Chapter Text
So far Mista had been pretty happy with his decisions to study abroad. It was easier to get into universities, only slightly more expensive and he really felt the international spirit. So many nationalities were hanging around the campus, he heard every language spoken and his English improved significantly. But it wasn’t impossible to make himself feel a bit more at home. After three months he had already found some fellow Italians and they hung out almost every week.
There were some downsides as well though. The walls of his place were crooked and had holes in them and the floor was uneven. It also looked like a crackhouse and was with 90% certainty an old brothel. He also just found out there was a mouse living inside his walls and his heating broke two days ago, which was not ideal, as it was nearing December. His flatmates, who he never met, but only heard in the rooms above and next to him, also never cleaned the toilet even though he himself mostly used the uni bathrooms to save toilet paper. So while his uni life in total was rather nice, his home sucked. Big time.
But that was no reason why it had to suddenly burn down.
That was just unnecessary.
Sure he hated his house, but it was better than nothing. And it was cheap.
Mista was currently outside in nothing more than his boxers and a tank top he had thrown on, when he had climbed on his chair and tried turning his smoke alarm off. Turned out it wasn't randomly going off, but instead there was actually a fire. The smell and the thick haze in his rooms could have been a hint, but it was dark and 3AM and his brain didn’t function fully yet.
Mista had barely understood the firefighter who knocked his door down and yelled at him. Sure, he liked to think he understood enough to live here, but having a foreign language screamed at your face at 3AM when he had just been woken up by a smoke alarm was a different story.
His feet really started to freeze now, hopping from one leg to the other didn’t help anymore, so Mista considered sitting down so at least give his feet a break from the cold surface. There wasn’t a bench or anything nearby though, so he sat on the ground, which wasn’t comfortable and still cold, but at least he could rub some warmth back into his skin.
As he sat down he noticed more people had come out. Probably from the neighbouring houses. There were firemen standing around, but it seemed like the truck was in the neighbouring street. The fire must not be at his house then.
An old man on a bicycle approached him and started talking. When he noticed Mista’s delayed response he asked “English?” and Mista nodded, thankful for the understanding. This was a student city and most people spoke good English, but he was still glad every time someone offered it to him.
“You live here?” Mista nodded again and the man shook his head in thought “In the burning house? Or where?” Mista pointed at his front door, where five firemen were now running up the stairs.
“Oh. Lucky it’s not your house. I saw the fire from the other side of the water.”
Okay, so now Mista knew which house it was. It was the one in the street next to his house. Not directly his neighbours, but if he wanted he could climb over the roofs into the other building. Which was probably what the firefighters were doing now as well.
“Is it bad? The fire?” Mista asked curiously. Maybe if it was small enough so this would be over quickly. It was too dark to see anything, but that meant there couldn’t be big flames, which surely must be a good sign.
The man scratched his stubbly chin. “There were big flames coming out of the windows, but when I was on the bridge to get here, they were already starting to put it out, so it’s tough to say.”
Before Mista could answer anything, a man came up to them and told them they had to move, which they followed. Mista continued standing in his street and the old man rode off on his bike.
His new waiting spot was quickly interrupted again. He hadn’t even found a place to sit down yet, before everyone was told to back up even further, because the entire street would be closed off.
So Mista walked towards the corner and thought about what he should do now. He didn’t have his phone, or his keys, or shoes, blankets, anything. Looking around he noticed the other evacuees had been smarter than him and grabbed their stuff before leaving, but Mista had been too confused and too scared to ask if he could walk back into his room.
No phone meant he couldn’t call any of his friends to ask if he could stay the night. Not that they would answer anyway. Narancia was most likely clubbing anyway and Fugo always had his phone on airplane mode when he slept. Bucciarati might have been an option, but Mista felt slightly more uncomfortable asking him. He was his senior after all and had a scary grumpy boyfriend, who probably wouldn’t be happy to be woken up in the middle of the night.
Not that it mattered anyway. He didn’t have his phone and Narancias' place was the only place that was both close and he knew how to get there. And he was also the only one who probably wasn’t home.
It seemed like waiting was his only option then, so Mista sat down on some stairs, which were slightly more comfortable than the ground. But not less cold. Even if Narancia liked to point out that he was, in his friends own words “thicc”, it didn’t help the cold making its way through his thighs and ass. His nonna always told him to not sit down on cold stone or he would get sick, but when his house was potentially burning down, he didn’t really care about that.
He tried rubbing some warmth into his body again, to no avail, when he heard something behind him. As he turned around, he saw that the door, to which the stairs he was sitting on were leading, had been opened. A young man stood in the doorway and curiously looked at him. Mista was about to stand up, explain the situation and apologise for sitting on his stairs. After all it was a fancy house, so maybe the owner was not happy about a barely clothed man sitting on his property. Even if said man had nowhere else to go.
He stopped though when the man opened the door further and spoke to him. “Are you cold?” Mista nodded, and figured he would try his luck as this stranger didn’t seem too unfriendly.
“Could I maybe borrow a blanket or something please?”
The young man paused for a while before he answered. “Sure, would you like to wait upstairs?”
Mista thought things over for just a second before agreeing. His nonna had also always told him to never follow strangers, especially not into non-public places, but he had broken her other rule already, so who really cared. Besides, while not as short as Narancia or as skinny as Fugo, the man was still smaller than Mista and slender. Mista could probably win in a fight.
If the guy was alone.
But maybe he had backup waiting for him.
Those thoughts were coming a bit too late now, as he was already following this man through the door and up the stairs inside.
The apartment was bigger than he originally thought, as the first floor was nothing but a giant living room with a small kitchen corner and a big table. The other rooms therefore must be on the other floors. He was led into the living room and the stranger offered Mista to sit down on the couch while he was getting stuff for him. Mista did so and looked around.
There was a big flatscreen between shelves full of books, a piano and on every wall were small flat boxes hung up. When Mista squinted he noticed those were bug collector boxes, with loads of butterflies, moths and beetles hung up, needles surrounding them or piercing their bodies. There was also something furry lying on the bookshelves and Mista was starting to think that maybe it was the skin of a dead cat or dog. Maybe coming inside was actually a bad idea. Maybe this guy was a psychopath and was getting a weapon to kill Mista. Maybe he was actually getting backup. Or locking the doors to stop him from running away.
Just as Mista wanted to jump up and plan an escape, the man returned. He handed Mista a pair of woollen socks. “I hope these fit you, they could be too large though.” Mista took the socks, still a bit sceptical if maybe the man was just playing nice. Better to watch him, so Mista let his eyes follow the owner walk through the apartment getting things from the cupboard. “Would you like a cup of tea to warm you up?”
“Yes, please. I’d take something fruity, if you have it.” Mista figured he might as well put on the socks. Even if his doubts were fading, if he had to run away, at least he would have warm feet. The socks were slightly scratchy but mostly soft. Maybe it should feel weird wearing somebody else’s socks, but he figured this entire situation was weird.
“I only had one fruity tea, Apple and figs.And here’s sugar if you need any.” The man placed a steaming mug with a spoon inside on the couch table, as well as a small sugar pot and a plate for Mista’s tea bag.
“Traditional British house, so you’re lucky there’s anything other than black or herbal tea.” The man smiled and Mista could finally sort where he knew this guy's accent from. When he noticed Mista hadn’t responded, the man added: “Oh and in case you were worried about the socks or hygiene. They’re brand new, never worn.” He then quickly got up and walked over to the window, picked up a large blanket and another mug.
Maybe this man had been watching the events outside with all the firefighters.
The stranger placed the blanket next to Mista and sat down cross legged in an armchair.
“Thank you. This is all very kind of you.” Mista said as he wrapped the blanket around himself. He felt slightly bad for the owner of the blanket, because he had not showered today, wanting to do so tomorrow morning, so maybe some of his sweat would get stuck in the blanket.
“It’s nothing. I figured one of the burning houses is where you live? So it’s natural to offer you any help, it’s not like you had any time to prepare.”
Mista laughed at that. “Oh absolutely not. I was basically thrown out of my bed by the firefighters. I was lucky I put this on before I got outside, but now I realize maybe I should’ve picked something warmer. Or have taken my phone. Or maybe even my keys. I hope they don’t lock the doors when they’re done. I hope there will even be a door left.”
A different kind of worry than before was now creeping up Mista’s spine. Maybe this situation was more serious than he realized. The man opposite of him just held his mug in his hands and looked down into it. After a short silence he stated: “I’m sure things will turn out okay. By the looks of it the big flames from the beginning are already partially put out.”
“You’ve seen the flames?” Mista was surprised. Maybe this guy had really been watching things unfold through the window like it was a TV-show.
“Yes, I’ve only noticed them when the fire trucks arrived though. I didn’t have a clear view though. From what it looked like to me, one of the houses next to the water must have caught fire.”
That made sense to Mista. The man on the bicycle had said the same thing.
“I’m Mista by the way. Thanks for letting me wait here.” Mista said with a smile when he noticed the silence stretching out.
“Oh no, Mista. It’s alright. I didn’t save your life or anything, I just offered a warm place. Oh and my name is Giorno.”
“Nice to meet you, Giorno. But you forgot that you also offered me this super tasty tea and these amazing socks.” Mista held up his tea and wiggled his toes.
Giorno didn’t look at him but seemed slightly beaten down. “It’s alright. I told you they were never worn. Just wash them at 40 degrees and give them back. Too hot and they shrink, but 40 should work. Not like he would notice anyway.”
The last sentence was more mumbled to himself but Mista still picked it up. He wondered if it was his place to ask, but maybe talking to a stranger was easier than talking to friends.
“So, those aren’t your socks?”
Giorno shook his head. “They’re from my padre. My dad gifted those to him last Christmas, because his new wife made a pair for everyone in the family, but he hates her and everything she makes. Apparently the three are ‘childhood friends’ and she shot him down when they were teenagers.”
Giorno sighed and Mista tried mentally painting the family tree in his head, but gave up.
“Sounds.. complicated.”
Giorno laughed, or rather he sharply blew air out of his nose. “If only you knew.”
“Well, that’s the good thing being an orphan. No complicated family problems.”
Mista put his now empty mug down and stretched his arms.
“Im sorry, I didn’t know, so I didn’t want to complain.” Giorno looked at him with big bright eyes.
Mista waved off his concern. “No, no, no. There’s no tragic backstory. My parents just dropped me off and left and nobody ever adopted me.”
Giorno’s eyebrows furrowed. “I wouldn’t call that ‘not tragic’. You were still abandoned and alone.”
“Nonsense. If my parents didn’t like me, that’s their loss and the nuns were really nice to me. I was never bored.”
“You were raised by nuns? In a monastery?”
Mista nodded.
“So you’re Christian?”
“Yeah! I’ve been catholic for as long as I can remember.” Mista enthusiastically pulled out his golden cross, the nuns had given him on his sixteenth birthday. “You’re not?”
Blond curls bounced when Giorno shook his head. “Pretty sure I’d get excommunicated when they find out I was conceived before marriage and raised by two men, who divorced and one of them even got remarried. If that’s not a dealbreaker, I’m pretty sure, it’s not okay, when your father is literally called ‘Dio’. Surely that’s some kind of blasphemy.”
“No way.” Mista was speechless.
“It’s true.”
“Well, I would love to say that things have gotten more progressive, but pretty sure that if I would introduce you to the nuns, some of them would get heart problems. Which would suck, because the next hospital is about an hour away by car.”
They both laughed, the atmosphere becoming more and more friendly by the minute.
“Okay, but Is your dad Italian by any chance? I mean, his name, your name. Maybe he’s just a big fan, but..”
“Oh yes, he absolutely is. Full blood Italian, immigrated to England, got a Japanese girl pregnant, got stuck with a kid, moved back to Italy and then after the divorce has been hopping from one European country to another.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to think I know what you meant when you said you had a complicated family? But do you speak Italian, then? If you grew up there? Partially?”
Giormo nodded. “Sure, i know Italian, Japanese, English, and a little bit of German, Dutch and French as well.”
“Wow.” Mista was speechless once again. Just who on earth was this boy with a life like this. “Wait, so we could have spoken in Italian the entire time?” He immediately switched back into his mother tongue.
Giorno nodded and responded in accentless Italian: “Absolutely.”
“And yet you still had me struggle and speak English? Even with my horrible accent? You must have heard where I was from.”
“I didn’t know. I don’t think I ever heard an Italian speak English other than my padre. And he spoke without an accent. I noticed you weren’t a native English speaker and certainly not from here, but other than that I had only a rough idea where you were from.”
That did make sense. Maybe Mista shouldn’t have been so quick and presumptuous. But before he could say an apology, the blond continued.
“Besides, I don’t think your accent is horrible. It’s on the stronger side sure, not the best but certainly not the worst either. Overall I think it’s rather cute.”
Cute? Mista furrowed his brows. That was new. Who on earth though accents were cute, although the French tourist visiting occasionally had an accent that sounded really nice and-
Mist stopped his thoughts. Maybe it was due to the lighting but it almost looked like Giorno’s cheeks and ears were slightly darker. Was he flirting with him? Is that why he called his accent cute?
‘Get a grip, Mista. He’s not flirting with you. You just wish he was because he’s pretty and you haven’t dated anyone since you came here.’ His inner voice said.
Which was a good point. Giorno was very handsome, with his elegant hands and long fingers or his golden locks or his eyes, that shifted somewhere between blue and green, whenever he moved his head and the light hit him in a different angle and his-
Okay, that was enough thinking in that direction. He should really get his dating game started. Maybe check out the app Narancia had been talking about.
His thoughts were interrupted when Giorno got up and looked down through the window. “What’s up?” Mista asked and detangled himself from the blanket to get a look as well.
“Seems like the firemen are saying something important to the neighbours, let’s get down.”
Leaving the blanket upstairs, Mista walked behind Giorno down the stairway, through the door and down the stone steps he had been sitting on before. Giorno was already talking with the fireman, so Mista waited, rubbing his arms, which were now exposed to the cold air again.
After his conversation was over Giorno turned around and frowned.
“Why didn’t you bring the blanket down?”
Mista shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “I forgot?”
A sigh escaped Giorno’s lips. “The hotel down the street offered their foyer to everyone who can’t yet come back to their houses. Once they’re done putting out the fire, they’ll go there and if anyone can get back, they will let the people there know.”
Mista nodded. That made sense, he was grateful Giorno had offered him a space to stay and wait for a while, but collecting all the neighbours in one space made more sense for any official announcements.
He sat down and started pulling off his socks.
“What are you doing?”
Mista looked at Giorno who was still frowning, or maybe he was frowning again?
“I thought I could give them back already, so you don’t have to worry about me stealing your stuff. Or your fathers stuff.”
“Nonsense.” Giorno shook his head and even if his frown disappeared his voice was still stern. “Your feet will get cold. You already forgot the blanket upstairs, so just take them for tonight. If you have to sleep at the hotel, at least your feet will be warm.”
Mista was about to tell Giorno that he despised sleeping with socks on, but decided against it in the last second. Instead he just accepted the offer.
“Do you know where the hotel is?”
“The one down this street, right?” Mista asked and Giorno smiled.
“Exactly. Stay safe Mista, and you don’t need to hurry with the socks. Just return them after your laundry day.”
Mista gave a big grin back. “I will. Thanks again for helping me.” He waved and Giorno also did a small wave. His hand and his face were almost glowing from the cold light of the street lanterns.
When Mista turned around and started to walk off he heard a quiet “Good night, Mista.” And it made his insides feel warm despite the cold biting at his naked skin.