“ ever kiss in the rain? ”
Mista never quite knew what to say when Giorno got like this.
The day was rainy and dreary, the damp clinging in a clammy embrace that made Mista yearn for the sun. He moved through the uncomfortably clean expanse of Giorno’s bedroom, lingering at the door that separated the room from the balcony, upon which his friend stood. It was raining and cold and altogether unpleasant, but Giorno didn’t seem to care. He never seemed to care, when he got like this.
“GioGio,” Mista called softly, rapping his knuckles on the wall to at least say that he knocked. “GioGio, do you want to come inside? You’re going to get sick if you stay out there with the weather like this.”
“I’ll be fine,” his friend murmured without turning, his eyes locked on the far horizon. The view was normally quite striking, and Giorno even more against it, but with the sky gray and Giorno pale and wet, it only looked morose. Mista bit his lip and braced himself, diving into the rain. As miserable as the day was, he wasn’t going to let Giorno suffer it alone.
“Awfully chilly out here, isn’t it?” Mista tried, and Giorno turned towards him politely. His hair was down, he noticed, taking in the rare sight of Giorno with loose curls and unstyled bangs. They hung low, nearly obscuring his eyes.
The silence grew and Mista shifted awkwardly, growing colder and colder the longer he soaked. The rain wasn’t heavy, but persistent, sinking through his simple shirt and jeans within minutes. How long had Giorno been out here? His pale lips were tinged slightly blue, his skin as white as marble. “Tell me something Mista,” Giorno spoke suddenly, shattering the silence, his eyes all the bluer in the wash of gray around them. “Have you ever kissed in the rain?”
He wasn’t cold anymore, that was for sure. Mista’s cheeks burned and he tightened his grip on the balcony rail, wishing he had worn his hat. He felt naked without it. “No, boss, can’t say that I have,” he said, and he was proud of himself for sounding unaffected when he felt anything but. “Why? Have you?”
Giorno shrugged his narrow shoulders and sighed, the loose waves of his hair curling and sticking to his damp skin. Even soaking wet, he was ethereal. “Perhaps,” he said, as if the answer wasn’t important. “Does it matter much, you think? Where you kiss someone. Is it more romantic to kiss in the rain, when soaking wet? Do they kiss because the day is so dreary that it is the only thing to brighten it?”
“Why are you thinkin’ ‘bout this so hard?” Mista laughed, because he couldn’t help it. “Some might think it’s awful romantic of you to sit out here in the rain thinkin’ ‘bout this sorta stuff. Deep thoughts, boss.”
He stopped laughing a moment later, the moment Giorno smiled at him. It wasn’t tight or polite, nothing like the smiles he fed to the servants or underlings. This one was bright, open, like seeing the clouds part ways to let through the waiting sun. Mista felt breathless and weak, and Giorno brushed back a lock of his loose hair, as beautiful as Venus birthed from the sea foam. “I suppose the rain makes me maudlin,” Giorno said, his sky blue eyes fixed now on Mista and Mista alone. “I appreciate your company, Guido. Thank you for humoring me.”
He felt weak. So weak. “Anytime, boss,” he managed to say, wishing he could close those last few inches of space and show Giorno why people kissed in the rain. “Anytime.”
Maybe next time, he whispered to himself. Maybe next time.
