Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Leone felt bored.

Patrol duty wasn’t the most exciting task, but someone had to do it. He had been getting too many injuries the past few weeks so his partner pushed him to take a rest from the action by volunteering them for patrol duty — he expected a few days at most, but no, they were stuck with it for the next month — so here he was, walking around the streets bored out of his mind, regretting being fond of his partner: he was his only friend, and Leone was not about to lose his friend by arguing about his health and how reckless he had been the past few weeks, so patrolling it is.

Though if Leone had to be honest, there was something that kept bothering him whenever he went around the park for a break — it was still in the zone he was supposed to patrol, so he used that as an excuse to go around there often. For the past three days, he had seen a kid sitting on a bench, as if they were waiting for something — or someone.

At first he ignored it, after all parents would let their kids run around the park unsupervised and later on they would pick them up. The second day, he was suspicious when he saw the same kid on the same spot being ignored by the other children and adults around the place. So, when on his third day he saw the same kid again, went away for an hour and then came back, once again finding the kid unmoving like a statue, he went to approach them — they couldn’t be older than five with how small they seemed to be, even from afar —, making his steps noticeable so that he wouldn’t startle the kid by accident and noticing that a backpack was being clutched as a lifeline.

“Hey, kid.”

The little boy looked at him with startling blue-green eyes: it was a stunning mix, surprising him in the same way that people would be startled by his eyes — a gradient from purple to yellow that looked like a sunset wasn’t natural per se, but his eyes were like that and several times he had to deny wearing contacts for the sake of aesthetics —, though those eyes that should have been full of childish innocence were duller than a horror’s movie knife.

“… Officer.”

Leone could tell Italian was not the kid’s first language by that word alone: he had seemed unsure on how to address him for a long while, and when he finally seemed to have found the word, he said it so carefully as if scared he had made a mistake.

“None of that, just ‘Leone’ is fine.”

“Signore Leone.”

“I guess that’ll have to do.” He sat down on the same bench, careful to leave as much space between him and the kid as he could to not make him uncomfortable. “Are you lost?” When he denied with his head, he answered with a hum, thoughtful about his next question. “Then what are you doing?”

“… Waiting, ka- uh, mama told me to… to…”

“To wait here for her?” The kid nodded when he finished the sentence for him, confirming the fact that he was not Italian at all. “Mind if I wait with you? Just to be sure, it’s not safe for a kid like you to be alone.”

They stayed in silence after that; the kid getting distracted by three ladybugs roaming around the bench, looking at the bugs as if they were the best thing ever to exist in the entire universe.

“So, what’s your name?” He made sure to enunciate the words as slowly as possible to not create confusion, only getting a head shake as an answer. “Okay, can I know how old you are, then?”

“I… na- no, uh- se- no, that’s…”

“You know how to count?” A nod, so he raised five fingers up, raising another after a while when the kid shook his head, repeating the motion one more time until he got his answer, trying his best not to frown at learning that the kid was seven but looked as small as a five-year-old child — that was a huge shout-out of how badly his parents are taking care of him, if they’re taking care of the kid at all.

Leone decided to let the kid be for now, only looking at him now and then, noticing how little by little the tension left from his small body. His face was devoid of emotions, but his eyes were all he needed to know that the kid was comfortable with him around, happy to watch the ladybugs starting to roam around his body. 

“You seem to like ladybugs.” The kid nodded, his blue-green eyes fixated on the three bugs in his hand. 

“They… they’re my friends.”

Leone hummed, eyes on the sunset. He and the child had waited for a couple of hours; no parents arrived. From the corner of his eye, he could see the kid smiling softly while playing with the bugs, a sight that made his heart clench in anguish; because how could someone abandon their child like that? It was unacceptable, and, in that moment, he knew he had to do something or the kid wouldn’t survive for long..

“C’mon, Coccinella, you’re coming with me to the station.”

“‘Coccinella’?”

“You didn’t want to give me your name, and you like ladybugs, might as well call you one, hm?”

He seemed hesitant, and no wonder: his parents had probably abandoned him to his own devices with only a bag — that he wasn’t sure it had enough to keep him alive for long. He didn’t even know for sure that they had promised the kid to come back for him, only that he had to wait there for his mother.

In the end, he got a nod as an answer. The kid let the ladybugs down on the bench delicately, and Leone decided that would be the best moment to stand up, turning around a little to offer a hand towards the kid with the kindest smile he could muster — he was told he had an intimidating smile, and scaring the child was the last thing he wanted to do now —, waiting with patience for him to decide what to do.

Though something caught his eye at that moment: there on the bench where the ladybugs had been put, now rested three small pebbles instead of the bugs. He would have pondered more about that if it wasn’t for the kid hesitantly taking his offered hand, looking up at him with so many emotions now swirling in those little eyes of his.

Hand in hand, they started walking together towards the station, hoping that he would find who the kid was and what to do about him.

* * *

Leone had hoped for too much.

He should be used by now that things never go the way he expects them to go, so when he left the kid to wait while he went to talk to the chief, he expected anything but the reaction he got: as soon as he was done describing the kid, his boss sank on his chair, a pained expression evident on his face, as if he had expected something like that to happen.

“I’ll be honest with you, Abbacchio: this is not the first time that kid has been brought here.” His superior looked exhausted, his eyes staring at the picture of his two daughters — twins, as he would brag about them a lot when he could — with something akin to pain. “His name is Haruno Shiobana. He’s a half-Japanese kid that’s been brought at least once or twice a month for the past year. It’s always the same: we find him somewhere, he’s brought here, his parents are called, they lie saying that the kid had run away again , and then they take the kid and the cycle repeats.”

“So, you’re saying that he keeps running away?”

“No, I know he doesn’t. His parents are trying to abandon the child over and over again.” Anger passed through the chief’s eyes, making him shiver: his superior was a very chill guy, so seeing him angry was something that only happened when they had to deal with the worst kind of criminals. “I followed them once, three months ago. I was off duty and I had no way to ensure we could win the case, but the parents of that kid…” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he had seen back then. “They’re horrible, so Abbacchio, I’ll give you two options the same way I’ve done with everyone who brought that kid before you.”

“Two options about what?”

“We can call the kid’s parents now, say that we found him, let them take him back to whatever shit-hole they live in, and then repeat this cycle again next month or in a couple of weeks, washing our hands about this whole situation until next time.”

“Or…?”

“Or you could take the kid back home with you, take him in and all that: his parents won’t fill a missing person report, and with enough time we could file a fake case of a parentless child that grew so attached to an officer it was impossible to give him to any orphanage and any judge wouldn’t think twice to allow a cop to become the kid’s legal guardian. Obviously, the kid would need a new name and everything, but that’s something you can discuss with him later on. So, what’s it gonna be, Abbacchio? Will you let him go back to his parents, or will you take him with you?”

“… You’re fucking with me, right? Me? A parent to that child?”

“So, we call his parents?”

“Like hell!” He slammed his hands on the desk, standing up abruptly. “There’s no way I’m letting him go back there if his parents keep abandoning him. I’m no dad material, but fuck those assholes, they don’t deserve the kid.”

The chief gave him a sincere smile, and that was everything he needed to know that he was dismissed and allowed to take the kid — no, Haruno, his name was Haruno — back home with him. His apartment wasn’t the best equipped right now, but with a thorough cleaning, he could free the other room he had in there for Haruno. Tonight, though, he would have to offer the child his room and sleep on the couch — like hell he would let the kid sleep on the couch when he had been sleeping outside for two or maybe even three nights in a row.

Calming himself as to not startle Haruno, he walked out from the chief’s office, finding the kid exactly where he left him, his eyes that were curiously looking everywhere now fixated on him, anxiety clearly radiating from his small body, as if he was expecting to be told that his parents had been called to pick him up.

But not this time, no. 

Leone lowered himself to be at the same eye level, offering his hand to the confused kid, his eyes going between his offered hand and his face as if he didn’t understand what was happening.

“Your parents aren’t coming.” It took a little for Haruno to understand him, but the way he stared at him as if he had grown a second head was enough to know he was surprised by his words. “You can come home with me, if that’s what you want.”

“I… Signore-”

“There’s no need for that, but if it makes you comfortable, I guess I could get used to that, hm?”

“I can…? With Signore?”

“Mhm, you can come live with me, but we need to work together on this, okay? I don’t know how to take care of a kid, but I’ll try my best, so if anything I do makes you uncomfortable, you tell me. No need to rush your Italian either, I’ll teach you, but I’ll also try to learn Japanese just in case.”

“… ‘Kay.”

Leone couldn’t help but smile when Haruno took his hand, a little bit of hope shining in his eyes.

It was going to be a long journey, but the first step was already done and over. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy for either him or Haruno, but he had to try: he was a cop and he was supposed to protect the weak and the innocent, so what kind of person would he be if he let the kid go back to parents that wouldn’t care for him?

He wasn’t sure that taking him in was the best idea, but he had to do something. And, well, he must admit that he had already become fond of the kid.

Chapter Text

Haruno knew that his Mama didn't love him.

It was obvious in how she acted, how she talked to him, how she kept pretending that he didn't exist and reminding him how happier she would be if she could have gotten rid of him from the start.

Those are things a mother isn't supposed to say to their kid, or at least that's what the only teacher who cared said to him back in Japan, before he was forced to move to Italy, before that kind woman could speak to his Mama about her being wrong and having to love Haruno, before his nightmares got worse and worse thanks to That Man, the reason Haruno had to sleep outside a lot.

He might be a kid, but he wasn’t an idiot: he had to learn too fast for his age, he had to cling to memories that he shouldn’t be able to remember — that kind teacher told him how kids only have good memory once they turn six or seven, but not Haruno, never Haruno, he could remember everything from the moment his Mama left him alone for the first time, when he was barely a month or two old —, and that’s why, when his Mama left him once, he knew she wouldn’t come back.

Still, deep down, he clung to the childish hope that, perhaps, his Mama would think again, that she would come back running for him, hugging him, loving him.

It never happened. It was always the people in uniforms — officers, That Man reminded him whenever they had to bring him back with them — who would find him, it was them the only ones who would care enough for a little bit, only until his Mama was there with fake tears — his Mama would never cry for him, crying was useless, so she was faking it — and fake words, as if Haruno being found was what she wanted.

The belt would be worse when the officers made Mama or That Man come for him. His body would be shaking for hours, no tears falling because it was useless: he couldn’t cry. He had to be silent. Making any noise would only make it worse. Mama and That Man hated it when he said anything, and tears would only make them scream louder at him. He hated the noise; his ears would hurt and ring for a while whenever they screamed at him.

Haruno was thinking about the pain on his back and how long it would take for another officer to find him and call his parents, for the belt to come back down on him and make everything hurt even more, when The Kind Man appeared.

Compared to other adults in uniform, The Kind Man — Signore Leone, he reminded himself, because he couldn’t call him only by name, he wasn’t worthy of calling anyone by name — didn’t insist when Haruno didn’t answer his questions the way it was expected from him, gently guiding him through them, speaking slow for him to catch all the Italian words and for his brain to understand them well, and staying in silence when it was obvious Haruno didn’t want to say anything else.

Silence was nice. It was safe. Pain never came when Haruno was silent, when his Mama and That Man forgot that he was around. He never thought that sharing his silence with someone would feel so… good. So, he stayed there, watching the ladybugs that seemed attached to him, feeling their presence wherever they went, as if they were a part of him, glancing now and then towards Signore Leone and the soft green glow surrounding him.

That was another thing that his Mama hated: the colours he could see around some people.

The first time it happened, they were still in Japan. His Mama had gone to a small town to visit a friend before they had to leave, and Mama’s friend was very, very pretty; with shiny black hair, kind brown eyes and a pretty smile. She also had a son, and the kid was trying to do his hair in a specific way, so Haruno sat down staring at the boy with black hair like the pretty lady but with purple-blue eyes that, somehow, reminded him of his own blue-green ones — only that the boy’s were pretty and not freaky like his own, too big, not well mixed coloured eyes.

He could see a soft pink — or was it more purple? His four-year-old self wasn’t sure, only that he liked that colour — aura around the boy, and before he could ask about it, his Mama had stormed into the room with so much anger he stood up and went after her with no need to be told. As soon as he did that, he was yanked by his arm, his Mama walking too fast for him to follow her, being dragged and it was painful, and his Mama was shouting at the pretty and kind lady, and she was also screaming at his Mama, and it was too loud and then the next day they were gone from Japan and on their way to Italy so that his Mama could marry That Man.

And when he told his Mama what he saw around that boy, she slapped him so hard his cheek hurt for two weeks and three days — he counted; he had to count, because counting helped him to forget he was hungry —, screaming at him to forget about what he saw that day, that the two they met were to not be spoken about ever.

So, he tried to forget about it, but then he sometimes saw people around Italy with coloured auras. It wasn’t a lot of people, and he didn’t understand why he could see that, but there was a pull towards them, as if something inside was trying to get him close and around them.

Signore Leone also had an aura, but it was so soft, barely there, as if it wasn’t supposed to be there, but it wanted to. Haruno thought that it might be related to how, sometimes, things changed into plants or small animals, because he had been holding three rocks in his hands before the ladybugs came, and he didn’t understand how nor why, only that he was the one doing it. His mind kept trying to tell him no, that he didn’t have any powers, but he knew it had to be him, or the connection he felt wouldn’t be there.

Normal plants and animals didn’t feel like a part of him, and even if no one would ever believe him if he decided to talk about it — he wouldn’t; it wasn’t safe for him to tell anyone —, it would be his little secret forever.

Though maybe he could tell Signore Leone: he had that aura, and he had been kind; he had been silent; he hadn’t forced him and asked slowly; he waited for him to make a decision, never rushing him. When he held his hand, he didn’t drag him, but guide him, walking so that Haruno could follow, never gripping too hard, just enough for his hand to not slip and for the adult to know that he was still there with him.

When he came back from talking to the chief, he told him that he didn’t have to go back to Mama and That Man, and Haruno wanted to believe it, to believe him and his words, but it was so hard to trust someone.

Adults always lie. Or, at least, the adults he knew lied again, and again, and again. But the soft green aura was there too, and he wanted to be close to it, close to him, to the person who would emit such a soft and pretty colour, filling his little body with a warmth he never thought he could get. So, he took his hand, and let himself be guided once more by Signore , afraid that, if he let go, the adult would think better and abandon him too, just like Mama did, just like his real dad did before he was even born.

* * *

The best way to describe Signore Leone’s place would be… a disaster.

But not in the same way that Mama and That Man would leave the house dirty and full of traps he slowly had to learn to avoid to not be detected. No, the place he was at had a warmth that was so similar to the adult that kept patiently guiding him around, helping him sit down at a chair in the small unorganized kitchen while the adult kept pacing here and there, mumbling about what to cook and stuff that he stopped paying attention when the Italian was too fast for him to understand.

Yes, there was a lot of stuff thrown around; and yes, Giorno felt as if it was his duty to clean it to repay some of the kindness he was receiving, but, at the same time, the stuff thrown around or that would seem out of place made the apartment feel… like what a home should feel like.

Just like back at the house he visited in that small town of Japan for barely an hour or so, with an order to be found among all the disorder, as if it was supposed to be just that way and not spotless clean as Mama and That Man kept reminding him with punishment after punishment.

“Guess Nonna is making good use of the key she forced me to give her. She filled the fridge while I was working.” The fridge was closed, taking Haruno out of his thoughts about everything that had happened until now. “Guess we have dinner solved, so I guess you could take a bath. Though I don’t have clothes that could fit you… Do you have spare clothes in your bag?” He gave a nod, and it seemed it was a good enough answer. “Okay, we can go shop for stuff another day, or I could ask Nonna to help me with that… I’ll figure it out later.”

Signore Leone offered his hand once more for him to take, and this time Haruno took less time to accept it, starting to like what little non-hurting touch he could get. He was guided to the bathroom, and only when he was there did Haruno think about the marks of his punishments and how no one was to see them but That Man.  

He just stood there, watching the officer pace around the small but pretty bathroom. The tub was clean compared to the one they had back at the house, where he would hide for hours when the noise was too much and That Man was too drunk to bother and check there. Haruno felt that breathing was hard, but he couldn’t make a sound. Listing all the bugs he had seen was good; it helped. He only had to think about the small creatures and how they would go around nature, free and doing whatever they wanted to do; but even doing that didn’t help with his breathing, and his legs didn’t feel right . They were there, but he wasn’t, but he was and-

“Hey, Coccinella, four in, hold seven, eight out. It’s okay; do it slowly; follow what I do. Is it okay if I touch you?” A nod, his throat refused to work, and he knew that if he were to say no, things would only be worse.

Still, Haruno didn’t expect his hand to be grabbed and then gently guided somewhere he couldn’t place; but the way it moved helped him count, like the voice had said, and at some point, he knew he was following it. Four in, hold for seven, eight out; he didn’t understand how nor why, but he could breathe again, and he was kneeling on the floor, his hand on Signore ’s chest who was breathing the same way he had told him to do, a small and kind smile the first thing he saw between tears that he refused to let go. It was only him, poor useless Haruno, trembling on the floor, and Signore Leone, who had sat down and patiently helped him through… whatever that was, but he went through that a lot , and having help with that for the first time had been… nice.

“Are you back with me?” He gave once again a nod, hoping that the adult wouldn’t get tired of that being his answer all the time, but he couldn’t speak , at least not right now. “Good, the bath is ready for you. I won’t stay here if you don’t want me to. I can just be out ‌the door and come back once you are done, but I do have to check you for any kind of injury you might have.”

“Can you… stay? But, no look?”

Oh, he had done it.

Haruno had just asked for too much. There was no way he was going to agree to do that, and then he would be punished, and everything would hurt even more, and he would be proven right that all adults are the same liars, and-

“Okay, I can do that.”

His head turned to look at Signore so fast he heard a little crack come from his neck, and more pain came from that move, but he ignored it just to watch the adult with confusion. He had heard wrong, right? His brain still didn’t know Italian that well, so he must have heard that wrong-

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’re seven; I trust you know not to drown yourself in a bathtub, and we just met, so I get you want some privacy, kid. But if you’re hurt, I want to help; I’m no doctor, but as a cop I have first-aid training, so I’ll do my best with anything.”

“… Just… until I’m in?”

“Sure thing, kid, I won’t look until you tell me I can.”

If Haruno was honest, he was still scared that he would change his mind, that as soon as he saw the proof of his punishments he would also get a belt out and do the same things That Man kept doing to remind him of his place. But when, with a small and unsure voice, he told the officer he could turn around; as the kind, kind man gently helped him get clean, carefully dried him after the longest and warmest bath he had ever had, and then talked with him while slowly treating the aftermath of his latest punishment…

For the first time ever, Haruno felt so warm, he was sure, that was how home was supposed to feel like.

Chapter Text

Leone was infuriated.

The amount of scars the kid had was… a sight. His whole back was covered in several layers of them; some old that had scarred horribly, as if they hadn’t been treated and then opened again, several times. The most recent ones, though, made him want to hurt the bastard who had dared to inflict such damage on a child.

He wasn’t new to having to tend ‌wounds. Police training aside, his Nonno has always been clumsy. Nonna always reprimanded him, and Leone would watch as she made sure the injury was dealt with, sometimes letting him help so that he could know basic first-aid. Just in case, she would say. That way, when Nonna wasn’t at home, it would fall on Leone to tend to his Nonno.

Haruno’s injuries were from days ago, but the state they were in… The kid obviously couldn’t clean injuries on his back — those were next to impossible to treat alone —, still, someone would-

No, his mind couldn’t go through that route. The chief had been clear that Haruno was being neglected — if not downright abused, as he had witnessed with the scars on the kid’s back — by his parents. It was obvious they wouldn’t care to clean and dress the wounds they inflicted on the child, even less when they kept trying to abandon him — though they succeeded on that, with Leone refusing to allow the kid to go back to such a place. Italy was already rotten at the core, so while it was not kidnapping per se, he was illegally taking care of a child he found.

What a cop he was, doing illegal stuff when his mission was to enforce the law.

The scars explained Haruno’s behaviour around adults. When the kid started having a very silent panic attack in the bathroom, Leone started suspecting things were worse than what he had been told. If he had to be honest, he never expected to have to sit down with a child and do breathing exercises, gently guiding him until the air was reaching his lungs as it should. He had the training for that kind of situation, and he had dealt with people going through panic attacks while being interrogated — some of them guilty, others were innocent people who had seen too much — or when bad news had to be delivered to families of victims. But to have to go through that with a seven-year-old child…

Dealing with abuse victims was never easy. And when those victims are kids, things are worse. Children are growing and learning; going through traumatic stuff and not receiving any kind of help could shape them in unexpected ways. One can never know what’s going to become of them: it could go from drug addiction to outright suicidal tendencies. Anything to stop the pain and to run away from those who kept hurting them, twisting and turning a child into an empty shell.

Obviously, that was not the case for everyone. Some abused children matured into decent people without getting direct help. Yes, they had a lot of trust issues and other problems, but they survived and didn’t fall into destructive habits — or, well, some coping mechanisms they developed as kids are harmful, so Leone didn’t even know what to think anymore.

The situation was so fucked up his own thoughts didn’t even make sense. He was starting to overthink everything. Hell, he knew he wasn’t cut to take care of the child, but the other option…

No, he was doing the right thing. Haruno had looked so small when he tucked him in his bed, leaving a lamp turned on when he noticed how nervous he was with the idea of the light turning off. He stayed there until he was sure Haruno was asleep, quietly making his way out without closing the door to the couch — it would be a rough night for him since it wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but it was temporary, only until he fixed the other room for it to be lived in.

So there was Leone, laying on the couch with a blanket draped over his body, seething because of the damage a kid he had met hours ago got from the people he was supposed to call parents, letting his thoughts spiral in different “what if”s and scenarios he had to survive.

He had been so glad to find that his Nonna had left him lots of containers full of her homemade food, even more when he saw some zuppa di pomodoro, guessing that fresh tomato soup would be the best thing to introduce the kid back to food — Leone had seen the interior of the kid’s bag when Haruno got his change of clothes from it, unable to pinpoint a single piece of food in there — after a long time without.

Haruno had stared at him for so long when he set the plate of soup in front of him, Leone thought the kid had fallen asleep with his eyes open — he had been sleepy after the bath and having his injuries treated, but he had to make sure the kid ate something before bed: no way he was going to allow him to miss meals —, being proved wrong when he felt Haruno’s intense gaze trying to analyse him.

“You can eat; the soup is for you.”

As soon as he said those words, whatever spell Haruno was under broke, and the kid grabbed his spoon with some hesitation. At first he went slow, expecting something to happen and, when whatever he expected never came, he picked up the pace — enough for it to seem normal, which was good, kids needed to eat — until his bowl was empty, a small but satisfied smile on his face.

Leone wasn’t sure why he did it, but he gave the kid some chocolate pudding too — not the best idea when his stomach might be getting used to the weight of having food in it, but there was something in Haruno’s eyes that made him want to give the kid a treat, a little extra just to see how he would react.

Once again, the food was eyed with caution. Though this time all it took was one spoonful of pudding for Haruno to brighten up and devour the sweet treat, noting down in his mind to buy more of that cheap dessert if only to make the kid happy.

After that, it didn’t take long for the kid to get sleepy again. And if someone were to tell Leone that he would spend half an hour arguing with a seven-year-old who struggled with his Italian about where said child was going to sleep, he would have laughed at the person and called them insane. But he had done that, making sure of waiting for the kid to gather his thoughts whenever he needed to, insisting in the kindest way he could that, no, he was not allowing a kid who spent several days sleeping outside to spend another bad night on a couch and that, no, he didn’t mind letting him sleep on his bed and that, as the adult, he would take the couch.

And then he had guided Haruno to his room, tucked him in and waited until the kid fell asleep to leave. Now he was thinking too much about everything, plus he knew his thoughts were going wild, but could someone blame him? His grandparents raised him when his parents died in an accident, and the police doing nothing to solve the case became his drive to be a cop. What’s more, here he was now, a cop, taking care of a kid with no idea of what to do or how not to fuck it up by accident. Hell, he was caring for an abused child and didn’t even think twice about it when he had been asked, even when he knew he wasn’t cut for the role, that he would end reminding the kid of the ones who were supposed to care for him at some point; also, how the hell had he remained so calm and nice for so long?! Leone was a lot of things, but he knew his personality was shitty at best and unbearable during the worst days — he still wondered how Matteo, his partner, could stand him with how he is.

He knows his thoughts would have spiraled out of his control had it not been for an almost undetectable noise coming from his room. Opening his eyes to peek, he saw Haruno sneaking towards the kitchen, looking away to check the time on the clock his Nonna bought for him and put on his wall: it was a little past two in the morning. He had put Haruno to bed at around ten, so why was the kid awake?

Moving a little as to pretend to still be asleep, he paid attention to the noises Haruno would make, getting a small gasp of panic and then complete silence. His guess was that the kid was figuring out if he was awake or asleep to continue on his little mission, so he let him believe he was asleep, a sigh of relief coming a few minutes after, and then the footsteps resumed — they were too quiet, trying to not make his presence known, and the situations his brain conjured for the kid needing to learn to do that made his anger grow, wanting nothing more than to beat the shit out of the adults who hurt the child.

The moment he heard glass breaking, Leone bolted to the kitchen, worried that Haruno would hurt himself with the broken glass, and the sight that greeted him… 

Haruno was still as a statue, looking through him with unfocused eyes. That was enough for Leone to know the kid’s mind wasn’t there with him, so he moved, slowly, talking about different things that came to his mind while getting a broom, carefully sweeping the glass as far from Haruno as he could without stopping his verbal nonsense — he didn’t even know what he was telling the kid, it was related to his Nonna but he wasn’t paying attention to his words, only to how Haruno would react.

It took a while, but he noticed the kid was coming back with him when he started the breathing exercise he told him about in the bathroom — four in, hold for seven, eight out; his Nonna had taught him to do that whenever kids would be mean to him and Leone wanted to punch them to oblivion, and then while training to be a cop he learnt how it helped with several things, always bringing a calming effect. Knowing that Haruno was now conscious of what was happening around him, Leone exaggerated the motions of sweeping all the glass into a plastic bag, tying it and then throwing it into the trash bin.

“Broken glasses happen all the time.” He had a feeling that Haruno had terrible experiences with broken glass, so he spoke before the kid could say anything. “I used to break them a lot as a kid, thinking that I was big enough to do things on my own. Nonna would always scold be for breaking her glasses, but she would just sweep it all, ask me if I didn’t cut myself with the glass, and then pat me on the head and let me go play or do what I was supposed to do. It’s not a big deal, Coccinella. Whatever they told you or did to you because of a broken glass? That won’t happen here, okay?”

“… Okay.”

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He crouched to be at the kid’s eye level, not touching him, but his hand was in middle ground, an offer for Haruno to hold it if he needed to, blue-green eyes shyly peeking at his face. “I told you, remember? I’m gonna take care of you, and a silly mistake like this won’t make me change my mind. Now, are you thirsty? I can make us some tea, or would water be enough for you?”

“I like tea.”

“Then tea it is.”

He kept talking about Nonna while making tea to keep Haruno distracted — the last thing he wanted was for the kid to work himself into a panic attack again, even though talking was not his thing —, the anecdotes coming out easy and working on having his full attention. Once the tea was done — chamomile, it wasn’t his favourite, but Nonna insisted he always had some for those nights he would struggle with falling asleep —, he sat down and slid Haruno his teacup, warning the kid of it being hot and for him to wait a little before drinking.

That’s when his brain-to-mouth filter stopped working, because what he said next was:

“Your eyes are mismatched.”

It wasn’t noticeable at first, but when he was helping Haruno through his panic attack in the bathroom, he kept looking at the kid’s eyes to assess the situation. His left eye was a gradient of blue from the top to green at the bottom, while the right eye was the other way around, with the green coming from the top to end in blue. It was subtle enough to be unnoticeable unless you were purposefully and intently staring at the kids' eyes and, in a way he could not explain, he knew it fitted the kid to have curious eyes.

“Mama didn’t like them.”

“Well, I say they look good on you, kid. And that woman is dumb for saying that.”

“… You think so?”

“From someone with weird coloured eyes to another, we gotta stay united, don’t you think?”

Haruno stared intensely at his teacup, a smile starting to show on his face and his eyes taking a sad look that soon changed into something more akin to happiness as he turned to look at him.

“Yes… I think so.”

Chapter Text

Baking cookies isn’t hard, he thought. Even a kid could do it without problems, he said.

Well, Leone had been oh so wrong about it, and now the kitchen looked like a flour and burnt dough battlefield, Haruno being completely covered in flour while he knew he had the unbaked dough pasted to his hair and many parts of his body. The kid looked at him with those big eyes of his, so he looked back, staring at each other for a while, until they broke down in uncontrollable laughter.

It was hard to explain how one month could change a person so much.

Leone still remembers the first few days of the kid staying with him, how fearful he was to even ask for basic stuff like water or food when needed; how sometimes he would stare at Leone for long minutes as if expecting a punishment for something he did wrong, and little by little, with time and a patience he didn’t know he had, he had gotten past all of the kid’s barriers, getting to know the brilliant child that had been forced to hide for too long.

Contrary to what he thought at the start, Haruno didn’t have as many problems with Italian as the kid believed. He had a great grasp on the language, only getting confused when someone spoke too fast, but he knew how to speak it better, only that he had been told many times that he had been incorrect to the point he was scared of making mistakes, stunting his learning progress and making him doubt himself so much it lead to his long thinking and struggles with finding the words he wanted to say.

Learning Japanese, on the other hand, was proving to be a difficult endeavour for Leone.

Getting his hands on an Italian-Japanese dictionary had been the easiest part, but the language was… Difficult without a teacher to help him — Haruno tried, but the kid didn’t know where to start, so the “lessons” were more of a game than proper learning.

So far, he only knew a few scattered words and the meaning of Haruno’s name — it was related to spring, fitting since he had found the kid during that season —, even though he didn’t use it at all, calling him Coccinella all the time.

A week after he had taken him in, Haruno had asked why he never used his name if he knew it — not with those exact words, but Leone caught up on what he was trying to convey — his answer being a simple “you don’t seem to like it”, getting a nod and a sad smile as his only answer.

Even if he referred to Haruno as, well, Haruno in his mind, he was just waiting for the kid to choose a name he wanted to use to replace the one full of bad memories — the kid had told him one night, in a voice so low he almost missed it, that he did like his name and how it was related to his favourite season; but he didn’t like how it was connected to the people who hurt him, wanting a name that he could relate to Leone and his kindness.

And, damn, he never expected to be called kind by a child when his personality was shitty and full of flaws — there had been too many times he had to sit down and breathe with the kid to get him out of a panic attack he accidentally caused by doing certain stuff, like when he raised his voice a little too loud, or when he touched Haruno without thinking to get the kid’s attention; or that one time he yanked him a little while walking on the street to get him out of the way of someone who would have harshly crashed against the kid —, but despite all of his mistakes, the kid had put his trust in him, almost making him cry the first time he looked him directly in the eye, saying “I trust you” with the most serious face he had ever seen a seven-year-old making.

Being assigned to paperwork duty and allowed to keep Haruno around the station had been something he didn’t expect, but the chief had called him into his office come Monday — he had always had the weekends off by some sheer luck, and it had been Friday when he brought the kid with him back home — and told him he would be on paperwork duty until everything was in order — with that being Haruno getting a new name and all the illegal bullshit they were doing so that the kid could stay with him and far away from the scum who were his “parents”.

Haruno had been attached to him as if he were an extra limb, refusing to get away from Leone for even a second. Almost everyone at the station had seen the kid before, when they had been the ones to find him and all the bullshit for the past year — honestly? He didn’t understand how all of them had decided to turn a blind eye to the situation and had the balls to try to befriend the kid now that he was Leone’s not-so-legal charge.

And so the past month had been one thing after another, with Haruno slowly getting out of his shell while around him, and so far Leone had done a wonderful job taking care of the kid without his grandparents knowing, which brought him to the reason they were baking cookies on a Friday night instead of heating the dinner Nonna had put in his fridge earlier that week.

Haruno had wanted to try the recipe, nervous because the adoption papers were now real, safe in the kid’s room — they had cleaned it together the day after Haruno was brought to his apartment, and it had been tedious but, by the end of that Saturday, the child had a proper room to sleep in instead of stealing Leone’s bed and him being relegated to the couch — and ready to be official as soon as he had a name to sign in there.

A social worker had been there from the same Monday he started to be on paperwork duty, judging and prodding at him with sharp eyes and harsh words that turned into kind smiles and soft murmurs when Haruno looked at them — he must admit, the social worker was amazing with the kid, but they had to assess if Leone was a good enough guardian for the kid, so the constant judgement had been expected —, and it had been that morning when they came to him, their notes full of approval and finally giving him a smile alongside the papers, saying that they were glad he had found the kid when he did, warning him of possible separation anxiety in the future and to keep taking care of the child.

When he talked to Haruno about the adoption and Leone becoming his official guardian, the kid had brightened up for a moment before his mind started overthinking — he had seen the kid do that a lot during the past month, and while he hated how a seven-year-old was prone to that, he knew the kid needed the time to sort his thoughts and that he would speak to him when he was ready —, leaving the topic hanging in the air until they were back home.

He asked to see the papers, so they sat down at the kitchen table, Leone helping him with words that were too complicated and answering all the questions that came to his young but bright mind, stopping when they reached the name part, blurting out if they could bake cookies.

So Leone tried to remember his Nonna’s recipe for lemon cookies, telling Haruno that he could keep and guard the papers until he was sure that’s what he wanted while he got the ingredients ready; and then one thing led to another, a flour bag broke on top of Haruno, a bowl full of uncooked dough flew and ended on his head, then he had put the oven too hot and they forgot about the cookies since they thought a Japanese “lesson” would be a good idea to pass the time… All in all, it had been a disaster, but they couldn’t help it: the way everything went had been funny, so Leone laughed, and Haruno laughed too, and now they had to clean everything and themselves before having dinner, and later Leone would have to call Nonna to tell her he was visiting tomorrow, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous about how his grandparents were going to react to Haruno, or how the kid would be around total strangers even if they were Leone’s family.

But for now they were laughing at their cookie mishap, so his worries could wait until tomorrow.

* * *

Haruno was squeezing his hand so hard it was starting to hurt, but Leone couldn’t let go, not when he knew that the kid needed the touch to keep him grounded, even more when he was about to meet new people.

He had called his grandparents that morning while making breakfast — last night he forgot in between cleaning the war-zone that his kitchen had become and staying with Haruno even after the kid fell asleep since he was cuddled against him, his hands clutching his pajama’s shirt as a lifeline —, getting an earful from his Nonna for not telling her earlier that she had a great-grandchild and that they better come visit them for lunch or Leone would regret it for the rest of his life.

So, here they were, in front of his grandparents’ house, not ringing the bell as a way of giving the kid time to calm down. It was okay, Leone could wait. He wasn’t sure about Nonna being patient, though, because that’s just how she was with her brash but caring personality: she had taken care of him even though Leone reminded her of his father — he was his splitting image, except for his eyes that, somehow, had become a combination of both of his parents’ colours. And Leone knew how much it hurt his Nonna to look at him the first weeks after the accident, but she still raised him with kindness and rough love that would be contrasted by Nonno's clumsy and carefree personality.

When Haruno’s grip relaxed, he knew the kid was ready, looking at him for confirmation and, when he received a small but determined nod, he rang the bell; the door being opened immediately by the woman who had done — and still does — so much for him.

The kid hid behind his leg in an instant, making Nonna frown with concern — though Haruno didn’t know how to read her, trying to make himself smaller as soon as he caught her expression —, her violet eyes fixed on him with so many questions, mouthing a “later” for her, so she just gave him a nod, telling them to get in and that lunch was almost ready.

Haruno clung to his leg, his eyes taking everything in, clearly looking for all the escape routes he could find — it helped him calm down to know where the exits were, that way he could run and hide if things got ugly. They were working on that habit of his, but it would take a while for it to go away, if it goes away.

Nonno was sitting in his favourite armchair, reading a book that he left aside as soon as he saw them, waving at them with his goofy smile. It was then that he felt the grip on his pants leg lessen, looking back at Haruno to find him eyeing with curiosity the bookshelves full of books that Nonno had in the living room — Leone had witnessed his Nonno setting new ones a lot when he was still living with them, most of his injuries coming from assembling a new bookshelf —, coming up with an idea.

“Do you want to check Nonno’s book collection?” He lowered himself to be at eye level with Haruno, whose eyes kept going between the multiple bookshelves and Leone, unsure. “He doesn’t bite, but you can bite him.”

“Hey! I heard that, you little shit!”

“Niccolò! No swearing in front of children!” Nonna’s loud voice carried from the kitchen, and Nonno stuck out his tongue, knowing that she couldn’t see him right now.

“Don’t listen to Olimpia, kiddo, she’s an old hag who doesn’t know how to have fun.”

“Niccolò Abbacchio, you’re playing with fire!”

Nonno raised an eyebrow to say “see what I’m talking about?”, getting a small laugh from Haruno who, slowly, let go of his leg, walking towards the bookshelves, his eyes looking at Nonno from time to time, and he didn’t pay attention to the kid, picking up his book to keep reading. Leone stayed there until the kid turned to look at him, his eyes telling him that he would be okay here, walking away from them and into the kitchen, where Nonna was eyeing the lasagna in the oven, turning to look at him as soon as she felt his presence.

“So, who did you impregnate, Leone? I thought I raised you better than that, missing so many years of a son you didn’t even know about.”

“Wha-? No, that’s not it!” At Nonna’s harsh glare and raised eyebrow, Leone could only sigh. “I found him in a park a month ago while on patrol duty. His… parents had abandoned him, not for the first time either, so it was either giving him back to those cazzi or keeping the kiddo. You can guess what I chose if I’m visiting with him.”

“So you kidnapped him.”

“No, I took him away from abusive assholes, Nonna. You should have seen the state he was in when I found him… It took me all this time for him to start opening up to me, and I barely know a thing of what he went through, just… mio Dio, Nonna, I’m not fit to be a father yet here I am, with an okay from a social worker and a judge to adopt this kid and be his legal guardian but-”

“You won’t fuck up, Leone.” As always, she knew what was going on his mind, as if she could read his thoughts like an open book. “The little one is attached to you, I can tell. If he weren’t, do you think he would cling to you like he did back at the door? He’s so small … How old is he, Leone?”

“Seven, and yes, he is small for his age, blame those dickheads that were supposed to be his parents.”

“Merda. That bad?”

“Worse than whatever you’re thinking.” She sat down at the table, looking older than she was. “I can’t tell you now, but maybe one day he’ll open up to you, Nonna. Just… not now; everything is too recent. Abuse victims are distrustful of everything; it’s a miracle the kid has let me see as much as I’ve been able to so far, believe me, I’m surprised.”

“You’ll have to learn how to cook.”

“I know.”

“You’re a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Don’t remind me. We almost destroyed the kitchen yesterday trying to bake cookies.”

That got a hearty laugh out of Nonna, who stood up to check on her lasagna, turning off the oven but still not getting it out, something about “the food needing to stay five to ten more minutes after being turned off or it wouldn’t taste the same”.

“Niccolò got him a couple of plushies. He ran to the toy store as soon as you cut the call, excited to spoil another child after such a long time.”

“Hey, I’m only twenty-three.”

“And you stopped asking for toys when you turned thirteen, so you haven’t been a kid for ten years, Cucciolo.”

Quick and eager footsteps cut their conversation there, Haruno coming into the kitchen clutching a frog and a ladybug plush to his chest, his face devoid of emotions but his eyes were screaming at him how happy he was with his new acquisitions.

“Baba! Come, come.”

That was something he was still getting used to. At some point, Haruno had stopped calling him Signore to use “Baba” instead — he had asked for his full name after he told him why he called Haruno Coccinella, the kid struggling to say his surname and, frustrated, he blurted Baba, his hands immediately going to cover his mouth, fear in his eyes that slowly went away when he saw that Leone didn’t mind, and little by little he stopped being so formal when calling for him, and he would be lying if he said the kid’s nickname for him didn’t warm his heart.

His hand was grabbed by the kid with difficulty — he was reluctant to let go of his new plushies, and he wondered how the hell Nonno had known those were Haruno’s favourite animals or if he had picked them out of sheer dumb luck —, and if there was one thing about the kid, it was that he rarely initiated contact, and when he did, he was excited as only seven-year-olds could be.

He was dragged into the living room, aware of Nonna coming behind him, but Haruno didn’t seem to mind, set on his goal to show Leone something, finding a few books spread through the coffee table, not understanding a thing when the kid let go, put his new soft treasures on the table, picked up a couple of books and brought them to him, staring at the books and then at the kid in confusion, getting a barely noticeable pout from him.

“My name. I chose it.” Haruno signaled the first word of the title of a poetry book, and then the surname of the author of the other one. “I read the words. They feel right. They feel me. So, I know what I want, when we sign the papers… I-if you still want to…”

“Of course I want to, Coccinella.” He heard a snicker coming from Nonna at the nickname he had given his kid — because Haruno was his kid, even if they had yet to put it on official documents and all that crap —, as if she was one to talk when she kept calling him Cucciolo. “Can you tell me your name?”

His mismatched eyes sparkled, and the biggest smile he had ever seen on the kid’s face bloomed like a flower in spring.

“Giorno. My name is Giorno Giovanna.”

Chapter Text

Taking Giorno to school had been the most arduous task Leone had had to do.

The school year was close to an end — it was the middle of May, after all — and he couldn’t delay it more, not when his guardianship over Giorno was authentic, making the kid officially his son — he had already been, for a month, but having it on paper made it feel real. So Leone had signed up Giorno at the school closest to the station, if only so that he could go around during his free time to make sure nothing happened while he wasn’t around his kid.

Giorno had been terrified of the idea of going to school. He didn’t tell him why, and that was okay; Leone knew he was still getting used to the fact that he could talk about anything with him. So he didn't press for an answer, leaving the option of staying with his grandparents instead if that’s what he wanted. Giorno thought about it, staying silent with his eyes focused on his face, searching for something; and when the kid found it, he relaxed, saying that he would like to try going to school again.

He had to pull a lot of favours and tell too many lies to manage it — with the school year so close to an end, no school wanted to admit new kids, but a twisted story of the boy’s mother having lost custody of the kid because of drug addiction and how he couldn’t take care of him all day with his job was enough to bring to tears the old woman who ran the school Giorno would attend —, but in the end, he did it, walking with Giorno gripping his hand almost as hard as he had done it when they went to visit his grandparents.

When the kind-looking lady who would be Giorno’s teacher asked for his kid to take her hand, Leone didn’t want to release his hand, and even if she was trying to coax his kid to go with her, he looked at him with a blank face but with eyes begging to not let go. It had been painful, and it took almost half an hour for them to let go of each other’s hand, wondering if the feeling of anxiety at seeing Giorno being taken away from him was the “separation anxiety” the social worker had warned him about — he knew it was, and that it would be expected from Giorno, but hell, he also had developed it after an entire month of being together with his kid all day.

Though he didn’t have the time to dwell on it — even if he wanted to, because Giorno’s expression when they had to go their separate ways was enough to make his heart hurt, wanting nothing more than to go back and get his kid away from the school and back home even if that meant ditching work for the day. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t do it, forcing himself to keep going until he was at work, with everyone asking him about his kid, refusing to elaborate for those who hadn’t done a single thing for Giorno before, getting ready to go back to paperwork duty when Matteo came to him with a shit-eating smile on his face, dreading what his partner was about to tell him — he only had that expression when he had done something that Leone wouldn’t want to do, like that one time he volunteered them to distract the chief for a whole day so that everyone could find what to gift his daughters on their birthday.

“What did you do now?”

“Me? Nothing, nothing, I only thought you would like to know you’re back on patrol duty now that little Haruno isn’t around here.”

“His name’s Giorno now.” His partner blinked a couple of times before nodding.

“Yeah, that fits the kid. Anyway, have fun out there, Leone!”

“How many times must I tell you it’s ‘Abbacchio’?” But he was talking to the air since his partner had already gone away.

And that’s how Leone was back to doing the same patrol route he had when he found Giorno, his mind going back to how his kid would be while in school, if he still had that defeated but desperate look in his mismatched eyes. He knew he wasn’t paying proper attention to his surroundings or the time that was going by, walking the route on autopilot, noticing how empty everything looked without Giorno close and watching everything with childlike curiosity.

So, he kept walking and walking, forgetting lunch, thinking that if he kept going around the time would go faster and he could finally pick up his kid as soon as school was over. He only had to wait a couple of hours more, just until it was three, then he could pick up Giorno and treat his kid to some gelato for passing his first day back at school. Yes, he could do that; having a planned schedule helped with the nerves of not knowing a single thing about how he was doing.

His shift would be over at two; only then could he try to eat something. Returning to the morning shift felt strange, after all he had been on the afternoon one when he found Giorno and while being on paperwork duty. But it was okay, at least it was during reasonable hours, and he was exempted from night shifts until Giorno was old enough to take care of himself — or there was an emergency that required him to go out at night, but that was fine, he could always leave Giorno with his grandparents if that ever happens.

Leone was so deep in thought he bumped into a man, apologising for being distracted and resuming his route: only fifteen more minutes and he would be off the clock, he could do it, just another hour and fifteen minutes until he could see Giorno again and make sure that his kid was fine.

“Leone Abbacchio.”

The man knew his name, but Leone didn’t know the stranger at all, so he stopped, turning around and looking at the other with the most serious expression he could muster at the moment.

“Do I know you?”

“No, but I know you. Let’s have a chat.”

“My shift isn’t over, Signore .”

“Your boss won’t mind; he’s an old friend of mine.” The man tipped his fedora, turning around without losing sight of Leone. “There’s a small caffetteria around the corner. I think you’ll like the food there.”

“With all due respect, why should I go with you?”

“Haruno Shiobana.”

Leone frowned at that, following the man who seemed to know his kid — he was suspicious; there was something dangerous about the stranger, and Leone didn’t like him — to a small but cosy-looking café, only sitting down after the man did so, staying closer to the door in case he had to either run away or stop the stranger from escaping him.

The silence was thick and uncomfortable, and even though neither of them ordered at all, a worker came with a couple of glasses of water and a serving of bruschetta that was left in front of him before they were completely alone, eyeing the food as if it had personally offended him, not trusting that it hadn’t been tampered with.

“So, you’re Haruno’s guardian now.” The man started the conversation after long minutes of silence, as if he had been waiting for Leone to take the food as a peace offering of sorts if the disappointed sigh he let out before speaking was to go by.

“How does that concern you?” 

“Kid saved my life. I’ve been looking for him ever since to repay the favour.” The man finally took off his fedora, dark piercing eyes staring at him as if he could see his soul that way. “I learnt while investigating the kid that his parents were horrible. I was ready to threaten them so that they would leave the kid alone when I discovered he wasn’t there anymore.”

“You’re a mafioso.” It should have been obvious from the moment they crossed paths, but if the man in front of him was the chief’s friend as he claimed, then it must be that one capo he tells them they never mess with. “And you’re telling me the kid saved your life? When?”

“Two months ago. Told some grunts from a different gang that I’d gone a different way when I was half-dead in an alleyway behind him. But enough about that, I didn’t come here to talk about how the kid saved me, but to make sure said kid is safe with you.”

“… Excuse me?”

“As I told you, I’ve been looking for Haruno for the past month to repay him for what he did. Kid is under my protection now, so what’s it gonna be, hm? Are you like Haruno’s parents and you’re mistreating him, or are you a decent human being? You can never trust the cops, after all.”

Was that man being serious? Because Leone was one second away from laughing at him. No, screw that, he was laughing like a maniac because of that half-assed threat the mafioso threw his way when he said that Giorno, his kid, his son, was under that stranger’s protection… Oh, it was hilarious. A mafioso, who had only met Giorno once before, was saying he would protect his kid, when it had been Leone who found Giorno. It was Leone who took the initiative to take his kid away from the adults who were mistreating him; it was him who was always there for Giorno when the kid would go through a panic attack or would dissociate, thinking that he was back with the scum who were supposed to take care of him; it was Leone who spent time teaching his kid that it was okay to speak his mind, that he wouldn’t get punished for being curious, that questions were normal and mistakes always happen; it had been Leone who was trusted by his kid to treat the injuries left on his son’s back, even when his kid was trembling with anxiety thinking he would get hit again, cleaning and bandaging with steady hands so that every single injury was properly healed.

It had been Leone who proved social services that he could take care of the kid, that he was the man for the job, that Giorno trusted him enough to want to stay with him; it was him who fed Giorno, who slowly discovered what he liked and what he didn’t, who taught him that food wouldn’t be taken away, that it was okay if he couldn’t finish the plate, that they would save the leftovers for another moment. It had been him, and no one else, who was making sure that Giorno was safe and being taken care of, giving his kid a family and a place to call home; and now here comes this man, and claims he’s the one who will protect his kid now?

Oh, Leone was beyond furious at the man’s audacity.

“Oh, wait, you’re fucking serious.” He stopped laughing, glaring at the man with all the seriousness and rage he was feeling. “Listen, I don’t fucking care if you’re that one capo who the chief always tells us not to mess with, but the kid? He’s my son. You weren’t there for him; I was and still am. You don’t know a single thing about him. Hell, you don’t even know his proper name, because Haruno Shiobana? That’s not it anymore, kid chose a new one himself, so do me and my kid a favour and get fucking lost.”

The mafioso’s answer was to smile and pick up one bruschetta from his plate, eating it as if Leone hadn’t said a thing, speaking again once he was done with the food.

“Okay. I see you care for the kid, but let me tell you something.” The mafioso was serious once again, putting his fedora back on. “People wield otherworldly abilities around, and your kid? He has one. I don’t know how or why he developed it, I only know he does because the day he saved me, the grass grew and grew to hide me from view, and his right hand had a soft golden glow typical to those who have these kinds of abilities.”

“I would ask if you’re shitting with me, but you look like a serious person.” It sounded like a fantasy tale, but deep down, Leone knew it was true. He didn’t understand how, just that he knew that to be the truth. “So, you’re telling me he has superpowers?”

“You could call it that. The proper name is ‘stand’, and only those who have developed one can see them or, well, that’s what I’ve been told. I got mine by accident; that’s how I know your kid has one too.” He raised his glass of water and drank it all in one go. “Just wanted to let you know, so that you can be ready if his abilities ever get out of control. It was nice meeting you, Leone Abbacchio. I’ll be watching for a while, just to be sure that you care for the kid as you claim you do.”

With that, the man stood up and left. Leone looked at his watch: twenty minutes to go before he could see Giorno again. Picking up the last bruschetta on the plate, he ate it in two bites — he didn’t notice he was hungry until he had eaten the food — and then drank the water, leaving so that he could be at the school on time like he promised Giorno in the morning.

He was two minutes late. Two minutes. It wasn’t much, but he was still late, and those two minutes had been more than enough for him to witness something that made him want to hit a kid for the first time since he became an adult.

Giorno’s back was pressed against a wall, his kid trying hard not to tremble while surrounded by three other kids taller than him with mean looks on their faces. The teacher was distracted, talking with two girls who seemed to have gotten into a hair-pulling fight — if their ruined pigtails were to go by — and their respective parents, not paying attention to the boys who thought that intimidating his son would be a fun thing to do.

Oh, not on Leone’s watch.

Slowly, he walked towards the kids, making sure to stay hidden from their sight, catching Giorno’s eye, who looked at him with so much relief in his eyes he wanted nothing more than to run towards his kid and sweep him away. But he couldn’t do that, not yet. First, he had to teach those bullies a lesson, stopping once he was right behind the group of three kids who kept insulting his kid, unaware that Leone could hear every single hurting and mean word they were throwing his kid’s way.

“What’s going on here?”

The three kids flinched, turning around and sprouting excuses, terrified of Leone’s posture and glare that were directed towards them, giving Giorno the opportunity to rush and hide behind him, grabbing his leg as if his life depended on it — and God, did it feel as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as soon as his kid was with him again. A harsher glare was enough to shut those brats up, and even if Leone wanted to calm Giorno down, he was too mad to properly do so, waiting for the bullies' parents to arrive.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait for too long. Three normal-looking men came, stopping when they saw their kids and a pissed-off Leone. He was sure they were planning to grab their kids and run, but he knew he had a terrifying glare when he was angry, and oh, was his rage burning at the moment.

“So you’re the bastards who’re raising bullies.”

“I don’t know what you mean, officer.” One parent was brave enough to speak, sweating bullets as soon as Leone’s glare was directed only at him. “I-i mean… My son would never…”

“So you’re saying I’m blind? That when I arrived I didn’t see these three kids intimidating and verbally berating my son?” The way the kids and their parents flinched was enough for Leone to know they were terrified of him.

“As if you’re any better!” Another one yelled at him with false bravado. “You cops never do things right, so what do you care about some childish fights?”

“So, ‘childish fights’ include racist slurs?” The man was silent, looking anywhere but at him. “You’re saying that ‘childish fights’ are three boys ganging-up on someone who’s smaller than them only because he’s different? Hm? Are you implying that they were just joking and all of them were having fun? That my son wasn’t hurt by words that, let me guess, they heard and learnt from their parents to then repeat as soon as they could?”

“I…”

“That’s what I thought.” Without thinking, he picked up Giorno, his kid hiding his face on his chest, trying to be as small as he could. “I hope you teach your kids better, because if this happens again, I won’t be as lenient. Think of this as a warning: if your brats ever talk to my son like that again, you will regret it for the rest of your lives.”

He threw them one last harsh glare before leaving, only stopping to sigh once they were as far away from the school as possible, coaxing Giorno to look at him. His kid’s eyes were full of tears he refused to let run free, still trembling in his arms but less than when he had picked him up. Carefully, he wiped the unshed tears, getting a small smile.

“Hi, kid. Sorry I was late.” Giorno shook his head, staring at him as if he didn’t have to apologise. “No? You’re saying I wasn’t late?”

“Mhm. Just in time. They didn’t hit me.”

“Kids have hit you?”

“In my other school.”

“Well, if that happens here, you hit them back, okay?”

“But… I dunno.”

“That can be solved with some practice.” Giorno nodded, looking unsure. “But enough of that, I think some gelato is in order after all this.”

“Pistachio and chocolate?”

“Whatever you want, Coccinella.”

Chapter Text

Giorno loved his new life.

Being away from Mama and That Man was the best birthday gift he could have gotten — even though Baba found him a day after his actual birthday, but it was okay, Giorno didn’t mind and Baba didn’t know. He still doesn’t know his birthday. He thought he wouldn’t hope for something special on his birthday ever again, that it was just another date like Mama kept telling him, that there wasn’t a reason to celebrate; but now, he knew that was a lie — he should have known, everything Mama does is lying, she only says the truth when she talks about Father, and she talks about him when she had too much wine, those being the happiest memories he had about her because his Mama would smile at him and pretend to love him instead of wishing for his death.

Giorno also liked his new school.

It was brighter than the one That Man said he should be grateful to go to, full of people with kind looks and accepting smiles — well, all but three boys who decided he was a freak from the moment the teacher said his name —, helping him forget that Baba wasn’t there with him, that he was all alone in a new place and there wasn’t a safe place for him to go hide.

He knew the mean-looking boys would go for him. They always do; they see easy prey in him the same way an eagle would fly down to hunt a rabbit — or a hare. Boys always look at Giorno as if he was a defenseless rabbit, and he tried his best to be silent and to not be seen… But the boys caught him by the end of the day, and Giorno thought that would be it, that he would get hit by his classmates again until he caught Baba's eyes. 

Giorno has loved pink since he's four, but the more time he spends with Baba, the more he likes both purple and gold: they bring warmth, and they mean that Giorno is safe; so when Baba spoke, he ran towards the only adult he knew he could trust — he still didn't know if he could trust Baba's grandparents; they were nice to Giorno and they gave him his plushies, but they could be lying like That Man, pretending to be nice while Baba was around and showing how mean they are if he ever goes away.

But here was Giorno, being left at their home on a Saturday morning because Baba was called to help with something on his day off — he didn’t want to be away from him, but Giorno understood he couldn’t go with him, that the place he was going was dangerous and not good for a kid like him. 

Clutching Rosso — his ladybug plushie, he named him after the color in Italian, thinking of maybe using “Aka” but he had already named his frog plushie “Midori”, and it would be nice to have his plushies named in the two languages he knew — tightly against his chest, he stared at Them, waiting for the scoffs and mean words for staring and not saying a word, expecting anger and snapping the more he tried to read the adults he was left with, trying his best not to flinch while closing his eyes as he saw a hand coming his way.

But there was no pain, only soft caresses on his hair coming from Him, opening his eyes to look at kind purple eyes — the shade was too light to be like Baba’s, but it was… Giorno didn’t have words to describe it, only that he liked what he saw — and a soft smile, and He… No, Nonno was treating him gently, as if he knew what Giorno had been expecting and decided to show him that wouldn’t come his way, that they were like his Baba and wouldn’t be like Mama and That Man, turning to look at Her… No, at Nonna, who had an unreadable expression but nothing in her body screamed “anger” or “danger” towards him, only the same kind of love he could feel whenever he spent time with Baba.

“Is there anything you would like to do today, piccolo?”

There was a place Giorno wanted to visit, but he never asked to go there. 

When Giorno was back with Mama and That Man, he would always run away to a library that was far enough from the house and his old school so that the mean people wouldn’t hurt him. It was close to the nicest part of Napoli, and it was there when Giorno could properly learn Italian.

The first time he went there, he was almost five, running away before That Man could punish him for breaking a glass — he was thirsty and too small to reach the glasses, so the one he went to grab slipped and broke, and both Mama and That Man were too drunk to react but Giorno knew what would happen later, so he ran and ran until his small legs couldn’t keep going. When he stopped, he was in front of the prettiest building he had ever seen, and there was a boy his age looking at him with wide purple-red eyes, clutching a book so hard it looked as if he would swing it at him. Neither moved, they just stared at each other for long minutes until the boy took his hand and dragged him inside the nice building, dragging him around full tables and too many people until they reached an empty table close to a window and without anyone around, only rows upon rows of books and more books.

He said something, but back then Giorno barely understood Italian. Something in his eyes must have made it obvious — probably their weird shape; That Man complained about his eyes the most — because the boy stopped whatever he was saying, frowning at him and thinking hard, tugging on one side of his blond hair — there was something weird about the colour; Giorno wasn’t sure what, but the yellow tint of the boy’s hair didn’t feel right, even less with the almost invisible soft purple surrounding him.

“Pannacotta,” the boy said while pointing at himself, then he looked at him as if expecting something, and Giorno understood what the boy was trying to do.

“Haruno.” That was his name back then, so that’s the name he gave to the boy.

After that day, he would meet Panni — Giorno couldn’t pronounce his full name, and he gave him permission to use what the boy’s grandmother would call him — every weekend so that Giorno could learn Italian. Panni was patient with him, studying whatever his parents told him to while helping him when he noticed Giorno was struggling. Panni was nice, and he was also his first and only friend — if he could call him that; he never asked and he never understood why Panni would spend so much time with him.

But he hadn’t seen Panni since Baba took him in, too scared to ask to go to the same library he went to every weekend and not seeing his friend at their usual table — there were times when Panni didn’t come, and with how long Giorno didn’t go… 

Still, here he was, clutching Nonna’s hand as tightly as he could while looking at the so familiar pretty building that was the library where he and Panni met. Nonno had been the one who wanted to come with him, but something-something about him needing to rest and a hard glare from Nonna was enough for him to stay at their home, saying that he would take care of Rosso while they were out and order something for them to have lunch — he was not trusted inside the kitchen after almost burning it down while boiling water, Nonna’s words.

“You okay, piccolo?” Giorno gave a nod as an answer, tugging Nonna’s hand to guide them inside the library. “If you need to leave, tell me and we’ll go back home.”

Giorno didn’t answer, letting go of her hand and running towards their little secluded space when he heard loud noises coming from there — loud noises inside a library and no one saying a thing was weird, even more if they came from where he and Panni would spend time together learning —, stopping in his tracks when he saw a mean-looking adult screaming at Panni who was looking at the floor with his hands clenched tightly.

There was a resemblance between the mean-looking man and his friend that didn’t click until he saw the adult’s eyes: the purple in them was similar to the purplish tint Panni’s eyes had besides the red. And Panni’s father was screaming at him for… studying in the library instead of at home? He was yelling and disturbing other people in the library just because Panni preferred to study at the library than back at his house? Giorno couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he wanted to intervene, to help his friend and get him away from his father, but the yelling… 

All that yelling was reminding him of That Man, and his mind was slipping away. He was there, but he knew that he wasn’t, that he couldn’t be there. That Man hated libraries; there was no way he would come in here just to look for Giorno and punish him for whatever reason he found. Giorno was safe; he was far away from the people who hurt him; he had a home now, and a person who he could call his family. But something heavy landed on the floor, and Haruno was back inside that house, with a man full of fake kindness showing the beast that he was, making excuses to punish him: he’s too loud, his eyes are creepy, staring for too long makes him a freak, the food wasn’t good enough, he took too long to bring him a beer, he ate when he wasn’t allowed to…

A hand landing on his shoulder brought him out of whatever that was, noticing that his breathing was too loud and fast, closing his eyes and breathing just like Baba taught him, recognising the hand on his shoulder as Nonna’s one, and she was standing in front of him, opening his eyes to see so much fury on her face towards his friend’s father.

Giorno hid behind her, the tension there making him uncomfortable, wanting nothing more than to grab Panni and run away, but that would drag attention to them and the mean-looking man was looking at Nonna as if she was dirt under his shoes — it was the same look that Mama and That Man would give him every single day.

“Aren’t you ashamed of what you’re doing?!”

“With all due respect, Signora, this is between me and my son, so if you could-”

“Oh, is it now?” Nonna’s voice was so cold Giorno felt chills running down his back, his breathing back to normal but still hiding behind her. “You’re disturbing everyone in this library! This is a public space that’s meant to be silent so that people can read, study, investigate and more! Not for you to be screaming at a child for spending time here! So what if your son prefers to study at the library instead of at home? There’s nothing wrong with that!”

“‘Nothing wrong’, you say?” The man laughed. It was cold and as fake as Mama’s laugh when he was trying to get money from people. “Oh, Signora, you have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Everything I see is a man who doesn’t know how to treat a kid, thinking that yelling is the best way to teach when it’s obvious the one at fault is the adult.”

“Well then, I guess I-”

“Haruno?”

Panni’s voice was enough for him to get out from his hiding place, his friend looking at him with so many mixed feelings in his eyes, relief and panic being the two he could read the most. Ignoring the adults, he ran to stand in front of his friend, his small body trembling when the man’s attention was on him, a scowl so deep he almost closed his eyes from how much he was being reminded of That Man.

“You know this kid, piccolo?” He nodded, and Nonna gave him and Panni a sweet smile. “I see, then I have more reasons to scold you for how you’re treating your son knowing that he’s a friend of my grandchild.”

“Pannacotta doesn’t need something as useless as a commoner friend. He’s part of the-”

“Who asked you?” Nonna interrupted the man, who looked awestruck from all the times he had been interrupted so far. “I don’t care who you are, I only care that you’re hurting a friend of my piccolo, and I might be an old lady but I can give you a fight if that’s what you want. So, either you change how you treat your son or believe me I’ll ruin your rich life and reputation before you can beg for forgiveness.”

The man ignored her, walking towards Panni and pushing Giorno to the floor. He fell without being able to do a thing, watching as the man dragged his friend away, and Panni was looking at him with so much sadness he knew that would be the last time he would ever see his friend.

He ignored Nonna’s concerned questions while she helped him to stand up, staying rooted in his spot, watching where his friend had been taken away from him and to never come back.

Giorno didn’t like the library anymore.

Chapter Text

Giorno was quiet.

He was even more silent than he had been when Leone brought him home for the first time, but back then it made sense: they had met not that long ago, so him trying to speak as little as possible was expected, even more from a kid who had been living in an abusive household.

Leone left his son with his grandparents because they had to deal with an assassination case, though it wasn’t a normal one: a kid not much older than Giorno had stabbed his mother multiple times to stop her from killing his father — he had been hit hard on the head with a wine bottle, luckily he had only passed out but that was what triggered the kid to attack his mother — and he kept trying to attack anyone who tried to get close to him and his passed-out father. He was called to help since he was the one with the most experience with abused and traumatised kids — not only because of Giorno, but he had dealt with similar cases in the past alongside Matteo, but his partner was away on a small break because of a family emergency, so that left Leone as the best option to deal with the kid.

It took him the entire morning to calm down the kid, slowly coaxing the kitchen knife he had used out of his small and trembling hands, throwing it away since no one was close to hand it over to, thinking about Giorno so that he could give the kid a reassuring smile, letting out a relieved sigh when the kid finally broke down in tears and let them do their job as cops.

The thing Leone hated the most about his job, besides the corruption and how much civilians seemed to hate them, was when he had to deal with kids who were either victims or witnesses of abuse. He never understood how adults who were supposed to care for their kids would go out of their way to hurt such innocent souls, his hate towards those kinds of adults growing more after Giorno came into his care — and how could he not? His son had suffered for so long that whenever something, or someone, triggered him… With each passing day, Leone was closer to snapping and looking for Giorno’s so-called “parents” and beating the shit out of them, consequences be damned. 

So when he was finally allowed to go home — after all, it was his day off; he only came to help because they were dealing with a traumatised kid —, Leone was more than ready to see Giorno and hear how his stay with his grandparents went. He must admit, leaving Giorno with them had been easier than leaving him at school, wondering all the way back to the house he grew up in if leaving his son with them from time to time would help them both with the separation anxiety they had.

But the moment Nonna opened the door for him, Leone knew something was wrong. She had an amazing poker face, but Leone had been raised by her long enough for him to notice when she was extremely worried. For a moment he thought it might be related to Nonno again, but he could hear him reading out-loud one of his poetry books, and he only read to someone when…

Rushing past Nonna, he was inside the living room in no time. Giorno was unresponsive, squeezing his ladybug plushie to the point it seemed as if it would explode any second now. Nonno was reading to him in that tone of voice that would usually drag people to listen with attention and to be enthralled by what was being read, glancing between the book and Giorno all the time, as if expecting him to react any moment now. There was a plate of forgotten food on the coffee table, and since it was close to his kid, he guessed that Giorno hadn’t eaten a thing, wondering just what the hell had happened while he wasn’t around to shut him down so badly, breathing deeply and slowly as to not panic: he couldn’t lose it, not now, not when Giorno needed him.

“Coccinella?” He tried his best to smile when dull blue-green eyes looked at him, Nonno stopping his reading and letting out a sigh of relief when Giorno reacted to his voice. “You don’t like the food?”

“… Not hungry.” It took him a while to answer, avoiding his eyes just like he did back at the start, as if he were afraid of being punished for refusing food.

“That’s okay, piccolo,” Nonna said while coming into the living room, trying her best to give a kind smile. “I can pack it up and you can take it back to eat it later.”

Giorno didn’t react at all, going back to being unresponsive. Leone walked until he was in front of his son, crouching down and trying his best to catch his kid’s attention, gaining it after long and painful minutes.

“Want to go back home?” Giorno gave him a nod, and he ruffled his hair before standing up and picking the forgotten plate of food from the table. “I’ll pack this up and then we can go.”

Leone didn’t have to say anything for Nonna to follow him, closing the kitchen door and taking the plate from his hands, silently putting it in a container for them to take back home. He wanted to ask what happened so that he could talk with Giorno, but at the same time he wanted to wait for his kid to speak with him. They had been making a lot of progress with him voicing what was on his mind instead of staying silent, and now it was as if everything they had worked on had been erased and they were back at the start. He knew, back when he brought Giorno home for the first time, that things would be difficult and that whatever progress he managed to get might be turned backwards at some point, but he didn’t expect it to happen as soon as he left his kid with his grandparents because his job demanded his attention.

Summer was only a month away, and since he started working as a cop as soon as he was out of high school, he hadn’t taken a single break — only on his birthday because his grandparents insisted he had to celebrate it with them every year — so he had… He doesn’t know how many days of paid leave, just that he could easily take the entire summer off and the chief wouldn’t be able to complain or stop him, not after so many holidays of working so that those who had families could spend it with them — more than once he had been scolded by Nonna for working during the holidays, but back then he didn’t have a kid to take care of, so now he had a proper reason to take those days off.

“We went to the library today.” Nonna gave him a bag he knew was full of her home-made food, enough to last them for a week. “Giorno has- had a friend. He’s the son of a rich man and, well, he took the kid away, and Giorno has been like that since then. I think that kid was his only friend, and now they won’t see each other again. I don’t know it all, Cucciolo, but if you can get him to talk…”

“Don’t worry, Nonna, I’ll talk with him.” She gave him one of her rare smiles, tugging him in for a hug.

“You better, or I’ll beat the shit out of you if my piccolo is still sad when you come to visit next weekend.”

Leone laughed at the half-assed threat, opening the kitchen door and walking back into the living room to pick up Giorno, who seemed to have gained some awareness as he was listening to what Nonno was reading to him, his eyes looking for him as soon as he heard him, standing up to follow Leone without the need to tell him to do so, shyly waving goodbye.

* * *

The instant they were back home, Giorno went to get his frog plushie.

Leone had expected that, knowing how hard it was for his kid to choose which one to bring with him earlier in the morning — it wasn't as if he wouldn't have let him bring both, but Giorno had been stubborn to only bring one and leave the other at home —, so he went to the kitchen to store the food Nonna made for them, almost jumping when he saw Giorno sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, staring at him while hugging his two plushies.

“You won't ask?” Those mismatched eyes he had grown used to seeing full of brightness were even duller than the first time he saw them, making his heart hurt and his anger to flare towards the person who had hurt Giorno.

“You want me to?” When he shook his head as an answer, Leone gave him a smile and sat down in front of him. “Then I won't ask.”

“Why? You want to know.” His face was neutral, but Leone had learnt to read his son — though he still has problems sometimes —, and he knew he was confused.

“But you don't want me to ask, kid. Yes, I'm worried, but I can wait until you're ready to tell me.”

“But why?!” Giorno snapped, and if Leone had to be honest, he's surprised it took the kid this long to snap at him since he brought him under his care. “I don't understand. You're kind, you help, you're warm, you feel like home and more! You're patient, and I don't understand! Panni was like that too, he was my friend; he helped me with Italian, and he… he… Now he's gone! Because he was nice to me and he had a pretty purple aura like your calm green one and-”

Giorno let go of his plushies and his hands flew to cover his mouth, eyes wide with fear as if he had said something he wasn't supposed to. Leone was brought back to the conversation he had with a certain mafioso at the start of the week, something about his son having some kind of “otherworldly abilities” as he had called them, but there was a specific name… Oh, right, stand.

Were those colours he could see related to that stand thing he had, or was it something else? The mafioso said that Giorno had made the grass grow around him, and he had the feeling that stands tended to have only one kind of ability and how it was used depended on the person's creativity.

“What are those ‘colours' you can see, Coccinella?” 

“I… don't know. Some people have them, and I always, uh, feel as if I had to get closer to them? It's… weird, but I'm telling the truth! I can see them since I'm four!”

“Okay, and you say I have one too?”

“It's there but… it's also not? It's soft, and almost trans…parent? As if, uh… It shouldn't but it exists?” Giorno's expression was full of confusion, and his son finally showing emotions made him feel relieved.

“There was a man who told me those are called ‘stands', and that only people who have them can see them, but I can't see those coloured auras like you do.”

“Even tho you have one?”

“But you said it's barely there, so maybe…” An idea came to his mind. It was only a theory, but he barely had any information about the so-called ‘stands'. “Maybe it's because I don't have one, but I could have one.”

“Can I show you?” Giorno’s eyes were gaining back their usual brightness, looking at him with curiosity and expectation.

“Show me what?”

“I don't know how, but I can do… Uh…” Giorno picked up a spare piece of paper that was on the table, staring at it for long minutes until it slowly started to change in size and form, a ladybug standing where the paper had been. “This.”

Leone doesn't know how to explain it, but he felt as if there was something surrounding Giorno when he made the paper change into the ladybug. It was as if there was another presence around, faint but there.

“Giorno, when you do this, do you feel or see something around you?” He cocked his head to the right, a clear sign of confusion. “Can you see an aura on you?”

“Yes. It's golden, and sometimes I can see… golden hands too, but that's it.”

“So mine is green and barely there, yours is golden, and your friend ‘Panni’ has a purple one… How many more have you seen?”

“… Back in Japan, the first one I saw was pink. It was pretty; I love the colour. When Mama brought us here, I saw them around Napoli. Not many, but I remember a mafioso with a dark-brown one.”

They were silent after that, but this time it was normal. Giorno was back to being himself — if still a little shaken after snapping at him and talking about his strange ability —, and Leone couldn’t help but think about all the information he was given: Giorno has — had, if what Nonna and the hints he gave were to go by — a friend who, like him, had a coloured aura that indicates they either have or could have some kind of fantasy world ability called stand; and for some reason his kid could see the auras of those who are connected to that stand thing.

“Uh, Baba?” Giorno had picked up his plushies from the floor, staring at him with something similar to nervousness. “Can I grow my hair long?”

“It’s your hair; you can do whatever you want with it. Ah, but don’t think about dyeing it until you’re older.”

“But… isn’t long hair only for girls? That’s what everyone says…”

“Wait here.”

Leone didn’t have a lot of pictures, but there was one he held dear and had hidden in his room from when he was fourteen and was just starting his goth era. Nonna had been so mad at him when she discovered he was the one stealing her make-up to try different things, and the picture had been taken when, finally, he had managed to grow his hair to a beautiful length and had learnt how to properly do his make-up — it took him a whole year of trial and error, and constantly escaping from Nonna and her scissors so that she could cut his hair.

With the picture retrieved, he went back to the kitchen, sliding it towards Giorno, who looked at it with awe and shining eyes, as if what he saw was exactly what he needed to see.

“I had to cut it short when I started training to be a cop, and I didn’t let it grow long anymore after that.”

“But it looks pretty.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. I think Baba needs to grow his hair again.”

Leone let out a chuckle, ruffling Giorno’s hair and making the black strands messy — he doesn’t know if he imagined it, but he swore he could see light strands of hair hidden among all the black, almost like liquid gold trying to come out. He must have been tired if he was starting to hallucinate so, instead of dwelling on that, he said:

“Well then, I guess we’ll grow our hair together.”

“Mhm, together.”