it, holding his leg in its maw as it dragged him down beneath, as he passed he saw everything he knew, the memories of sunny days and rainy ones, the memories of tragedy and love, the memories of all he held dear.

He looked at it all, his eyes scanning all and everything in the sea, from horizon to sea floor, and it all felt so meaningless. Giorno had always looked towards the sun at the horizon, running to once again be able to catch the rays on his face, yet now he had to accept that the sun would set and he would never see it again.

Slowly he hobbled to his bed

There is but one 

Giorno layed down, letting his battered and bruised weight fall down onto the mattress

truly serious

He shifted onto his shoulder curling into himself as he lay on his bed, his very soul feeling tired. And for the first time in his life

philosophical problem

Giorno did not think about if any day would be better then the next, instead all he saw was the proof that it would never get better

and that

The only thing he could think about

is

Was how much he just wanted everything to stop

Suicide

Chapter Text

An act like this is prepared within the silence of the heart, as is a great work of art. 

The man himself is ignorant of it.

One evening he pulls the trigger or jumps.

Of an apartment-building manager who had killed himself I was told that he had lost his daughter five years before, that he had changed greatly since, and that that experience had "undermined" him. 

A more exact word cannot be imagined. 

Beginning to think is beginning to be undermined

A more exact word cannot be imagined.

Beginning to think is beginning to be undermined. 

Society has but little connection with such beginnings. 

The worm is in man's heart. 

That is where it must be sought. 

One must follow and understand this fatal game that leads from lucidity in the face of existence to flight from light.

The water lapped at the base of the ship, the waves crashing up and down, gently rocking the heavy metal ship. Groans emitted from the ship as its frame was pushed by the wind and waves, the heavy frame rocking back and forth. Yet still through the wind the sun made itself known, its rays hitting stray droplets of rain that were flung by the wind, causing small beams of light to shoot to and fro.

Fugo looked out at the sea, sighing as he did so. He had warned them all that fishing today would be hopeless, the fierce wind only pushing the small amount of remaining fish away. Narancia however had been weirdly persistent, insisting that he would “kill someone if he had to read a paragraph more” and that “We still have a few more hours before school starts, our first class is after lunch anyway”. However as the hours passed it became clear to Fugo that this trip would be predictably unfruitful. Bruno had managed to catch a small tuna fish in the beginning, managing to yank it up before he and Leon retreated back into the ship to nurse their sea sickness. Mista owned the boat so he didn't do much fishing to begin with. 

Now only Fugo and Narancia remained, both drenched by the spraying water. Narancia stayed through sheer stubbornness, it seemed that he truly wanted a catch today. “If only he could put that energy to use in school as well” Fugo thought, his usual bitterness still shining through even around his best friend

Fugo sighed as he looked over to Narancia, the boy bandana having changed color from all the water that had gotten on it. The spray of seawater and continuously harassing wind was getting to his nerves, his anger bubbling underneath the sliver of calmness he had put on. Yet he stayed on the deck

Ever since he had gotten on the boat he had had a weird feeling sitting in his gut, it had whispered to him about a future danger, setting his paranoia up to an even higher degree than usual. Yet now his patience was wearing thin, his anger being on the edge of overwhelming his paranoia

Fugo groaned as he turned his head to look back out onto the water, a small spray of water hitting him in the face

“Narancia” Fugo said, the name being forced out through closed teeth “You haven't even managed to catch anything in two hours! Can’t we call it today?”

Narancia level a stare at Fugo, the gesture supposedly being scary only looked incredibly childish in Fugos eyes

“Ok ok” Fugo said, giving up on the prospect for now, instead resigning himself to a few more minutes of this before he most liked would drag Narancia back by his hair

Fugo looked back out at the water, grumbling to himself slightly at the almost impressive stubbornness of the other boy. However instead he noticed something out amongst the waves, for a second it would appear then sink slightly back under the waves, then again it would go up. It held a weird red color, a texture that Fugo swore he recognized. His mind began racing with memories and any slight sliver of that damned jacket, it was these moments where Fugo thanked the gods that his memory was as good as it was

However he was quickly interrupted as he frankly ridiculous amount of water shot up at the two boys, both of them being quickly interrupted in their different activities

Fugo shook his head, the blond strands of his hair now being nearly fully drenched from the water. Fugo looked over at Narancia and saw the boy staring back, his face transformed into a shocked state. However slowly his mood shifted. At first it was a small giggle that escaped from his lips, a nearly fully hidden snicker of joy. Eventually however Narancia began laughing, his joy being transformed from a hidden snicker to a full laugh, causing him to double over as he held his stomach. Fugo for his part managed to keep his anger fully out, the bubbling being kept under wraps

“Oh god sorry” Narancia said as he caught his breath, his laughs still dancing through his tone “You just looked so damn funny like that”

“Shut up” Fugo said, the words being harsh but no real venom was present in the words “You're just being mean now idiot”

“Hey i never said i wouldn't be mean” Narancia said in jest, his laugh tapering off as he continued to look at Fugo “You have to admit you do kind of look ridiculed all of the time”

“Shut up you idiot” Fugo said, his anger bubbling over slightly “At least I'm not as ridiculous as you. Its one presentation, how hard can it be”

Narancia grumbled a little next to him before he began ranting “Well fuck you, you know. We all aren't like you smart ass, you bitch. It's hard." He grumbled, caught up in his own worries. “It’s just so stupid, why the hell do we have to read these stupid english books and then have stupid long winded speeches about them. Like why would i care about some stupid idiot out on a farm or something” Narancia said as he ranted, his worries spilling over fully

Fugo quickly tuned out the rant, calming down his anger as he once again looked out at the water. Again he was the red material floating out in the waves, now being even closer towards the boat while simultaneously sinking deeper. 

Fugo continued watching the small hint speck float closer and deeper. However he was pulled out as he heard the final part of Narancias rant “... At least i'm not as nervous as that Giorno guy

Fugo looked at Narancia for a moment, surprised by the mention of the other student. “Why bring him up all of a sudden?”

Narancia looked at Fugo confused, his expression morphing into a small amount of disbelief as he continued to stare. Eventually however he spoke “Well you know i brought him up since he goes in, you know, our class”

Fugo looked at Narancia for a second before a scant amount of memories began playing back in his head. It was memoirs of the other boy stumbling through one or two presentations. However as Fugo ran through his head he found that he could only remember three speeches from Giorno, it seemed that the boy was illusive and hidden.

Fugo looked back out at the water, thoughts of the gloomy boy running in his mind. In Fugo’s mind it brought up pictures of his own childhood, of his own life. He remembered the years in stale rooms writing on paper until his head spun and he could barely move his fingers. He remembered the days where he would be forced to play the guitar until his finger bled, the chords ringing as pain in his head. 

However what he remembered most was how the abuse reflected in his own actions at school. He always kept a low profile, purposely hiding himself away from the harsh words and stares of his peers. It all reminded him too much of the gloomy boy, the meek tone of his voice, how he always sat alone in the corner, how he never objected to anything, even if he ought to. Fugo knew how it felt to be alone, forgotten, and he knew that no one should feel like he did

Fugo’s thoughts quickly disappeared as he refocused on the red material in the water, the steady waves had pushed it closer and closer. Now, even if it had sunk deeper into the water, he could make out what it was. It was a red jacket. Specifically he could see the arm of the jacket, the end of which seemed to point directly up into the sky

Almost as if someone had been holding their hand like that. 

Almost as if they had then passed out, sinking deeper and dragging the jacket with them. 

Almost as if they were drowning.

What, then, is that incalculable feeling that deprives the mind of the sleep necessary to life? 

A world that can be explained even with bad reasons is a familiar world. 

But, on the other hand, in a universe suddenly divested of illusions and lights, man feels an alien, a stranger. 

His exile is without remedy since he is deprived of the memory of a lost home or the hope of a promised land. 

This divorce between man and his life, the actor and his setting, is properly the feeling of absurdity. 

All healthy men having thought of their own suicide, it can be seen, without further explanation, that there is a direct connection between this feeling and the longing for death.

Giorno blinked and coughed as he sat up, the cold biting all throughout, reaching into his very essence. Quickly his hands went up to his eyes, wiping away the tears that blocked his vision, desperately trying to regain his senses as he turned his head from left to right. Eventually Giorno managed to regain his sense, quickly looking around the space he sat in

The old bed creaked heavily as he shifted his weight around, raking over the room with his eyes, scanning each and every corner until he knew there was no danger. No closed fist that would barrel through the air, no harsh and loud words

No danger.

The minute he concluded that danger was not present the tears came, running down rapidly as he clenched his fists into the covers. Pulling the soft material to his head to hide himself away from the non existent eyes he felt staring at him. Giorno’s body began to shake, shivering into covers as he curled into himself, the soft material hiding away his whines and sniffles.

He layed huddled against his own warmth for minutes, time flying away as he struggled to keep himself awake. The battle of exhaustion and duty played itself out like it always did, foot soldiers running across the mountains of a mattress, Artillery cratering the ground of obligation, Tanks rolling over the forests of will. Yet it would end as it always did, Giorno's leg would extend, crushing the footsoldier breaching the side. Giorno would put out his hand, pushing himself up as he crushed artillery underneath his finger. Giorno would stand up, trying to shake off the remnants of exhaustion, and while the war would be won the idea would never die. It would drape itself over the boy, pulling his eyes to a deep black color, devoid of what man would define as life.

Exhaustion and pain rippled through the boy as he stood, both feelings mixing together into a familiar duet, one which Giorno was very familiar with. Still he pushed through, grabbing everything he would need and swiftly heading out. Luckily today it seemed his father was sleeping in, evident by the empty flask playing next to his door and the stench of alcohol and grime emitting from the room

It was truly disgusting, a wave of rot and stench that could rot the very soul, something that would leave anyone green in the face. However for Giorno it was just the room next to his, a door he was never privy to mind you but still just another part of the house. So instead of dwelling on it he simply slung his backpack farther up his shoulder, and left, briskly walking to school. 

The marbled entrance stood, two pillars standing as an entrance to the school grounds, the name of the school etched on a beam of stone that connected the two pillars. Giorno remembered the first time he had stood at that very gate, 12 years old and frightened, lost without the guidance of another. However he had still walked through the gates, braving the new danger riddled world. Now at age 16 he would do the very same thing, walking through the familiar entrance way yet that fright and anxiety was still fully present.

Slowly he walked through the greenery of the school yard, passing the bushes that flanked the dirt path that led him from the entrance way to the school. The wind blew slightly through the open area, creating a fairly comfortable breeze on this surprisingly warm february day. The breeze passed through his shirt, the wind passing over the black and blue discolored skin at his chest. Quickly Giorno looked down, almost by instinct, remembering his fathers rage

Most bruises and cuts had healed by this point, disappearing and fading much like a memory, a welcome disappearance. However some still remained, there was one especially raw sight on his back, the red skin stretching and coiling like a snake skin, having been dug into itself from the force of his father's belt. Then sat a particularly nasty bruise on the underside of his pectoral muscle, the off colored skin running through shades of yellow, black and blue, truly it was an awful sight. Yet worse was the pain, even the slightest push onto his chest would feel as if a cavern was being carved out of his flesh, the tools of his assailants digging and clawing through flesh and bone, leaving him gasping and struggling. One particularly tough day had come during pe class, a rouge football flying directly into the middle of his chest, causing so much blooming pain to spread through his chest that he passed out, darkness enveloping him at a unfathomable rate

The days afterwards had been the worst for Giorno. Constantly hiding away the pain under a layer of indifference. Constantly hiding away and keeping quiet, hiding himself away into the shadows of isolation. It all hurt more then it would usually do, since now was he not only alone, but alone and in pain

However the days continued on passing, and eventually the constant physical pain faded, instead being replaced by an infrequent assaulting discomfort. This discomfort hung over him, even as he walked through the school grounds it followed him, hanging like a shadow over the boy

Despite all the hours he had spent at the school it still remained an unsafe place for Giorno. It had always been a foreign land, a place where people like him didn't belong. School was grounds that were trampled by the hurried feet of energetic youth, it was the place where the chatter of those very kids bounced off the walls. What it wasnt was a home for people which very steps corroded the earth, what it wasnt was a place for the people who hung in the shadows of joy

What it wasnt was a home for Giorno

He had known this for a long time, the fact becoming more and more evident as he progressed throughout the system, yet the fact was now fully set in stone. Giorno stood in front of the teacher and 6 disinterested students, they all watched him as he set up everything he would need, trembling as he plugged the cable to the screen into his computer. Slowly the old projector whirred to life, the old piece of technology slowly blinking to life, bringing up Giorno’s presentation.

Slowly Giorno looked over his paper, the words blurring into one another as he desperately tried to read them, the white thin material serving as his anchor for the assignment. Yet his mind simply failed to pick up on what his eyes saw, the stress present in him causing him to not understand the words he himself had written

Instead he looked out onto the sea of tables and chairs, the room seeming so empty with so few students occupying the space. Yet the eyes on him were all too many. They seemed to bore into him, stripping him of any sanctity and safety he could find in his own world. His skin became clammy, the pores of his skin running with sweat. Slowly the world around him began to blur, the edges of his vision running like water, the walls blurring into itself

Giorno began running his hands through themselves, desperately trying to center himself as panic set in. Eventually the trembling became shaking, his entire body losing itself to fight as he sat himself down on a chair next to where he stood, the tall legs nearly toppling over as he quickly sat down. The entire time he had tried to say something, anything. To beg for a few more seconds from the teacher, maybe even to ask for help, to plead with the rest of the people in the room. A desperate pathetic idea.

Giorno’s breathing picked up, puffs of air barely leaving his mouth by the time he breathed in. Once again he was gripped by fear, his nerves shooting more signals then he could take, flooding his senses with blinding fear.

The world continued blurring for what felt like eons, time passing like syrup, running in thick bundles and hordes. Eventually however it centered itself, however not by his doing. Suddenly a soft hand grabbed his shoulder, the soft presence grounding him as he looked at the brown blur that was now in front of him

His vision began to center as he stared at the color, eventually he saw it. The man was wearing a pair of old glasses, his ugly brown flannel shirt sitting comfortably on him while his eyes looked directly into Giorno’s. It was his English teacher, a 40 year old man who cared deeply about his students. However the man always valued grades more than comfortability

“Giorno?” The man asked, his words slow and caring “Are you okay?”

Giorno looked at his teacher. He wanted to answer the man, he wanted desperately to be able to turn those eyes away from him. Yet his voice was lost, leaving him with only the option to nod his head, hoping that his teacher would understand

The man seemed to understand as he sighed, slowly standing up and turning away from Giorno, quickly addressing the other students.

“Well thanks everyone for your presentations” The man said as he spoke “Your insights to the book were very interesting. Now i'm ending this a little bit early so you are allowed to go on your lunch break” Quickly the six other students packed up, quickly leaving the classroom, their hurried steps being heard in the hallway as they left

The older man sighed as he took off his glasses, softly placing them down as the man's hands went up to his head, softly massaging his forehead

“You know that i am very strict on the time when you leave for an assignment” The man said matter of factly, leaving no room for question “Yet you are the only student here who has yet to actually miss an assignment. Granted not everything you leave in is perfect, but its on time”

Giorno listened with rapt attention, his heart thumping like a jackhammer in his chest, a mix of nervousness and anxiety swimming through his veins

“So heres what ill give you” The teacher said, putting on his glasses and once again focusing on Giorno “You can leave and you won't have to redo this presentation, however then your performance today will be your grade and that's that”

Giorno’s eyes went wide, he knew he wouldn't fail the entire grade based on one real bad assignment. Yet he knew the anger he would produce from his father if this became reality, It was not acceptable

“The second option” His teacher continued, swiftly bringing Giorno out of his own thoughts “Is for you to do your speech tomorrow instead. Its with a larger group and all of them tend to be pretty animated and social, but it's the best i can give you”

Quickly Giorno nodded along, realizing that he needed to quickly grab the opportunity before it ran away from him “Y-yes t-that wo-works” 

Giorno’s teacher looked at him for a moment, seeming to contemplate his next words carefully. Giorno noticed this, his heart swiftly matching his own now building anxiety

“Giorno?” His teacher asked, his face pulled into a frown

The sweat began running on Giorno’s skin, the disgusting feeling compounded with his already present uncomfortableness. Nevertheless he put on the best mask he could, hiding his anxiety with a small smile, and his churning uncomfortableness with a easy going demeanor

“Yes? Is there something else I should k-know?” The words came out have stuttered, good for Giorno but seemingly not good for his teacher

The man stood and looked at Giorno, his frown only deepening before he began talking “Well no not really. It's just…” The man paused, his skin pulled taut on his face

“it’s just i feel tha…” He once again paused, eventually however a sigh escaped his lips “Never mind. See you tomorrow”

Giorno wasted no time after that, quickly throwing on his red jacket before muttering a quiet goodbye and leaving the classroom. However in his haste his computer and bag were both left behind, the words of his teacher calling this out being lost in the air as Giorno ran, a increasing pressure building in his chest

The subject of this essay is precisely this relationship between the absurd and suicide,the exact degree to which suicide is a solution to the absurd. 

The principle can be established that for a man who does not cheat, what he believes to be true must determine his action. 

Belief in the absurdity of existence must then dictate his conduct. 

It is legitimate to wonder, clearly and without false pathos, whether a conclusion of this importance requires forsaking as rapidly as possible an incomprehensible condition. 

I am speaking, of course, of men inclined to be in harmony with themselves.

His rushed steps were heard on the cobbled path as he walked his way home, his fast paced steps meeting the uneven cobbled ground. His breathing pushed through similarly unevenly, stretching and contorting the organ which kept him alive, abusing it if only to keep oxygen in his system for another second. His head spun, wild shapes and sizes being thrown wildly around his vision, their taunting presences only worsening Giorno’s already terrible state. Giorno’s ears rang, a whiny high pitch sound that blocked out any other noise that should have been heard, even the powerful wind barely registered to the boy, its force only being felt as it pushed into him.

Really nothing had been taken in by Giorno as he had swiftly walked from the school, the taste of humiliation, panic and defeat sitting firmly on his tongue. Even the direction he walked was lost to him, his brain pushing through on auto pilot, carrying his tired frame across step after step, no real direction in mind. 

Giorno's mind only operated based on what he had learned, and that was to hide, to run, to disappear from the problems that stood before him. Throughout Giorno’s life that had been the only safe option, any time he had tried to stand up for himself it had only ended with more pain, more blaring abuse being thrown at him. Yet when he had hidden, when he had desperately clawed his was out of danger he had been spared, the raging inferno of alcohol and rage that was his father had always given up, losing himself to sleep rather then rage

So now he did the same, the haunting spectre of his failure ringing itself through its head, seeming to follow every more he made. So he continued fleeing, continued desperately running from the problem facing him, hiding himself away in the shadows.

Giorno had always known how pathetic this was, how his classmates must have reacted when he had messed up his speech. Most likely they were now sitting in the cafeteria eating their lunch, laughing amongst themselves at the pitiful display. However it was still a crushing feeling, to have to admit to himself over and over of his own inadequacy, of his own pathetic nature, well it hurt.

For once Giorno just wanted someone to hold him, to tell him that it was okay, to guide himself into a warm comfortable hold. He had vague memories of such a thing, of another person's arms wrapping themselves around his then much smaller body, the comforting warmth soothing young Giorno as he cried into the arms of the person. Yet those memories were that, memories. Those times were since long gone, faded and etched into the back of his head like long since plundered ruins, the memory of life faded. Now instead he stood in panic, his entire being thrumming with pain, its claws scraping itself into his subconscious, tearing away at all it saw

Hio’s throat clawed out a noise, a weak struggling whine, a sound usually only reserved for the dying was emitted by a vermin of a boy. Slowly he collapsed upon the cobbled pathway, his cries emitting from his core, the wails meeting no ear. However still as Giorno wailed no tears came, the evidence of his deed being fully left away, the only comfort he could feel in such a state lost to the wind

Instead he simply wailed, like a deer bleeding out from a shot, like a man whose legs were torn to shreds by the violent nature of war, like a mother losing her child in her arms. Giorno cried to fill the hole in him, to make up for all he had done and will do, yet why was he so empty? Why was he like this? It was always a question he had in his mind, an ever running voice that told him that he was worthless, someone who destroyed that which he touched. 

But why did it tell him this? 

What had he done?

Quickly Giorno sat up, staring up at the sky as this question remained on his open lips, a unformed malleable sentence. Giorno wanted so to scream it from every rooftop, to pull it out of his lungs and show it to the world, beg and grovel at the feet of every person he knew

What had he done?

His vision swam with the light of the sky, the beautiful blue mixed with the pale white of clouds, everything showing itself to the boy. However the sun remained out of sight, its warm embrace hiding itself away from those who needed it. Yet like a man possessed Giorno would find it. Quickly he was on his feet, his eyes trained up at the sky as his feet pushed him to a foreign direction

What had he done?

It plagued him, hurt him, tore him to pieces. All to spit him out again, letting him lick his wounds and stabilize on new ground. And then it would repeat, ripping flesh from bone as its hungry teeth sank itself into his pale skin. Screams would always erupt from him, yet there were never ears to hear it. Blood would run from his bruised form, yet there was never a person to care for him. Tears would run from his eyes, yet there was never anyone there to coddle him, to care for him.

What had he done?

He knew it was selfish. He knew that he did not deserve such treatment, it was so embedded in his mind that he could probably write it out blind. Yet that hope always lingered, festering in his head like a cancer clawing its way through a patient. The disease malforming and creating mockeries of life as it tore through the body of the soon to be diseased

What had he done?

He continued walking, the direction chosen seemingly at random by his brain. Yet his focus was elsewhere, it lay firmly trained up at the sky, as if begging, pleading with any higher being. His silent question slowly formed itself on top of his lips, being too still out. Pleading and forcing its way out of his mind and throat. 

Yet it would stay where it had been

One step led him to stand

Two steps led him towards the sky

Four steps led him closer to the sun behind the clouds

Eight steps led him closer then he ever thought he would come

Yet thirteen steps led him off the brick pathway. Quickly the stable ground beneath his left foot was replaced with air, the weight he would have placed on cobble swiftly falling as his body tumbled away. His knee roughly scraped against the pathway as he fell, his body falling in such a mockery of his hope that the last thing he saw was the sky. The blue sky and the sun it housed

Quickly his body was surrounded by an unbearable cold, a cold that went bone deep, swallowing any warmth it found. Giorno tried to get his bearings, thrashing and pulling anywhere to try to find any safety. Yet the air he once breathed in was instead replaced with water, the rough liquid quickly entering his nose as he tried to breath

A sort of animal response went in after that, firstly he stopped breathing, both his mind and body in sync as he realized the greater danger. Then he tried to see anything, he looked at what he thought was up and saw nothing, only pitch black darkness. Then however he looked down, there he saw the sun. Quickly he tried to reorient himself, pushing his body to any point in which he would be able to swim to the surface.

After a struggle Giorno pulled himself closer to the surface, so close in fact that the top of his finger bashed the water line, exposing themselves to air for a second. Yet it was not enough, the current grew stronger and stronger the further he was pulled out, eventually it became overbearing. A force that none could hope to stop, its rushing force flying past his eyes as he was pulled deeper. Weirdly however his mind began to relax, this despite the growing feeling of emptiness that permeated through his lungs. 

Giorno looked out through the water and simply stared as he began to sink deeper. The last thing crossing his mind was the sight of his jacket, floating slightly above him as he sank deeper and deeper into the abyss

Stated clearly, this problem may seem both simple and insoluble. 

But it is wrongly assumed that simple questions involve answers that are no less simple and that evidence implies evidence. 

A priori and reversing the terms of the problem, just as one does or does not kill oneself,

 it seems that there are but two philosophical solutions, 

either yes or no. 

This would be too easy

Here I am only slightly indulging in irony: 

this is the majority. I notice also that those who answer "no" act as if they thought "yes." 

As a matter of fact, if I accept the Nietzschean criterion, they think "yes" in one way or another.

There exists a fine line between consciousness and unconsciousness. One is the material world, a place where blood is pumped through organs as the machinery that is kept in the body works to keep one alive. A place where laws are held to place, order is heavily enforced, morality is thrown to the wayside. Yet the other one is a landscape controlled by oneself, a fictitious world where one can be safe, where one does not have to flinch at the loud sounds floating through the air, however one does not recognize one's own existence, simply floating in a void of haziness

However between these two states of being exists a line, a line so thin that it seemed near impossible to balance on. Yet however with the right steps one could balance his weight, one could avoid falling into unconsciousness, time disappearing as one's mind became swallowed. One could similarly avoid falling into consciousness, a sleeping man flying up as his rested mind being thrown into the jaws of uncertainty. If one did all this they could find themselves in a precarious yet fruitful place, a place where one could do what they wished.

Giorno had managed to find himself here at times, hiding himself away into the landscapes of his own mind. And now he found himself back, he stood in a fairly empty room, only consisting of a wonderfully soft bed and a bookcase, filled with old and new inscriptions of knowledge and story. Yet the most soothing part was the lighting, a hue of gray, sitting itself comfortably on the eyes of the boy. For Giorno it was a most comfortable place, a place where only he could sit, where only he could stand, where only he could exist. A place he could call home

Yet the laws of this place were fickle. Quickly a massive pressure began exerting itself on Giorno's chest, it kept a steady pace and force, a rhythmic pushing down onto his chest. Swiftly he fell back onto the ground, his throat now suddenly feeling as if it was full, a liquid being forced out of his mouth

Giorno could feel how his body tried to cooperate with the foreign force, trying desperately to cough up the liquid in his lungs. However it seemingly couldn't, the liquid only escaping thanks to the ever present force pushing down onto his chest. However after a few more seconds his body responded, coughing violently as he rolled over on the surface he now lay on, salty water spilling from his mouth in heaps as he coughed hard

Swiftly a hand placed itself on his shoulder, supporting him as he continued dispelling the salty abomination from the insides of his lungs. This horrid routine lasted only 2 minutes, leaving Giorno both tired and destroyed, his throat burning from all the sea water. Quickly Giorno tried so stand up, his legs shaking as he finally registered the oppression cold

“Whow hey not so fast, take it easy” A voice came from his left, it felt oddly familiar, like something Giorno had heard before. It was voice that brought a surprising warmth to him, a comfortable baritone tune “Hey you think you can stand for me Giorno? Here ill help you”

The owner of the voice slipped an arm around him while the other came to rest on his ribs, producing some more pain with the force on his bruises but also supporting the boy in every small movement as he stood. Everything went well to begin with, He was now standing, his eyes almost opening as he tried to speak.

However he was quickly interrupted as the ground beneath him moved, his already confused balance being thrown away. Yet the strong arm next to him held him up, gently guiding him inside

Quickly he was sat down on a comfortable bench, a small cushion genty tasking in his weight“Good to get you out of the wind” The man said as he slung a comfortable blanket around Giorno 

“You know it's not really good to fall into such cold and windy water, who knows what could have happened” Another voice said,

Giorno swiftly pried his eyes open, not a lot but enough to get a good look at the area around him. Currently he was sitting in what looked like the helm of a small ship. It was decorated with pictures and different trinkets spread around the area. To his right lay two seats that sat higher than the other ones. One of them was empty, however on the other one, which Giorno assumed to be the captain's chair, sat Mista. 

However there were also seats in front of him, which were too currently occupied. Firstly there was Bruno, the man sat looking intently at Giorno, his face worried and drenched, the water covering his entire hair. Next to him sat Fugo, the boy however looked to be fully drenched, water dripping from every inch of his clothes. His expression however was intriguing, there was worry, a lot of it, the same worry Giorno had always wanted directed at himself. However underneath that worry lay anger, it was hard to spot most likely hidden under a thick layer of a stronger emotion, yet Giorno saw it, he always did

“Ah.. i,.,,” Giorno tried to stammer out a response, anything to portray his shock at being found by his classmates. Yet because of a mixture of the saltwater and his own surprise nothing came out, only garbled noises that one could not make sense of

“Hey easy, calm down” Bruno said as he gave Giorno a water bottle, his eyes never leaving Giornos “We managed to drag you up from the sea but you swallowed a lot of water”

Giorno hurriedly drank the water, satisfyingly clearing his throat of the putrid salty sea water. After this he layed back a little and looked at Bruno and Fugo, unsure of what to say

“I. ju…” Giorno paused, his worry coming back in force, quickly rushing the boy “We-well it-its j-just i guess… “ sigh” just thanks for saving me”

For this he got a strange look from Fugo, one that seemed to hold many untold truths, this scared Giorno. However it quickly passed, instead being replaced by the usual demeanor of the boy “Well yea, just don't fall in the water again”

After this the three of them entered an awkward sort of silence. Giorno for his part wanted desperately to ask when they would be back to shore, after all he still had the rest of the school day left

Yet it seemed that Fugo had other ideas

“Hey Giorno” Fugo asked, his previous expression of worry and a thin line of anger being replaced instead by a calm collected demeanor

"Yeah?" Giorno said, almost unsure whether he wanted to run or hide

“Have you ever gone fishing?” Fugo asked

For a quick moment Giorno thought the other boy was joking ‘Fishing? Do they think i'm 50 or something??’ After a second of silence however it became clear to Giorno that the other boy was in fact not joking, instead it seemed that he took the idea very seriously

“Well I've ne… No i've never gone fis-fishing” Giorno asked, his anxiety and nervousness flaring up more and more

This seemed to be a good response since Fugo seemed fairly pleased with the response. Quickly after this he got up, gathering a bunch of different tools that Giorno frankly couldn't even begin to guess its use. However evidently Fugo was not slowed down by Giorno's seeming apprehension, instead he quickly brought out everything on to the deck of the boat before swiftly bringing out Giorno as well

Surprisingly enough the wind had somewhat settled, opening up the water for a much more calm and relaxing mood. Giorno was momentarily stunned as he looked, the view was admittedly beautiful, the way the light from the sun shone onto the water, reflecting and sparkling like a beautiful diamond. For but a moment Giorno was lost for words, he had never really been out at seas, so to see the glimmering sea as it calmly lapped at the base of the ship

“You know” Fugo began, his hair being slightly lifted by the wind “It was really damn windy here before you showed up”

Fugo said as he turned his head towards Giorno, his eyes looking straight into the other boys. Giorno opened his mouth to speak but nothing came. In that second his heart skipped a beat, an extremely unusual feeling for Giorno. Slowly Fugo lifted his hand and placed it on Giorno’s hair, his finger softly combing through the wet hair. His finger continued dancing in Giornos hair for a minute, providing Giorno with a sort of comfort that he had rarely gotten in his life. However because he rarely got it meant that he also was not at all used to receiving it, this caused him to freeze up, his entire body going stiff.

Fugo seemed oblivious to this for a few seconds, his face seeming concentrated as his fingers went through Giorno's golden hair. However eventually Fugo's eyes travelled down and spotted the deep red blush on Giorno’s face and the stiffness of the boy. Quickly Fugo adopted the very same blush, his finger quickly retreating as he began busying himself with the fishing rod

“Sorry Giorno" Fugo said, deliberately not holding eye contact with Giorno. “i just d… you know, i wanted to get the water out of your hair”

Giorno found it strange that the usually unbothered Fugo was all of a sudden acting so strange around him. Stranger still was that he was refusing to look at Giorno, seeming as if he had really done Giorno wrong. Giorno however in truth felt that the apology was unneeded, he actually found himself missing the quiet comfort that the other boy's hands had given. The thin finger dancing over his scalp having brought him a comfort he had not felt in years

However he would not dare to speak up, so instead he placated the other boy

“It's fine” Giorno said, still watching over the calm sea “I get it”

Fugo eventually looked at Giorno for a moment, the reddening on his face slowly disappearing as his face went back to its usual stoic appearance

"Yea just sorry i guess” Fugo said awkwardly

“Really it's fine…” Giorno said, wanting so deeply to quell the worries in the other boy “I mean…” Yet the words were stuck in his throat

“What was that” Fugo asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Giorno

Giorno looked at Fugo, unsure of what to say. His mouth opened and closed for a few seconds, the words lost in the recesses of his throat. Eventually however he got something out, a quiet whisper but still words “Ahh its nothing”

Fugo looked like he was far from pleased with the answer, yet it seemed that even he did not know what to say. After a small sigh he gave it up, instead he started to run through the basics of fishing with Giorno, only really sticking to the first few steps in order not to confuse the other boy. This half worked since Giorno still felt somewhat swamped with all the information, however Fugo was really good at explaining 

However it all seemed to go decently, since now the weather was nearly golden, and they had a few hours on their hands. So they stood and fished, even slowly being joined by the rest of Fugo's friends. For Giorno it was surprisingly relaxing, his legs did begin to ache but he found that for once, he didn't really care

They continued like this for several minutes, the silence between all of them sitting comfortably. However eventually the passage of time would force them back to school

“Hmmm we should probably pack up and head back to shore” Fugo said, looking at his phone “We do have classes after all”

Giorno panicked slightly at this, his hands began frantically searching for his phone, however he couldn't find it. Quickly he began looking for his backpack, yet it too seemed as elusive as his phone. As Giorno looked he could feel his panic grow by the minute, the thumping of his heart thunderning inside his skull, the pull push of blood feeling as if it were cracking his skull open

“Are you alright?” It came from nowhere, a voice spilling itself throughout his panic, somewhat subsiding it

Giorno looked towards the origin of the voice and found Mista, sitting calmly as ever in his captains chair “Y-yeah sorry just” Giorno said as he collected himself “Im looking for my bag

Mista looked at Giorno for a second before he responded “Oh well you didn't have it on you when we found you in the water. Either its at the bottom of the sea or you left it somewhere else

For a second Giorno's heart stopped, frankly his entire world stopped. In his bag lay both his phone and laptop, the laptop would be easy enough, he would just have to go to the school and they would most likely give a new one without much fuss. However his phone was a different issue, it was one of the few things his father had actually bought and if he found out that Giorno had dropped in into the ocean then he would be furious, a rage that would consume any other thought in the man's head

Swiftly he found himself a nice seat on the boat's deck, the wind helped to calm him down, his racing heart relaxing. Minutes passed as he sat, tears welling at the back of his eyes, threatening to spill over as his fear grew and grew. Giorno always hoped to be alone in situations like this, always hiding himself away as to not reveal the extent of his uselessness, yet it seemed that someone had other plans

“Are you okay” Fugo’s voice sounded next to him, the sound of the boys footsteps making themselves known as he walked closer to Giorno as he sat himself down next to him

Giorno quickly looked at Fugo, half startled by the boy's appearance “Yeah i'm fine, just stressed

Fugo looked at Giorno, already seeming to have detected the other boys conundrum.“Why did you lie”

Giorno quickly looked at Fugo, caught off guard by the boy's question. He continued staring at the blond haired boy, unsure of what his answer should be

“Listen it's okay to not have to devolve every secret you have. Just i see your worried about something

Giorno looked down at his feet, his eyes travelling across the space in a sign of clear anxiety. “Well i might have lost my backpack” Giorno said as he looked at Fugo “And well i don't know where it is. Either its in the water or like i don't know, maybe at school”

Giorno said, his nervousness clearly showing in his voice as he spoke, both scared and stressed

“Well your bag was not with you in the” Fugo said without hesitation “You can come with ous to school and we will look for i”

Giorno’seyes went wide from shock, he couldn't simply fathom that other people would willingly walk with him or even be around him. Slowly he turned his head to look out into the water again, the realization still being something heavy for the boy

“Ohh also” Fugo said “What class did you have before this? Well before you took a swim”

Giorno let out a small laugh at the joke, his mind being softly soothed by the conversation with Fugo

“Oh i had english” Giorno answered simply, not wanting the growing joy in his stomach to make itself known

“Oh really” Fugo answered “How did your presentation go?”

At this question the joy in Giorno disappeared, his own anxiety over the presentation tomorrow growing like a root from a tree. Giorno's discomfort was felt around him, he didn't even answer Fugos question, instead letting the emptiness between them answer the boy's question.

“Ohh it went that bad” Fugo asked, his face once again lined with worry

“Yea. I w-was so ner-nervous i… i couldn't even start” Giorno said, resting his head on the side of the boat

Fugo seemed deep in thought for a few seconds, his hand scratching at the roots of his blond hair as he seemed to contemplate something. Luckily Giorno did not have to wait long since it seemed that Fugo found his answer

“Well then it seems like you need to practice” Fugo said “Me and Narancia are gone study when we get back to our apartment, wanna come?”

Giorno's Jaw practically slammed into the floor at this. ‘How in hell could someone actually invite me to their house, like friends? like that's what friends do. That's what friends do’. This mantra repeated itself in Giorno's head, played in a loop like he would eventually find the answer to his confusion in the words. However eventually this mantra accidentally spilled from his lips, leaking out in a quiet whisper

“That's what friends do” Giorno whispered

At first it seemed Fugo hadn't heard him, his face transforming into that of confusion. However his confusion seemed to stem from another place since he still answered Giorno’s half question half statement

“Yes that is what friends do” Fugo said, after this he paused, unsure of what to say next. However what came next only seemed to confuse Giorno more “Well let me be more direct then. Do you want to be our friend?”

Giorno was now, again, fully in shock, his entire body seeming to drop in temperature, a shiver dancing over his skin as he stood. Here the boy stood, thoughts of his own disgusting nature running through him constantly, and here was someone who firstly saved him, and now they were offering help and their own friendship to him. Giorno fully did not believe what was in front of him, it must have been the hallucinations from a dying kind, or maybe even a dream formed in a coma. Either way he needed to figure this out

Swiftly he pinched himself, hard. So hard in fact that he accidentally plunged his bitten fingernails into the skin of his forearm, a thin line of blood forming

“Whow hey” Fugo said as he grabbed Giorno’s wrist “What was that for”

“I was checking if i was awake” Giorno answered bluntly, his own shock rendering him unable to do anything else then answer

“Ohh” Fugo said, confused, slowly dropping down Giorno's wrist as he stared, shock written over his face “You shouldn't do stuff… stuff like that, you know” he said quietly

“Yea. its just i have never had any friends b-before” Giorno said, still staring at the red line running down his forearm, the crimson color slowly running down, pushed by gravity

"Oh i see” Fugo said

Quickly the awkward nature made itself known, draping over the two boys like a blanket that promised to ruin anything it would come in contact with. And now it had arrived, finally snuffing out the little interest Fugo had in him. Giorno had at times been asked to hang out with people, for them to do something together. However Giorno had always destroyed it, either by being too quiet, or when he was younger too eager, only annoying and pushing people away. And now he had done it again.

 He had ruined something again. 

They would get back to the docks

Have a awkward goodbye

Then never speak to each other again

They would probably gossip in their friend group about how weird Giorno was

Of how much of a freak he was

Of how disgusting the boy was

About how he should just die

Rotting alone like he had always been

After all he truly was a cur…

“Well then i'll be your first” Fugo said

It was six simple words, simple words that came out perfectly clearly. But to Giorno it was like it had been translated into hundreds of different languages, every letter transcribed into something so unfamiliar that it barely looked human. Yet in his mind he understood the meaning of them, Fugo’s friendliness fully open to him

Slowly he looked down onto the sea

There under him he saw a fish

The animal quickly swimming away as it seemed to realize it had been spotted

Quickly a smile appeared on Giorno’s lips. All the events of the day had been erratic, a mess of different key events that had all led him to this place, standing on the side of a boat. It had all pushed him miles from his comfort zone, practically blurring the lines between his usual life and whatever this was. 

The events of the day had pushed him to take step after step, walking into the mist of unsurety and fright. Yet he had now taken step after step

And now for once he would take a leap

Since if he had come this far, then what stopped him from pushing a little further

“Well” Giorno said simply, his worry still leaking through his voice in waves “It would be nice, t-to have a friend”

Fugo smiled, golden rays seeming to emit from him. Giorno too smiled, a weight that he had not been conscious off lifting from his shoulders, and a warm feeling spreading itself over his stomach

On the other hand, it often happens that those who commit suicide were assured of the meaning of life. 

These contradictions are constant. 

It may even be said that they have never been so keen as on this point where, on the contrary, logic seems so desirable. 

It is a commonplace to compare philosophical theories and the behavior of those who profess them. 

But it must be said that of the thinkers who refused a meaning to life none except Kirilov who belongs to literature, 

Peregrinos who is torn of legend, 

and Jules Lequier who belongs to hypothesis, 

admitted his logic to the point of refusing that life. 

Schopenhauer is often cited, as a fit subject for laughter, because he praised suicide while seated at a well-set table. 

This is no subject for joking. 

That way of not taking the tragic seriously is not so grievous, 

but it helps to judge a man

Chapter Text

In the face of such contradictions and obscurities must we conclude that there is no relationship between the opinion one has about life and the act one commits to leave it?

 Let us not exaggerate in this direction. 

In a man' s attachment to life there is something stronger than all the ills in the world. 

The body' s judgment is as good as the mind's, and the body shrinks from annihilation. 

We get into the habit of living before acquiring the habit of thinking. 

In that race which daily hastens us toward death, the body maintains its irreparable lead. 

Giorno was very thankful to be on solid ground again, the constant movement of the boat now instead replaced by a much more steady flooring. While Giorno had enjoyed fishing somewhat he would most definitely enjoyed more if it were on land

However, now that they were off the boat Giorno could not help but worry. He had accidentally been inserted into this group, not even doing much to fit in with the rest of the people. Instead he had been unceremoniously inserted into a group that he didn't even know, being on a first name basis with only one of them

However this small opening had shown him something. Usually Giorno had only seen friendship from the outside, from there he only saw the spats, the tension, the disagreements. But now he saw the other side of it, the calm conversations, the helping hand, the hours which could pass without an ever creeping loneliness. And frankly Giorno was sick of being alone

So he went up to Fugo, the other boy standing quietly next to his friends

“Hey can i go with you to school” Giorno said as he managed to keep his face neutral even with the awkwardness of the question

“And who the fuck are you?” A rough older voice said from the side, quickly Giorno turned to look. Next to, a now fairly angry Bruno, stood a tall man, his straight white long hair stretching down to his chest. The man wore a small amount of makeup too, mostly eye liner and other touches which served to make him look only more scary

Giorno looked at the man, confused as to why the man seemed so aggressive. Granted they had never spoken, only briefly meeting when the rest of the group had pulled the man into the nurses office.

“Abbacchio” Bruno said, sending an angry glare over towards the other man

The man, Abbachio, looked back at Bruno, a scoff escaping his lips before he looked away, seeming to focus on something else in the distance. Bruno simply sighed and looked apologetically at Giorno, signalling for him to continue with what he was going to say

“Well can I go with you all to school?” Giorno said once more, the tension cutting at him like a knife

“Of course you can” Fugo said his face remaining perfectly neutral “How else are we going to help you find your bag”

“Oh yeah” Giorno said, ducking his head as his heart thumped loudly in his chest

“What Fugo meant to say” Bruno said, sending a soft glare in the other boys direction “Is that we would love to have you come with us”

Giorno looked to Fugo and saw that the boy's neutral face was instead replaced with one of confusion, seeming to not understand the point of the interjection. Giorno however was calmed by it, the words somewhat soothing his racing heart

“Well alright then” Bruno said, a small smile playing on his face as he began walking towards the school

Together everyone began following, all walking together as they began talking and chatting amongst themselves. The group truly fit together like puzzle pieces, all of them seeming to have managed to combine their pieces into a fitting jigsaw. All of them managing to have their space and meaning within the confines of the social circle, all of them fitting together with years of bonding

However for Giorno it felt different, he felt as if anything he tried to add just bounced off, not fitting together in the conversation that the others were having. If the rest fit together snuggly like puzzle pieces then Giorno was an unevenly cut shape, his edges never evenly slotting in. Simply put he felt awkward and ignored

Yet he tried his best to interact and socialize, awkwardly trying to fit in his own presence within the group. However he had no real idea on how, every comment he tried adding was either too quiet, causing another group member too awkwardly ask what he had said, or seemingly something that didn't fit, causing a small wave of silence to permeate the social circle

Giorno came to the realization that anything he added only seemed to grind the conversation to a halt, the enjoyment of the others disappearing faster than light itself. So Giorno retreated slightly, he moved himself to a spot in which he was close to the group, still sticking in their general orbit, yet remaining outside enough to where he wouldn't bother them. This was what Giorno knew, a technique that sat embedded deep into the marrow of his bones, a skill learned through countless hours of hiding his own presence from people like his father to other students. It was the only thing he felt he had mastered, it was the only thing he thought himself good for

However Giorno felt a prickling at his neck, a distinct feeling of being in view, of being in the sight of another. Swiftly he looked up and saw Fugo looking directly at him, like he had seen him there the entire time. For several seconds they stared at each other as they walked, both of them caught in the others presence

Out of the blue however Mista came, standing himself next to Giorno, giving the boy a soft smile as they walked

“How are you feeling” Mista said, Girono gave him a quick inquisitive look at this “Ohh yea well do you like, feel any warmer. I mean you did fall into the ocean in Februari”

“O-oh well yeah. I’ve had some time to heat up” Giorno responded, his voice characteristically quiet

“Well good, don't want you freezing your ass off in whatever class you have” Mista said, laughing slightly at his own joke

“ha… yeah” Giorno said, unsure of how to respond to the inquiries

Giorno frankly had no idea how to respond to anything which was being said around him. He wasn't sure how to talk so openly like Narancia. Nor did they know how to quietly yet assertively add parts to the conversation like Fugo. Hell he wasn't even sure if half of the people in the group wanted him there, one of them did actively dislike his presence after all

It was all alien to the boy, feelings and discussion which flowed so openly from the others would undoubtedly feel like mud in his mouth. Words that would be caught in the throws of his mind, unable to form themselves into fitting and coherent strings. He was playing chess without knowing the rules, driving a car without a tutor, peddling on a bike for the first time. All the unspoken rules, all the dynamics of ego, personality and speech. It was all overwhelming

However at times he would notice his eyes travelling to Fugo, the boy rarely looked back, his eyes mostly transfixed out towards the blue ocean. However at times he would look back, his eyes piercing Into giorno's own. Quickly Giorno would always look away, a feeling of weird guilt settling into his stomach when his eyes looked for too long. However he found that he was drawn to the boy, and the sight of the other always brought Giorno calm

“Earth to Giorno” Mista sang, swiftly bringing the boy out of his world. Mista was looking at him with a big stupid grin, his eyes holding a teasing, yet friendly malice behind them. Clearly he had seen something he found amusing

“Ahh yeah. Did I do something?” Giorno asked, his usual placid and neutral demeanour slipping somewhat

“Hmmm” Mista dragged out each second as he got closer and closer to Giorno, his head drawing itself closer to Giorno’s ear. 

“You should not be staring at Fugo, Giorno. Unless you want him to think you have a crush on him ” Mista said, his laugh bubbling underneath the surface of his words as he spoke

Giorno’s blush quickly reddened several shades, the embarrassment being felt through every corner of his being. He hadn't really thought of the implications of staring at Fugo, and while it did bring him calm maybe it had also weirded the boy out. Maybe he had already ruined what had been gifted to him, maybe he had already destroyed it

“H-hey i didnt… no im s-” Giorno said hurriedly, his panic shooting up instantly

“Hey dont worry its fine” Mista said as he laughed, evidently not taking the situation all to seriously

However for Girono it was anything but a joke, he had stared directly as his new friend, and worse someone had seen him do it. Giorno tried to forget about it as he and Mista continued walking together until they got to the school, he managed to keep it back far enough to actually enjoy the conversation with Mista. However it never truly left, instead lingering in the back of his mind like an intrusive thought. 

Giorno was a teenager so he of course knew about the usual romantic hijinks associated with romance and sex. Yet no one had been that close to him practically ever, and what especially confused him is how he could feel such feelings for a guy

Now Giorno was not oblivious, in fact he was much more observant than the people imagined. He knew when a couple escaped the class one after another, after all they weren't even especially sneaky. He had also seen the glances some people snuck each other, the ones who felt they needed to hide their mutual attraction for whatever reason. 

Yet he had never allowed himself to think about love or attraction, always squashing any feeling that would suddenly bloom in his heart. Now however it seemed that a small part of his heart had been engulfed in flame, burning with an alien desire. However what scared Giorno most was the potential attraction for a guy

Giorno never really cared much about what others did. People should live their life how they want to and also the way that fits them. Yet for him it was wrong, he felt that it wasn't him, it couldn't be him. Giorno felt the pull of string inside his heart, it pulled him towards the certainty of another person. His mind wandered to that of another person, the certainty one could provide to him. 

HIs mind had done this before, a time where he was a lot younger, and a lot more naive. Giorno had liked one of the boys in the class, a taller, more handsome boy, one that had also been one of the few people to ever show Giorno kindness in his life. He had been so drawn to this boy at that time, his mind focusing on nothing more but his every movement. However this in Giorno's mind was wrong, after all boys liked girls. So he came to the only conclusion that he felt was right

He couldnt be gay

That was the decision he had made all those months ago. However now he had been directly called out for having eyes for a man, and worse he might actually have it. Giorno knew this attachment was most likely born from his own loneliness and isolation, years spent alone creating a desperate need for attachment. However even the smallest chance that this was not true scared him, nearly beginning him down to his knees. It wasn't up for debate, it couldn't be

He couldnt be gay

He just couldn't be. He knew of others that were, others that would truly live their best life, happiness evident in their step. Yet too Giorno it could not be him, he felt as if even posing the question would destroy him, as if the words themselves would come down and crush him lower then he already was. 

He couldn't even utter the words, even the feeling of them in his mind feeling like a deep thick poison, one that would all too quickly spread itself throughout his entire being. Giorno shook his head, trying desperately to simply shake away the notion, burying it under thick layers of shame and expectation.

“Giorno?” Fugo asked

“Y-yea” Giorno responded, caught off guard at the sudden appearance of the other boy

“Which classroom did you have English in?” Fugo said, looking down at his phone

At that moment they were stood outside the school, Narancia and Fugo both looking at their phones, most likely looking for wherever their english teacher could be

“Ahh i think it was 3-b, if i remember correctly” Giorno said, the number already memorized

“Ahh yeah your right” Narancia said, quickly walking towards the right building

“Well” Fugo said, once again looking towards Giorno “Let's go then”

Giorno however was panicking slightly, he knew of his own standing in the class, of how lowly people viewed him compared to others, and frankly he didn't want the others to truly see that. So before he could think about it he grabbed Fugo’s wrist, promptly stopping the other boy

“Hmmm” Fugo turned around with a half shocked one which quickly transformed into a rising anger. Fugo swiftly pulled his wrist out of Giornos grasp, pulling hard “What?” Fugo added, anger evident in his tone

“Ahh it… i d…” Giorno hadn't really thought over what he was going to say or do. The split second decision left him without a plan, leaving him alone. And Fugos response was surely not what he had wanted to hear “Well it.. it's just… I'm not sure you'll want to s-sit in class with me”

Fugo looked at Giorno for a second or two, his anger dissipating somewhat yet still remaining “How so?”

“Well people don't really l-li-like… me” Giorno admitted, the words at the end almost inaudible

Fugo raised a brow at this, confusion apparent on his face for a second or two. However it quickly disappeared, instead being replaced by an understanding look, one that spoke to Giorno of shared experiences. Shared traumas

“Why would that matter?” 

Fugo said, the words so simple in his mouth

“After all we like you”

Giorno found himself in a state of shock for what must have been the umpteenth time that day. They were such simple words, words that even kids knew, words that anyone would understand. Yet to Giorno it felt as if it were scripture from civilizations passed, like finding hieroglyphs on the walls of ancient Egyptian tombs. Words that were seen but not understood

“... th… I….”

Giorno tried to speak, yet his voice was lost. Lost to the sands of time, running away into the ocean of which he stood.

While Giorno simply failed to understand the words there was much more that he picked up. Fugo stood relaxed and content, seeming at peace with the situation. that meant that his previous anger had faded and that it had not been replaced with disgust or hatred. He was also looking at Giorno, a small drop of concern evident in the background of his irises. That meant that he was truthful in whatever he said.

However, most importantly, he was still there with Giorno. Willingly waiting and spending his own time to understand and be with Giorno

Swift Giorno nodded, hoping that the sentiment was delivered. Fugo quickly responded with a small smile, the action instantly releasing the tension that had built up in Giorno. And together they walked into the school, and into their classroom as friends

Giorno had taken a leap

And Fugo caught him

In short, 

the essence of that contradiction lies in what I shall call the act of eluding because it is both less and more than diversion in the Pascalian sense. 

Eluding is the invariable game. 

The typical act of eluding, the fatal evasion that constitutes the third theme of this essay, is hope. 

Hope of another life one must "deserve" or trickery of those who live not for life itself but for some great idea that will transcend it, 

refine it, 

give it a meaning, 

and betray it.

His heart thumped hard in his chest, the organ hitting roughly against the walls of his chest. The room fell out of focus as he looked down at his paper, the words blurring into one another as he tried to make sense of the words in front of him. After a few seconds Giorno gave up, quickly looking over at his presentation instead, looking for any hint at what he wanted to convey. 

This is how he held his presentation, stumbling awkwardly through slide after slide. After a few more minutes he had managed to get through his presentation. The thundering of his heart calmed somewhat as the stress slowly escaped from him like steam from a pressure cooker.

Slowly Giorno refocused his sight, looking over towards the three friends who had watched him. Mista wore a half smile half confused expression, his smile clearly trying to be supportive yet the confusion still apparent. Narancia for his part hadn't even managed to look at Giorno, instead burying his face in his own presentation. Fugo however seemed to be fairly deep in focus and concentration, seeming to mull over what he had seen, most likely not to impressed by the display Giorno had put on

Giorno looked back between all three of the boys, Fugo keeping his intense expression while Mista seemed to hop between a smile and a frown, Narancia however had finally looked up, confused as to the reason for the mood shift. Honestly he did not feel any assurance whatsoever from the different reactions, instead a growing sense of doom was taking over. Giorno knew that he was not good at public speaking, or really interacting socially at all. Yet he had naively hoped that it would go better than this

Giorno could see that Mista was preparing to say something. Most likely he would try to fill the awkward space with small talk, hoping to quell Giorno’s own disappointment and simultaneously direct them towards another topic. Yet he wouldn't have too

“Why did you stop reading your paper?” Fugo asked, His voice steady

Giorno looked at Fugo for a moment, the question catching him off guard “Oh well i-im not sure” He answered, his voice quiet and reserved.

Fugo looked at him for a moment before he stood up and walked towards him. “Listen, I had the same problem when I was younger, whenever I looked at the damn paper the words just didn't make sense. It was like i was looking at someone else's writing”

Giorno looked at him as he talked, surprise written over the contours of his face

“So you wanna know what i did?” Fugo asked, his eyebrow raised as he looked at Giorno “I threw the fucker away”

Giorno simply stared at him. Frankly he was shocked at the perceived stupid response, the paper is like everything he's supposed to say during his presentation. And he sure as hell can't fit all the contents on the presentation itself, he really has no other option

“Hey, that's a little hyperbolic you know” Narancia swiftly added. Quickly everyone's eyes focused on the boy, surprise written over all of their faces

“What” Narancia said, exasperated. “I can use fancy words too you know, assholes”

“Thats not the proper usage of the…” Fugo said, seeming to weigh the pros and cons of responding seriously “Ahh whatever, as I was saying your brain clearly can't make sense of the words on the paper and the presentation. So forget the paper, instead do your best to memorize each point, and at the points where you can't… well then i guess…”

Fugo said as he stretched his head, trying to come up with good answer

“Dude just wing it” Mista said, his addition drawing the attention of Fugo and Giorno “Well when i was your age i would just wing it during presentation. You know just act i guess

Giorno just looked at Mista for a moment, periodically looking down onto his paper and then up once more. Then Giorno turned back to Fugo. “Wing it?” Giorno asked, still trying to parse together the idea

“Well…” Fugo started, seeming to try to elaborate on what Mista had said. Yet he seemed to only draw blanks “Yea, i suppose. Wing it”

Giorno looked back towards the wall, the old projector Mista had managed to scrounge up still showing the slide of his presentation. Fugo’s assurance and Mistas suggestion were so simple, an idea which could solve one of the biggest problems Giorno had. A idea which brought a level of calm to his mind, a level which he rarely felt

Giorno slowly looked down at his paper again, his eyes scanning the words, the sharp and unforgiving edges of which bore into his sight. At this a thought crossed his mind’ Maybe Mista is right’. Giorno had never tried it and clearly what he did before did not work in the slightest, only serving to stoke the flames of panic.

So as Fugo, for the umpteenth time, went through his presentation flawlessly Giorno read. Giorno read and reread his presentation as much as he could, burning in the texts and which slide they were a part of, slowly in his mind he worked and pieced together the order and structure of the piece.

Eventually Fugo, with much protest, was coaxed into letting the others try their presentation. His colorful array of slides being replaced by a stark blue image as he unhooked his computer from the projector. 

Giorno quickly prepared everything, setting up the right lighting and starting the presentation. However before he began fully he snuck a careful glance towards his paper, the creased scribbles once again barely registering in his vision. He sighed as he put it away

The first slide almost ended in disaster. He was in the middle of his third sentence when he felt his voice start to become stolen, less and less air managing to escape his lungs by the second. By the time he got through the words his throat was fully empty, feeling as dry as the sahara desert itself. Clumsy he swallowed, the action grounding him as he continued through the presentation

This bumbling act continued for several minutes afterwards. In his mind it was barely an improvement from him with a paper, the only real difference being that he could at least manage better eye contact with the crowd now that he didn't have to stare down into the paper for minutes. 

Eventually he managed to get through the entire presentation. In Giorno's mind it had been a stumbling mess, his words catching in his throat several times as he almost fully lost himself in the presentation multiple times. However it seemed that the sentiment was not shared

Fugo sat with a weirdly proud smile, seeming almost as if he had done something incredible. Mista and Narancia looked extremely happy, the smile they wore being damn near infectious. Giorno just looked at them, waiting for the hat to drop

“Damn Giorno that was really good” Narancia said, tilting back on the bed that he was sitting on

“Really?” Giorno said, dumbfounded

“Yea it was a good improvement” Fugo said, his expression transforming into thought again “There is still room for improv….”

Before Fugo ould finish he was promptly hit over the head by Mista, the older man sending a quick smile over to Giorno as Fugo became red in the face and quickly started arguing with Mista. Both of them quickly tumbled down as Fugo jumped onto Mista, trying, and failing, to pin down the older man. Narancia also jumped in, trying in vain to help Fugo, however Mista was evidently stronger than the scrawnier duo, managing to pin both of them down without much issue

Giorno for his part simply stared at the three of them as they fought, the ridiculous scene managing to make a smile appear on his face. However eventually he too added himself into the equation, softly walking up to Mista quietly pushing the man off balance with his foot. Evidently Mista was caught off guard by this action, as he quickly tumbled down onto his back, the other two boys quickly took advantage of Giorno's help, swiftly pinning down the larger man.

Together they all laughed as they revealed the ridiculousness of the experience, all four boys laughing together. Giorno however basked in the feeling, grasping at its core as time flowed. For once he felt a sense of belonging, for once he felt a sense of understanding. 

It was all he had asked for and more

Thus everything contributes to spreading confusion.

Hitherto, and it has not been wasted effort, people have played on words and pretended to believe that refusing to grant a meaning to life necessarily leads to declaring that it is not worth living. 

In truth, there is no necessary common measure between these two judgments. 

One merely has to refuse to be misled by the confusions, divorces, and inconsistencies previously pointed out. 

One must brush everything aside and go straight to the real problem. 

One kills oneself because life is not worth living, that is certainly a truth—yet an unfruitful one because it is a truism. 

But does that insult to existence, that flat denial in which it is plunged come from the fact that it has no meaning? 

Does its absurdity require one to escape it through hope or suicide—this is what must be clarified

hunted down 

and elucidated while brushing aside all the rest

His steps sounded throughout the dark streets of Naples, the only evidence of a sun being the small amount of light that made its way over the horizon. After showing their presentations all of them had just talked together, mixing and matching their personalities, stories and the rest into a melting pot of experience and youth. Giorno for his part had not said much, however he had added small parts, adding a piece of his true self into the conversation that transpired

Giorno felt, for once, fairly ecstatic, his stomach running laps around him. It felt as if glitter was thrown around the caverns of his depressing life, like golden beautiful stars decorating a dark unforgiving sky.

Even with the usual frightening air of the night Giorno felt alive, like his heart had been put in ice for years, only to be thawed back to life, quickly resuming the beat of the usually healthy organ. In Giorno’s mind it still felt off, like a voice in the back of his head that always whispered of uncertainties, lies within smiles and poison within words

But now that voice was muffled, reduced to a quiet hum instead of an ever present droning presence. Giorno could now, for a short moment, walk unabated, tortured by the voices that whispered to him of the total darkness that he wanted. 

Now instead he could hide from the notion, now he could disappear behind a blanket of friendship. Hiding away from the issues in his pathetic life and instead surrounding himself with those who cared, pushing everything away, except the people who matter.

Giorno continued walking, his step pushing him forwards faster and faster, the joy inside him not abating until he came to a place where reality often trumped childish joy. The door to the apartment lay closed, evidently having been locked at some point before Giorno’s arrival. Softly he pulled out his key, carefully pulling the lock to the side, opening the mechanism and allowing himself entry. The door was as old and used as the apartment itself, creaks emanating from the wooden object as it was opened.

However Giorno knew this, he pulled it open with a soft and slow speed, barely moving the thing. Eventually he entered, redoing the entire process until the door was closed, then as softly as he could, locking it once more.

The air of the outside world had been gentle and cool, softly gliding over skin, cooling down any passersby as it went. In contrast the air in the apartment was stale, the unmoving air being one of many indicators of the neglect of the household. Through the air moved an undefinable stench, one telling of both rot and neglect, both combining together into a duet of both misery and disuse.

Softly Giorno walked, passing his feet over floorboards that he knew creaked, only placing his feet on the most suitable spots in the house. Granted some still creaked, the cries of wood quietly sounding from where he placed his weight. It was a dangerous game, one where misteps were not welcome, where a child would be beaten if they were too loud. However it was a game Giorno knew well

Eventually he passed the kitchen and entered the living room. Beer cans littered the floor, some bent and clearly empty while others lay half empty, spilled liquid caking the floor. In the middle of this scene lay his step father, the man snoring a truly awful tone as he slept on the couch, the tv playing some old show which Giorno failed to memorize.

Slowly and methodically he took a step, the soft fall of his foot being perfectly placed, the floor not even making a sound. His heartbeat quickened, the organ hitting like a hammer in his chest

Giorno took another step, carefully guiding his foot over a smashed beer can, his foot guiding his weight over. His lungs breathed heavily, pulling air in and out at a rapid pace

Giorno took another step, this time however the floor creaked, the groan of wood being soft but drawn out, floating in the air like a long whisper. Giorno's heart stopped for a second, his eyes firmly trained on the sleeping man.

Nothing

The man continued snoring, deep in slumber, deep guttural rasps admitting through his lungs

Giorno took another step, one much more carefully laid than the others, one born from desperation and a raw animal fear. His hands began to shake, fingers pulsing with the flow of blood through his fingertips. To be scared is one thing, having that need inside your heart to flee, to save of yourself that which you can. However what Giorno was feeling was not only being scared, it was more. It was something that sat so deep in the human brain that it had probably always been there. A raw, guttural instinct that screamed at him, clawing at his brain and pushing him to run, to flee, to disappear

Giorno took another step, this one too careful but now rushed, not as much planned as it was forced. luckily no groan was heard, no pulsating noise would travel through the air yet. His every organ seemed to sing a chorus to him, every fiber of his being telling him to run. Giorno could barely hold it together, his composure being picked apart by the need to run or to fall down and cry. Yet he held strong, his face remaining as impartial as it could, his movements slow and calculated for the most part

Giorno took another step, now he was close to his room, the door already being open. His step father was still in a deep slumber, his body remaining still and the horrible croaking snore remaining a constant. Giorno studied his stepfather closely as he planned out his next step, his eyes never leaving the sleeping man, even as he placed down his foot

Giorno took another step, one which landed on an evidently loud part of the floor. Across the room the creak sounded, loudly, spilling itself over the walls and washing itself over every heart in the room. Quickly Giorno looked down, cursing his own stupidity for the mistake

However quickly he felt a burning at his neck, the distinct feeling of being watched. Swifty he threw his head to the side, being faced with two distinct amber eyes. They stared groggily at Giorno, the fire behind them burning ever brightly. Everything stopped for the young boy, his blood quickly feeling like it was ice, forcefully being pushed through his veins. His heart stopped, flying up into his throat. 

For minutes he stared at the eyes as they stared back. The amber color which had been burned into his mind mocked him, laughing at his pathetic form as he shook, his body wanting to collapse yet also run. A laughably idiotic idea, he knew this. 

So Giorno simply waited, he always knew that obedience brought less pain, that being docile brought less words, that not doing anything would lessen the pain. It was a mantra that he could draw out blind, a mantra that ruled his 16 years of life. It was his religion, it was his code of ethics

Put shortly it was his life

However the blows, the rustle of a drunk mind, the words filled with hate, it never came. Instead the amber eyes slowly closed, the man behind the terrifying actions mumbling something unintelligible as he feel asleep, the drunken stupor seeming to cloud his brief waking moment

Giorno wasted no time after this, swiftly entering his room and softly closing the door. After this he simply waited, his ear pressed to the door, listening intently for the sound of anything, any movement, any breath, any heartbeat. Giorno had become scarily good at this, his ears seemingly being able to pick up on even the slightest noise, his fine tuned hearing fairly easily mapping out their whole apartment

Eventually danger had passed, the coast was, metaphorically, clear. Slowly he moved to his bed, still remaining cautious of the loud noises he could create. It was in his bed where he could finally relax and let himself sink into the worn material. His heartbeat began to slow, his panic fading into the back of his mind. Yet despite all this something lingered, it held his mind in a vice grip, keeping him running in circles of paranoia, telling of movements in the dark or noises that would disturb the frail peace that had been established

It kept his eyes alert and open well into the night.

Does the Absurd dictate death? 

This problem must be given priority over others, 

outside all methods of thought and all exercises of the disinterested mind. 

Shades of meaning, 

contradictions, 

the psychology that an "objective" mind can always introduce into all problems have no place in this pursuit and this passion.

 It calls simply for an unjust—

in other words, logical—

thought

Chapter Text

That is not easy.

It is always easy to be logical. 

It is almost impossible to be logical to the bitter end. 

Men who die by their own hand consequently follow to its conclusion their emotional inclination. 

Reflection on suicide gives me an opportunity to raise the only problem to interest me: 

is there a logic to the point of death? 

I cannot know unless I pursue, 

without reckless passion, 

in the sole light of evidence, the reasoning of which I am here suggesting the source. 

This is what I call an absurd reasoning. 

Many have begun it. 

I do not yet know whether or not they kept to it.

Fugo sat shrouded in the dark shades of the night, wind blowing through his hair, his cup of tea next to him long since cold. It was a fairly pleasant night, the cool wind blowing softly over the terraces and balconies of the adjacent apartments. In his hand he held a book, a book he had read through several times yet a book nonetheless. It was George Orwell's classic 1984, a book that he had nearly fully memorized, each crease of paper seeming like an old yet nostalgic memory. He remembered the first time he had picked it up, he had found it within the labyrinth halls of his parents library, hidden somewhere between a thick coat of maroon and used paper. He so distinctly remembered that time of his life, a seemingly never ending torrent of pain, abuse and most importantly anger. An anger which burned brighter than the sun, its flames being near impossible to keep at bay, usually exploding out when the pressure became all too much.

Yet as he had stood, book in hand, he felt it for once dissipate somewhat. Fugo remembered staring at the distinct cover, that ever present eye staring back. There in his parents library he sat that day, he poured himself over the words and story which the book told, completely enthralled by the events and actions of the characters. All from the interesting yet animal relationship between the main character and the woman, Julia, which he falls in love with. To the horrific nature of the state which the characters find themselves in service off, the brutal and torturous way in which they control and break their citizens

Ever since then the book had occupied a special place in his heart, being a sort of comfort for whenever he felt alone, trapped, hurt or just in an extremely bad mood. It could even calm his seemingly never ending anger, like throwing a blanket over a fire, smothering it under a story which Fugo could disappear under. He never really knew why, just something about the story and characters and how interested he could get into the story would just bring him out of any bad mood or general funk that he would be under. It was as if the suffering of the characters and the tyranny of the world they lived in brought Fugo out from his own, usually, self centered anger or self loathing depression. It would forcefully bring him to the reality which he so often desperately tried to hide from, forcing his eyes open as he stared and drank in the sights.

However now he could barely get through the first 10 pages, his mind seeming to be full of a feeling which he never felt, something that seemed to bring him to his knees. Fugo stared and tried to read, his eyes often bouncing back a line or two. He had never been forced to do this, his eyes scanning a line over and over again, the words failing to register with any meaning. Instead they seemed to just float through him, like the words were ghosts of the form they had once taken.

Fugo sighed to himself as he placed down the book on the table next to him. Softly he placed his head in his hand, mentally mulling over anything that could get him in this sort of place. He pulled at the strings of his memory, weaving together a tapestry of the days which had passed, creating something akin to a web. In this web he searched, pulling at the corners of his mind for any idea as to what had put him into the state he found himself in

However Fugo already knew that this was a useless task, since he already knew the answer. The answer of course being a shy awkward boy with long curly blond hair

Calmly he took the mug of tea, taking a slow sip of the now cold tea. Grimacing slightly as he let the previously warm beverage slid down his throat. Fugo had hoped that it would calm him, however it seemed to do the opposite, only serving to dampen his already fairly sour mood. Fugo instead put down the mug and let his mind wander, wander to what bothered him so. 

Fugo himself was a boy who knew well the torment one could endure in the early years of life, he himself after all being a victim to his parents expectations and harsh actions. It had led him down several dark paths, marring him for what he expected to be his entire life, leaving scars that can never quite heal. He remembered so distinctively the hours which his mother forced him to play the guitar, pushing him till his blood sat on every note on every string. He remembered how his father would yell and berate him as he tried to do his work, the harsh words raining down on him if he even got a single question wrong. He remembered the teacher, the one who hurt him the most, the one who he could never forget

However what he remembered most was himself, he reared how reclusive he had become, hiding himself away into the corners of every room he was in. Even his anger, which would burn brighter than the sun at times, was hidden away to the best of his abilities, only being allowed to be expressed in his room. Everything that Fugo went through molded him into a quiet child, one that hid away at all cost, never expressing himself, never being himself

For him this all came crashing down one day, one infamous day where his teacher had pushed him too far. For the entire year Fugo had felt like a pressure cooker, his own skin bubbling with a deeply uncomfortable feeling as he was pressed more and more, his thoughts turning darker and darker, even delwing to suicide several times. However what brought him over the edge was his teachers hands. Fugo would always remember it, the way his disgusting greasy fingertips held his skin, the bruises that formed around the areas he liked most, the way his body was shifted under the watchful gaze of the man. The man did this for weeks, weeks until Fugo fought back. He remembered grabbing a heavily latin lexikon, he remembered the weight going up and goin several times, he remembered the police, he remembered the court date, he remembered the streets.

He had often wondered how his life would have been if he had managed to stick it out, if he had managed to survive the constant humiliation. Would he have become even more quiet and withdrawn, retreating back into a shell of a human being. Or would he have killed himself by then, the pressure which a kid should not taste having been a near constant in Fugos life

He hated thinking about it for too long, the memories surfacing like ghosts. However because he had been subjected to abuse himself it did mean that he knew what it looked like, he knew the fake smile a mother would put on as they held their hands a little too hard on their kids neck. He knew the empty almost vapid look in a fathers eyes, disinterest shining evidently in their persona. He knew the type of father who held nothing but hatred for the child, choosing to lay everything on the eyes of something they brought to the world instead of self-reflecting even a little. He knew it all because he had lived it, which meant his eyes could see the signs

And put shortly Giorno Giovanna was a walking sign

He constantly wore old clothes and never switched them out, constantly rotating between the same dull tones in the woven strings. He was constantly shying away from any interaction, never interacting with anyone unless forced too. They had gone in the same class together since August and now it was April and Fugo, up till now, had only spoken to the boy two times. Worse than even the obvious neglect were the symptoms that Giorno desperately tried to hide. At times Fugo had seen the boy limping, he had even spotted a slight discoloration on the skin near the neck. All of this was the cause of Fugo’s current mood, frankly he didn't know what to do. He wanted to tell someone, to get Giorno out of whatever situation he was currently in. However he had no real proof that if he threw out as serious of a accusation as this without proof then Giorno's situation would only become worse

And what made it worse was the police, Fugo knew from experience that the police were corrupt, the case being solved by whomever possessed the biggest pockets. What made it worse was that none of them really seemed to care, usually having been hardened and changed by the overwhelming corruption within the legal and judicial system. Well that was not entirely true, Fugo could think of one cop that still held some level of empathy, a cop which had actually saved him once, a few years ago

Softly the door leading out towards the balcony opened, the recognizable black hair of Fugos guardian appearing. Bruno came out with tired eyes, his hair sticking out in different directions. It seemed as if the man had just woken up, evidence of this being the white and gold fluffy roe that he wore

“Fugo?” Bruno asked, worry and confusion spilling out “What are you doing out here? you should be sleeping”

Fugo looked at Bruno before looking away, his own mind still racing with different thoughts and scenarios about the life of another

“Sorry it's just…” Fugo tried to speak his mind, however his tiredness mixed together with his own mental worries hindered him, only allowing small pieces of broken breaths to appear

“Fugo” Bruno said with a exacerbated yet loving tone “Lets go inside, i'll make us some tea”

Fugo followed, book in hand, as Bruno led him into the kitchen, guiding the younger boy to sit at the kitchen table. Softly Fugo put down the book on the table, having carried it over purely by instinct, not wanting to have his source of comfort far away from him. Once again he picked it up and scanned its pages with his eyes, the words coming to him by memory more so than sight, the plot falling into a line as he scanned the pages. 

Softly a steaming mug of freshly made tea was placed in front of him, the contents producing a thin mist of warmth. Softly Fugo put his hands around the mug, blowing softly on the liquid to cool it down. When it was at a pleasant temperature he drank it, savoring the sweet and warm feeling as if went down his throat

“Feeling better?” Bruno asked from the other side of the table, his own mug of tea in his hands

“Yea a little” Fugo said, his mind still racing yet now it seemed to be slightly abated

“You don't have to share your worries of course” Bruno said, taking a short pause to sip his drink “However i believe it's good to share, and you know i never judge”

The words brought Fugo a great amount of comfort, sure Bruno always showed that through his actions, always being there to support the boy even when his anger was at its worst. Yet it always brought him calm to be reminded of the fact, for Bruno to say it too him with his calm and collected demeanor

“Well i'm worried” Fugo said, looking directly into Bruno's eyes “im worried about Giorno”

Bruno quickly looked surprised, evidently not expecting to talk about the new addition to their little friend group. Yet he quickly his his surprise, instead listening intently at what Fugo had to say

“You know i notice things, it's probably because of my own… past but i can spot the signs easier i think” Fugo said “And Giorno he ticks every damn box, i mean he walks in old clothes, he flinches at loud movements but he doesn't yell, even when he is in pain he is fully quiet. And worst of all I…”

Fugo was interrupted as Bruno laid his hand softly over fugos, swiftly relaxing the tensed muscles. Fugo hadn't even noticed that he had held the book in a death grip, the echo of pain now emanating in the nerves of his hand

“Alright calm down” Bruno said, his nurturing voice bringing Fugo out of his panicked ramblings “Let's walk through it slowly, so you believe Giorno is being hurt by someone?”

"Y-yeah, but not just by someone” Fugo said, his voice mote calm but still shaky “I believe that it's probably by his parents”

“Hmmm alright” Bruno said, thinking deeply about the situation “Well i do trust you but we surely need proof, you know how the police can be with these situations”

"Yeah i know” Fugo said, his entire body relaxing as he could finally somewhat lift the weight of his shoulders

“Listen im gone talk to Leone about this, the police might be corrupt but they know more than we do at least” Bruno said, still softly grasping Fugo’s hand “In the meantime do what you can, but please be careful, these situations are delicate”

“I promise” Fugo said, grasping back at Bruno, hoping that it showed his commitment

“Good” Bruno said, swiftly standing up and heading towards his own bedroom mug in hand “See you in the morning Fugo, sleep tight”

Fugo nodded towards Bruno, slowly sipping his own tea. However for once as he sat in the dark he was relaxed, his mind growing calmer and calmer by the second

However one thing was still on his mind, one thing that he seemed to never be able to drop, Giorno Giovanna. Now however it was not the boy's situation that lingered, but his visage. The boy had long golden hair that curled into beautiful spirals and he had these forever piercing blue eyes, one that swam with rich colors and hues .It was an image that Fugo could not get out of his head, stubbornly it sat there, taunting him just beyond his own eyes, sitting like a nail in wood, unmoving.

It was a foreign visage that brought with it a foreign feeling, a feeling of protectiveness, a feeling of belonging

When Karl Jaspers, 

revealing the impossibility of constituting the world as a unity, exclaims: 

"This limitation leads me to myself, where I can no longer withdraw behind an objective point of view that I am merely representing, where neither I myself nor the existence of others can any longer become an object for me," 

he is evoking after many others those waterless deserts where thought reaches its confines.

 After many others, yes indeed, but how eager they were to get out of them

Giorno sat in the grass looking out towards the pale blue sky, a small yet comfortable gust of wind floating through the wind. He leans his body weight against the tree as he breathes in the comfortable and refreshing spring air.

Currently it's their lunch hour, a time where Giorno would usually sit alone, stewing in the isolation which had become like a twin. However now he has people to spend the minutes with. They are all together outside of the school sitting outside next to a couple of trees

Giorno is sitting in the shade directly on the tree, leaning his body weight against it. Next to him on his right is Fugo, the same Fugo who noticed that Giorno did not have any lunch with him, the very same Fugo which had then shared his lunch with Giorno. Next to Fugo sat Bruno and Abbacchio, both of them sitting close together but still seeming occupied with other matters, Bruno seeming to look around for someone and Abbachio looking through a stack of reports and various papers. Now next to the “grown ups” as the rest of the group called them lay Narancia and Mista. Both of them seemed to love then sun, quickly taking the opportunity to lay and bask in its lighty, Narancia hadn't even finished his lunch

They all sat together in their circle, Giorno and Fugo protected by the shade of the tree while the rest sat in the sun. Discussion of course ran free in the group, chatter of widely different topics flowing. Giorno however remained fairly quiet as the group talked and discussed amongst themselves, preferring to sit and take in the atmosphere

Conversations, Giorno found, moved much more fluidly now. Usually he didn't add much, instead preferring to add less but still contributing that which he had. Shockingly he found that this worked, his few words while sparse did bring his own personality and presence into the group, slowly fitting himself into their crazy antics

Giorno was of course still fairly awkward, him and Abbachio still seeming to have something that really stopped them from talking with each other. However for now the peace that had been established worked. It worked to bring a small comfort to Giorno's school life, it worked to bring comfort for him

“Ahh there you are” Bruno said as he seemingly spotted who or what he had been looking for. Quickly he stood up beginning to walk “Sorry i'll be back in a minute”

Giorno looked over to him as he walked away, noting the hurry in his steps as he walked away

“What's that about?” Mista asked, his eyes seeming to also follow Bruno from behind his sunglasses

“I don't know something about a new student” Abbachio said, not looking up from his papers

“Probably just something from the psychologist or something” Fugo said, clear disdain apparent in his voice “You know its really fucking unfair, Bruno already does soo much. It really just seems that the fucker is just giving him more work then necessary”

“It's nice of you too care but i think Bruno can fight his own battles” Abbachio said, only looking up from his papers for a second

“It's just not fair!” Fugo said, rising anger hiding itself in his voice “They work him like a damn slave, and not only that but he he does more than help students, i've seen him help teachers too with grading and shit”

“Well it's likely that Bruno took on these assignments himself” Giorno found himself talking, wanting to reassure Fugo as to not escalate his anger “Bruno is a very driven man and is clearly passionate about his work. I think he knows his own limits”

The group looked at Giorno in surprise for a second, all of them clearly not expecting Giorno's input. Yet none of them corrected him, only a small scoff came from Abbacchio

Fugo sighed as he too now leaned back on the tree, his eyes exploring the clouds “You're probably right”

After the interaction silence once again enveloped the group. However, unlike before this silence was comfortable. It sat together with all of them as they all focused on their own little part of the world. However the silence was interrupted by footsteps, multiple footsteps

Giorno inquisitively looked towards his right, the direction of the footsteps, however all he saw was the back of Fugo’s head and Bruno, who know stood leaning against the tree

“Who is this?” Abbachio asked, his eyes firmly trained on the new person who presumably stood somewhere behind Bruno

“Well this is a new transfer student from Milan, the school has asked me to take care of her as a favor for her father” Bruno said, a smile playing on his lips “Trish say hi to everyone”

Slowly Trish walked into view, her green eyes looking around the group. Trish looked to be around 16, fitting herself in the same age as Giorno and Fugo, however she certainly did not look the part. Her pink hair was styled in a loose whirl on top of her head, some strands near her face running down to her chin in a swirl. The rest of her outfit was even more intricate than her hair, firstly she had on a comfortable red blouse, one which looked both professional and comfortable. Then over that she wore a black corset, a yet again stylish yet seemingly comfortable piece of attire. Under that she wore a skirt adorned with patterns of different flowers, ranging from sunflowers to roses. Finishing off the outfit was a chanel bag, one that glistened in the sun with its intricate gold touches and sleek black aesthetic

It was all intricate put together with care and a good eye for fashion, however most importantly it was very, very expensive, something Giorno noted

“Yea hi i guess” Trish said, putting away her phone as she looked over the group “Ewww why are you both laying down in the grass? No girl would ever want to go out with you if you have grass everywhere”

“Hey listen the ladies love them a little rugged outdoorsman alright” Mista said, his smile beaming as he made his proclamation

“Ewww christ no, and if you're right then you're definitely not the person you're talking about. I mean what the hell is that fashion disaster you're wearing? it looks you killed a tiger or something” Trish said, or voice dripping with a sort of teasing tone, one Giorno could not place

Quickly everyone began laughing to various degrees, Narancia taking the farthest, rolling around and grabbing his stomach while laughter escaped his lips. Meanwhile someone like Bruno had more of a measured response, only producing small giggles as he watched on

“Hey that's uncalled for” Mista said as he sat up, giggling along with everyone else “I actually have an amazing fashion sense Ms Diva, you must be blind”

“Hey idiot” Trish said, snapping her fingers “Even a blind person would call “That” a disaster”

Another wave of laughter permeated the group, even someone as stoic as Abbachio let out small chuckles periodically, even adding a small comment about how Trish would really fit into the group.

“Alright alright settle down” Bruno said, a smile still playing on the man's lips “I want you all to be nice to Trish and let her settle into the school, she just transferred her”

“Oh yeah you're a transfer student” Narancia said, training his eyes on Trish “Where did you transfer from?”

This question earned him a sigh from Fugo “Bruno said not 5 minutes ago that she's from Milan”

“Yeah smart ass is right” Trish said, her jab making Fugo noticeably red “I'm from Milan, my family moved here like 5 days ago and my dad is “sSsooOoo woRRieD aBout hiS DarLiNg Girl”” Trish said, dramatically gesturing as she mocked her father apparent concern

“Wait Bruno said that he took you under his “wing” so to speak as a favor to your father, right?” Mista said, confusion playing on his face

“Yeah unfortunately" Trish said as she walked over to where Giorno and Fugo were sitting next to the tree, promptly she shooed them away from the tree, leaving her enough space to be able to sit down while still leaving room for the two of them to also sit “My dad is like really fucking overprotective so yea, hes a mess”

“But wait” Narancia said, his face pulled into deep concentration “Bruno owes your father a favor? Who the hell is your father?”

“Well Bruno doesn't really owe my father anything” Trish said, rolling her eyes “It's more the school”

“Wait the whole school?” Mista said shocked “Now i wanna know who your father is even more”

“Ahh fine” Trish said, rolling her eyes again “My father is Diavolo, i think that's his like professional name, i can't really keep track of it all”

At this everyone in the group, except Bruno and trish, went into different states of shock, even Giorno who usually kept his face still and emotionless couldn't help but widen his eyes slightly at the mention

“Wait wait what!?” Mista half yelled “You're telling me your father is the fashion and jewelry entrepreneur and genius Diavolo?”

“Yeah” trish said, looking down on her phone

“The very same Diavolo who just recently revolutionised the fashion market in Italy with his new line of affordable luxury clothing?” Mista said, his eyes going wider and wider by the second

“Damn you sure know a lot about fashion” Trish remarked “But yeah that's him alright. And god let me tell you he sucks, like he's really damn paranoid and constantly watches over me like a hawk. And well he's weird i guess”

“Well hey i guess it could really be worse, i mean he is super rich” Mista said, leaning down onto the grass again “So how come you moved down here? isn't Milan like beautiful”

At this trish adopted a weird sort of far away look, one Giorno recognized as a reminiscent one “Well after my mom died my dad had to take care me for once, and he lives here to i had to pack up and move”

Mist slowly sat up and tried to say something, however he couldn't find the right words. The rest of the group seemed to be in the same conundrum, wanting to comfort the girl but not really knowing how. Even Giorno struggled, despite him relating deep down to Trish's story.

“Yeah i know the feeling” Narancia said, a small well of tears making themselves known in his eyes

Trish inquisitively looked over to Narancia, a question already forming on her lips “You do?”

“Yea i do” Narancia said, wiping away his forming tears “When i was young i only had my mom, my stupid dad never wanted anything to do with dumb old me” Narancia said, a small bitter chuckle escaping his lips “Anyway me and my mom we lived together, and you know it was nice. She was amazing to me, taking care of me despite us being really poor. However one day she got sick, like really sick. The doctors told us it was some eye thing and well she didn't make it far. When i was 10 she died and i was left alone on the streets” 

As Narancia told his story more tears fell from his eyes, however he continued unabated

“However one day when I was picking through garbage Bruno found me” Narancia looked over to the man. “He took me in, fed me and even began putting me through school. Put shortly i guess he save my life”

A quiet and somber atmosphere enveloped the group, all of them reflecting over Narancias life story, all of them feeling his pain since they all to some point could relate. Trish looked at Narancia for a long time, a mist covering her eyes as she took in the other boys story

“Yea we all have some connection to Bucciarati” Mista said, his usual boystorus tone replaced with a more calm and somber one “For example i came from a really big catholic home, and i was the first born. Usually i was always ignored or made to shoulder the responsibility of raising the rest of my siblings”

Giorno was surprised at the clear confession and openness of Mista, it showed a new side of the usually joke filled man

“I loved them all of course, however i didn't want to raise them, I was a child myself after all. Then the breaking point came when my mother found out I was gay. I was 15 and she had found my own diary, read through it and kicked me out that day.”

Everyone in the group had their attention pointed at Mista, all of them listening and sharing in his pain

“I lived one and a half years on the street before Bruno found me, he also took me in. However I was already in school, and was doing alright, so after a lot of begging he helped me get a job at a cafe.”

“What about you then?” Trish asked, her attention trained on Bruno “Why do all this?”

Bruno looked at trish then out towards the blue sky seeming to ponder his words, weirdly Abbachio seemed to actually focus on the conversation for once, his hands remaining still as his eyes adopted a far away look

“Well my own world was… small to begin with” Bruno began “I lived on the coast not even 10 kilometers away from here. I lived with my mom and dad. We were a fishing family, all of us dedicating our days towards the craft” Brunos eyes adopted a far away look much like Abbachios, one that told of distant tales “However my parents were never good for each other, hell the only good thing they seemed to be able to make together was me. So they divorced”

The group seemed to hang on to Brunos words like gospel, all of them listening intently as the man spun his tale

“I chose to stay with dad because I knew he would have it harder with the divorce, this seemed to surprise them but in the long run it didn't really matter. Years passed like this and my dad fell down the wrong type of path.” Softly Bruno's eyes wandered to Abbacchio, the other man seeming to ignore this as he looked down at his own hands “This path led him to self destruction. I tried to stop him time and time again, however it never worked, and well one day those actions led to his death. After that i have always tried to do my best to help those i see around me from not falling into the wrong paths, from not delving into the wrong avenous” Bruno finished, a sort of growing magnetic feel around him

Giorno looked down as Bruno finished his story, a pool of something weird collecting in his stomach. When he had been in his own throws he had been so enthralled in his own suffering that it became second thought of others. The pool quickly expanded, stretching and contorting into a lake, a lake made of self pity, misery and clear and sadness. Not for himself however, but for the others in his group. Narancia who lived miserably on the edge of death. Mista who was thrown away for what he himself is. Trish who has been ignored and watched the only person who seemingly cared for her die. And Bruno who has shown so much kindness yet been hurt by the world all the same

Trish slowly looked up again, then she turned her head towards Abbachio. Abbachio however still seemed far gone, as if enthralled in the picture of a memory, distinctly gone in the throws of the past

“What about you?” Trish asked, probably the only one except Bruno who dared ask him that question

Abbachio quickly looked at her, surprise evident on his face for only a second before it quickly transformed into annoyance “I met you not 5 minutes ago. Fuck off”

Bruno quickly gave Abbachio a small kick to the side, showing his clear annoyance at the harsh words Abbachio had used. However the man clearly did not care, the only reaction from him being to re read his papers again

“Hmm whatever” Trish said, scoffing slightly as she turned to Fugo. However she didn't even have time to ask a question before Fugo spit out his answer

“No” It was hard and clear, leaving no room for objection. Weirder however in Giorno's mind was that Bruno said nothing, He had expected the man to have a similar reaction to when Abbachio spit out his answer, maybe some chidding remark to Fugo. Yet nothing came, instead Bruno only sent a empathetic look to Fugo

“What about you” Trish said, her voice even and clear

Giorno looked to her and found that she was looking directly at him, her eyes clear and without doubt. For a second Giorno chided himself ‘of course they would ask you too, how stupid can you be’. However then he realized that he had no idea how to answer the question, he needed to put up a front of a normal family. However he frankly had no idea what normal families did, or even how they acted

“Well uhm” Giorno began, his hands growing sweaty as he searched his mind for a good answer. He thought about something that could maybe lead the conversation away from his parents and maybe to something more special. He could tell them about his life in Japan, however that too would raise too many redflags. He had to start the conversation with his parents and then drop the information about his lineage in Japan without raising questions about who his father was, or even his own living standards

“Well i lived in Japan originally with my m-” Giorno was quickly interrupted as Narancia yelled out fascinated

“WAIT YOU'RE LIKE ASIAN?”  Narancia said with excitement, not really thinking about the words he used “Damn i couldn't even tell”

Bruno quickly put his head into his hands as Mista and Trish fell onto their back laughing. Giorno however was feeling just wrong, he hadn't thought that such a reaction would have happened. Giorno had managed to, for now, evade the bad questions however it only meant that he had opened another can of worms. One he would rather have remained closed

“Narancia don't say it like that” Bruno chidded, looking embarrassed 

“No it's fine” Giorno said, even though the feeling remained “I guess i'm Asian, i've lived most of my life in Italy tough”

Giorno sat and hoped, he hoped that the conversation topic he himself had pulled them to would be changed. Giorno thought it was stupid, to be so worried about his own heritage, especially around people who he knew did not care, but he lived in Italy. Now while it wasn't apparent it was obvious that plenty of the adults around held strong convictions about their heritage, and his childhood spoke for itself

“Hmm i've always wanted to go to Japan” Fugo said. Giorno quickly thanked the gods for the switch in the conversation

“Ahh yeah me too bro” Mista said “I've always wanted to see those pink trees, like sadura or something”

“Its sakura trees you moron” Fugo said annoyed, but still pushing the conversation forward

Giorno however completely retreated into his own mind, disappearing underneath the thick blanket of worry and stress. He knew that his parents would be brought up again, questions regarding one's past were a good way to get to know someone. Yet he had no good answers for any of them, he didn't know his mother and hadn't for years now. His biological father was a man of mystery, seeming to only be a womanizer who left as soon as responsibility reared its ugly head. Worse by far however was his step father, a true drunken disheveled man, one who took his anger out on a small child, one who could not even defend himself

Giorno however realized something worrying, his mother had become more like a stranger to him by this point, the time spent away from each other. It was unfair, it was hurtful especially to a child in such living conditions. Suddenly Giorno felt a strong urge to run, a strong urge to hide himself away. The feeling felt like razor blades running mere millimeters away from his pale skin, danger passing itself over one so closely, tauntingly hovering over him like a plague. Giorno just wanted to talk to his mother, to be able to see his mother. He didn't want the stale texts, the sparse communications

Giorno wanted a real chance to talk, to feel loved, to love

Giorno wanted his mother

At that last crossroad where thought hesitates, 

many men have arrived and even some of the humblest. 

They then abdicated what was most precious to them, 

their life. 

Others, princes of the mind, abdicated likewise, 

but they initiated the suicide of their thought in its purest revolt

Giorno softly picked at his food with his fork, his mind absent as he slowly ate his food. It was as it always was whenever his step father cooked, fairly absent in both taste and enjoyability. However it was food, and Giorno had learned to never complain when his father seemed to be in a sort of good mood

Together they sat at the dinner table, eating as a mist of awkward silence sat around them. Giorno could never recall a time where they actually talked, where they actually could hold a normal conversation without it sputtering out and dying before it could even get off the ground. Giorno always felt like he was walking on shattered glass around the intimidating man, one day he would be in a drunken stupor, then the next his anger would emerge, then the next he would be calm and almost melancholic.

Giono spun his fork around, twirling it to catch the pasta with the object. His dad however seemed to already be done eating, already having taken away his plate and pulled out a cigarette. Slowly the man lit it, taking a deep breath and then shooting out a cloud of smoke

Giorno quickly stopped breathing, not wanting to inhale the disgusting smell more times than needed. His eyes carefully watched any movement his father made, carefully analyzing the muscles in his arms, waiting. Eventually the man placed down his hand on the table, signaling that the next breath of a cigarette would come later. Softly Giorno breathed in, making sure not to make it too loud

All of these small actions were a learned behavior for Giorno, behavior to safeguard him from the hurt and pain present within the thin walls of their home. All were learned actions to shield a child from the rage and harm a parent could bring. However Giorno could remember a time, a time long since gone, a time where the walls didn't seem so rotten, a time where bruises were commonplace. He had few but distinct memories of something warm. Something so foreign to what he had now that it almost felt wrong to remember, almost like it should be beyond his purview, like it was someone else's memories.

However Giorno knew that it was his, he distinctly recognized his own soul in it. And he recognized a difference between the years, not only of the warmth, not only of the atmosphere, but the people. 

His mother was there

His mother had never been the perfect parent, especially when they lived in Japan. She would leave for hours, leaving Giorno crying into the only blanket well into the night. However something seemed to have changed when they moved to Italy, he remembered her taking on more activities with him, taking him to the park every sunday to get ice cream. But what changed, why did she leave them, why did she leave him alone with the man who was not even related to him and who clearly did not care for him

Giorno stirred around his food as a feeling of betrayal ran through him. It was not often that he felt any emotion other than melancholy or just emptiness, however now a feeling of anger permeated through him, it tore at everything inside him that it could find, tearing a vacuum inside of him that quickly filled with an anger that he had never felt before. Giorno for once didn't care about the unwritten rules of the house, for once the fire was burning

“Dad” Giorno said, his voice hard and firm

His step father looked over to him as he took a deep breath, filling his old beaten lungs with smoke “What” He said, his voice course and rough

Giorno looked up from his plate, his heart thumping hard in his ears as he looked at his step father

“Why did mom leave” Giorno said

His father kept eye contact for a second before breaking it, instead looking out of the dirt caked window, taking another deep breath of his cigarette

“You already know” His step father said cryptically

Giorno felt the fire in him weaken slightly, almost as if the fire within him was being smothered by the cold and oppressive hand of his father. Yet the fire still burned

“Why cant she just visit once” Giorno said, wringing his hands together

His step father actually looked back at Giorno as he said this. Giorno usually would see a burning rage within those orange eyes, but instead he saw something completely foreign, he looked and saw a deep, deep hatred. Giorno felt his flame sputter

“And why would she do that Giorno?” His step father said, his eyes never leaving Giorno. The orange in them resembling pure hatred, a demon trough and trough “Tell me Giorno why the fuck would she come back, how would she come back?!”

Giorno couldn't move a muscle, his entire being frozen in place. Giorno could only stare, his eyes remaining firmly locked onto his stepfathers. Even as the man stood up walking over tp Giorn, roughly grabbing his blond hair in his thick greasy fingers. Roughly he grabbed and pulled Giorno up, dragging him over to the bathroom

“Look at yourself you fucking disappointment” Giornos step father said as he held Giorno up to the bathroom mirror “Now tell me why the fuck she would ever come back”

Giorno said nothing, he tried to do nothing, it was always better that way, it would always be better that way. Promptly however his world was flung into a spinning mess, he felt a bone shattering pain emit itself from his cheek, he felt blood suddenly begin to spill from his skin as his face made contact with the hard floor. Roughly he felt his hair be grabbed again, his head swiftly lifted from the ground

Then it was brought down again, hard. He felt the air shoot past him as his face slammed into the cold floor of the bathroom, he felt blood mix itself in his mouth. Swiftly his face was brought up again, this time however he was brought up to stand

“FUCKING TELL ME GIORNO!” His step father screamed, Giorno knew the neighbors heard, ye they never cared “WHY THE FUCK WOULD SHE COME BACK, YOUR FUCKING USELESS”

His stepfather swiftly drove his fist into Giorno's stomach, an audible crack emitting from inside Giornos chest. However instincts kicked in, swiftly he swallowed down the scream of pain that would come from his chest, instead replacing it with only calm breaths. However he was interrupted as his father drove his thick hand into giorno's stomach again

Giorno tried to hide away inside his mind as his father continued to throw punch after punch. However the rage and pure animal anger was unlike anything Giorno had seen from the man previously. His step father threw him down onto his back, getting on top of him as he began to choke him, his rough hands damn near breaking Giorno's neck

“How dare you want her back” Giorno's step father said, venom dripping in his tone “Especially since you are the reason she is gone. You fucking useless vermin”

Giorno really did think he was going to die here. He began to see stars as his fathers grip tightened, his very being only filling with pain. His body reacted quickly to the loss, his nerves screaming at him to breathe, to do anything to get oxygen into his system. His hands quickly went up to grab at his step fathers forearms. However the man did not care and Giorno could not hope to move the man's arms

However as suddenly as they appeared they were gone. Quickly giorno drank in the air around him, his lungs burning with the effort and starvation, he still could not move since his father had him pinned on the floor however he was at least alive

Out of the blue however his face was turned, turned to look up at his stepfather

“You have her eyes” the man said simply, the rage previously present having disappeared, instead being replaced by something Giorno couldn't identity, something that sent shivers throughout his hurting body

Fingers quickly held onto Giorno's jaw, the digits holding him in place and one of the fingers began pressing on Giorno's lips. At this point he was both scared and confused, he didn't know why his step father was doing this. Quickly however another hand squeezed his throat again, promptly opening Giorno's mouth as he tried to pull air into his lungs

Giorno's step father seemed to take advantage of this opportunity, his thick disgusting fingers making entry into Giorno's mouth, exploring. Giorno quickly became nauseous as the situation only got worse, he could taste the cigarette on the fingers exploring his mouth, the bitter taste throwing his stomach upside down and back. The abuse to his stomach had already put him in a bad position. However this also felt deeply wrong, like he was part of something that no son and step father should ever do

Giorno tried to object, he tried to say something through his mouth. It was the first time in years that he actually tried to speak up, to object. However he was quickly faced with punishment, his father slapping him hard across the check

“Shut up Giorno” His step father said “You made her leave, so shouldn't you take care of what she used to”

Giorno looked up at his father, tears welling at the corners of his eyes “P-please”

However his pleading landed on deaf ears. His step father continued digging into his mouth with his fingers, occasionally producing small gags from Giorno. Worse of all however was the other hand which had begun exploring under Giorno's shirt, the thick uncaring digits roughly grabbing at his pale skin

Giorno layed and tried to do anything to push off the stronger man, his hands desperately clinging and pushing against his step fathers hands. However it was fruitless, nothing worked, nothing could push his step father off

Nothing worked

Nothing worked

Nothing worked

Nothing worked

Nothing worked

He was helpless, completely at the mercy of the man above him, the man who was grabbing at the boy as if he were a prize, as if he were something to use. Giorno pushed harder, he tried to desperately to get free, he pushed and pushed and pushed

Yet nothing seemed to work, his fathers eyes only grew more and more enthralled in the feeling they portrayed, seeming almost drunk from it. Eventually the fingers in his mouth pulled out, coated in his saliva and they swiftly encircled Giorno's throat. However Giorno managed to say one thing

“Dad please do…” He was cut off as pressure was firmly applied onto his throat

However his pleading seemed to have finally reached the small human part of his step father. Slowly that raw feeling behind his eye seemed to dissipate, slowly retreating into a dark corner, one which Giorno could only hope it would never return from. Ever so slowly the man's hands too went away the touch thankfully disappearing from Giorno's skin

Quickly Giorno backed up as far as he could, practically crawling until his back touched the wall. He didn't even bother trying to compose himself, instead instantly shielding his face with his arms, holding them up as if it would really do anything. Minutes dragged on as he sat, his breathing heavy as he waited, his mind had yet to catch up with the events but his body was already preparing, waiting. However nothing came, instead all he heard was rapid heavy footsteps and the closing of a door

Minutes passed as he still sat covering his eyes, his mind was so focused on the danger which had shrouded him that he dared not move, he dared not even breathe. Eventually however he looked, and instead of a threatening form he saw nothing, the room was empty. Giorno raked the room with his eyes, looking over every corner of the bathroom, yet still nothing. Not even his ears picked up on anything, only finding the small noise from the neighbors tv, a small hole somewhere in the floor leaking the noise into the now empty room.

Quickly Giorno went and locked the door, swiftly retreating into the shower and hiding. Giorno didn't really know why he hid, no threat, as far as he could see, was in the room. Yet his mind was still caught in the danger, he remembered the feeling of those fingers. Roaming over his bare chest, he remembered the taste of them, a mix of smoke and sweat.

Giorno turned on the shower, letting the hot, nearly burning water, fall onto his clothes, drenching him as he sat, a mix of tears and water running over his face. Giorno sat there in a mix of burning pain, disgust at his own skin and deep crushing sadness. There he sat deep in his own world, there he sat with one thought in his head

‘Why did he do that?’

The real effort is to stay there, rather, 

in so far as that is possible, 

and to examine closely the odd vegetation of those distant regions. 

Tenacity and acumen are privileged spectators of this inhuman show in which absurdity, hope, 

and death carry on their dialogue. 

The mind can then analyze the figures of that elementary yet subtle dance before illustrating them and reliving them itself.