The beautiful illustration from https://vk.com/apfellkek to my GioDia fic
“How long have I been here?” one day Diavolo asked.
He was sitting on a bed, naked, a counterpane hided the red fingertips on his body. At least, he wasn’t disallowed to hide under it in Giorno’s presence after sex. He had come a few minutes ago, and his heart was still racing. Diavolo wasn’t able to differentiate between day and night with no windows available, yet he could count days by sleeping as now it was long and uninterrupted due to soporific. But counting day didn’t help him to acknowledge its total number; he didn’t even remember when exactly Giorno let him out from cycle. Everything had been so muddy, Diavolo remember feeling dizzy, his head so heavy, Giorno’s hands on his body. Diavolo must have been pumped with some drugs after his releasing, and that’s why he had found that little dot on his neck.
A what was before it…White and black. Death. Real death. Giorno had killed him, but Diavolo didn’t remember the pain. He remembered nothing but his own terror. It was like massive hyper realistic nightmare, fuzzy and nauseous, living in the darkest places of his mind.
"Twenty-three days," Giorno, already dressed, stood in front of the bed, his hair wasn’t even disheveled, but cheeks had a little flush on them.
Diavolo looked up at him, avoiding to look right into his eyes, as always. He didn’t expect to get an answer, actually. G.E.R. had never told him the truth, remaining silent or, and that was worse, confusing him by telling him that the cycle didn’t have the beginning and Diavolo's past life never existed. Diavolo begging, he ignored him. Roots of his lie were long enough to find the way to Diavolo’s mind. It seemed to him that their remnants were still here dried and thin.
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