Chapter Text
Bucciarati
Things are different, afterwards. The air doesn’t feel the same on his skin, doesn’t sound the same in his ears, but he can feel it in the first place and, well. He’s alive.
Bucciarati wonders if he would have done things differently, in the final battle, if he’d known he would survive after all. There’s no point in wondering, he supposes. He looks to his left, at Mista feeding his stand some pasta. Naracia sits just past him, chattering away at Abbacchio, who just looks tired. He turns his head, making eye contact with Bucciarati, and smiles. Bucciarati smiles back, then glances to his right, at Giorno in his new outfit and Trish picking at a chip in her nail polish. Fugo is silent, staring slightly off to the side. That’s another thing that’s different, Bucciarati supposes. Fugo hasn’t been the same since Bucciarati betrayed Diavolo. Giorno was quick to invite him back to the organization, but it’s obvious he’s not comfortable the way he was before. Bucciarati hates it.
“Oi, Bucciarati,” Mista says, pointing a fork at Bucciarati’s plate. “You feelin’ alright?”
Bucciarati glances down at his plate. He notes that he hasn’t eaten much of anything.
“I’m fine, sorry. I got lost in thought.” Bucciarati stabs a piece of asparagus on his plate and takes a bite. Mista goes back to feeding his stand, seemingly satisfied.
--
Giorno
Giorno leans back in his chair and sighs, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. The air in his room is just a few degrees too cold, chilling the surface of his skin. He watches the shadows play over the smooth, painted surface of the room, the darkness turning the cream color a dirty grey. He leans back forward and glances at the clock. It’s a little past three in the morning, the hands of the clock barely visible against the face.
Giorno rubs his eyes. He should probably get to sleep soon, but he’s not even close to being finished with his work. He needs to make note of the orders he plans to give out in the upcoming weeks, and the projects he’s assigned to each capo. He also needs to record the results of the projects that have already been completed, a job that gets longer and longer each time as more and more projects are completed under his leadership.
Honestly, Giorno is starting to wonder how Diavolo did all of this and had time to meticulously hide his identity. From what Bucciarati has told him, Diavolo left a lot more of the decisions to the capos. Giorno can’t get away with that, though, not if he wants to change what Passione actually does in the cities it has a presence in.
His computer screen blinks off, probably from inactivity, and Giorno suddenly finds himself blinking in complete darkness. Golden Experience appears beside him reflexively, glowing just enough that he can see the shadowy form of his desk in front of him. He jiggles the mouse, and his computer screen flickers back to life. He sighs. Maybe he’d be more productive if he went to sleep now and worked more in the morning.
Giorno stands up from his chair, yawning. He’ll grab a glass of water, then go to bed, he thinks.
He walks out of his room and down the stairs, the smooth wood cool against his bare feet. He’s wearing casual clothes, just a button down shirt and a comfortable pair of slacks. It’s about as close to a t-shirt and sweatpants as he likes to get, but it still feels weird to be wearing them after a week of wearing his purple suit. Maybe, once he’s all caught up with work, he’ll go shopping and pick up some new clothing. Goodness know she has the money now. Abbacchio or Bucciarati might go with him, even. He’d normally ask Fugo, but... Fugo still didn’t meet his eyes when they talked.
Giorno steps into the kitchen, jerking back in surprise as he sees a form in front of him. He must make some kind of noise, because the figure turns towards him, revealing long lavender hair.
“Oh, Giorno.” Abbacchio straightens up, a mug of steaming liquid in his hand. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Yes,” Giorno says, taking the excuse as it’s offered, “I thought it would help if I got some water.”
Abbacchio nods. “I had the same thought. If you’d like some tea, there should still be hot water in the kettle.” He turns and walks out of the kitchen, towards the first floor bedrooms. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Giorno says, watching Abbacchio fade into the shadows. He walks over to the stovetop and holds his hand next to the kettle. Sure enough, the metal surface emanates heat. Giorno fishes a mug out of the cabinet, setting it down on the cold granite with a quiet thunk. He pulls a bag of tea out of the container, glancing at the label and squinting to see what it says in the dark. It reads “Earl Grey,” and Giorno sighs, opening the packet and dropping the tea bag into his cup. The caffeine will help him stay awake, and he really should get some more work done before he goes to bed.
--
Giorno wakes up with his cheek pressed into his desk, the wooden surface sticky and warm with the heat of his breath. He’s not entirely sure when he fell asleep, but he peels his face off of the desk and squints at his clock with bleary eyes. It’s a little past nine now, and judging from the voices rising from downstairs, everyone else is already up. He rubs at his face, resisting the urge to groan. He knows he was up until at least five, but he still has stuff to do, and he really should have just pulled an all-nighter.
Either way, he’s up now. Giorno stands up and tries to brush the wrinkles out of his shirt. He’ll change after he gets some espresso and something to eat. He steps out of his room and heads down the stairs, ignoring the way his vision is still a little blurry.
When he steps into the kitchen area, everyone turns to look at him. He can see Narancia brighten up a little and the small smile that forms on Bucciarati’s face, but he also notes the way Fugo doesn’t meet his eyes. He ignores it, moving toward the espresso machine.
“Morning, Giorno!” Narancia leans over towards him, watching him make espresso. “How’d you sleep?”
“I slept well, thanks. How about you?” Giorno loves the smell of espresso, dark and rich and chocolatey.
“Pretty good! Did we wake you up?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Giorno lies. He needed to get up anyway.
“Oh, good! Me and Fugo were arguing about whether we should make steak for breakfast or not,” Narancia says, with a completely serious face.
“Oh.” Giorno grabs his espresso and takes a sip. “Did you settle the argument?”
“No,” Fugo interrupts from across the room. “We didn’t.”
Giorno blinks, and Narancia turns to face Fugo again. “What?! You said I could have steak if I made it myself! That’s pretty settled to me!”
Giorno tunes the two of them out and concentrates on drinking as much espresso as he can in the shortest amount of time possible. It’s warm and smooth, which wakes him up even before the caffeine hits. It’s nice, and he gets another shot brewing so he can take one back to his room. He almost jumps out of his skin when Abbacchio seemingly appears out of thin air beside him.
“Long night?” He asks, eyeing Giorno’s second shot of espresso. He’s holding what looks like a cup of tea in his own hand, and Giorno can smell the faint aroma of bergamot.
“A bit. It’s to be expected, though.” Giorno smiles congenially at Abbacchio and sips his espresso.
“Hmm.” Abbacchio has an expression that Giorno can't read, as usual. “Are you still adjusting to being the boss?”
Giorno nods and downs the rest of his espresso. “Yeah, I am. It has more of a learning curve that I’d thought.”
“Let us know if we can do anything to help,” Abbacchio says, and he walks past Giorno smoothly. “I’m going to go out and get some groceries.”
“Okay, thanks!” Giorno says, but Abbacchio is already out the door. He glances back over to the others, but they don’t seem to be paying attention. Narancia and Fugo are watching a slab of meat sizzle in a pan, the smell filling the room. Bucciarati is eating a pasty and reading a newspaper, with Trish sitting next to him painting her nails. Mista is feeding his stand from a small loaf of bread, ripping off fluffy chunks and passing them out in sequence. His stand is fighting over the pieces, punching each other in the face and squealing. Giorno smiles and steps out of the kitchen. He should get some work done.
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