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The nights in southern Italy are never truly quiet.
From the bushes outside, insects hum in an endless chorus, while the summer wind weaves itself through the tall trees like part of a symphony. Even inside the cramped little apartment—where Bucciarati’s bodyguard team is practically piled on top of each other out of fear of an ambush—Mista can still clearly hear someone snoring, or Abbacchio grinding his teeth in his sleep.
And though Mista would never admit it, he’s the kind of guy with a ridiculously simple mind. Because of that, he’d easily win first place in a contest for “who falls asleep the fastest” among them. Narancia complains about it all the time—he swears he hates Mista for it, especially when he tries to tell him something before bed, only to find Mista already snoring like a log.
But tonight is different.
Not only did Narancia fall asleep before him—almost the entire team did.
As for why… Mista himself isn’t quite sure. Maybe he ate too much earlier and his stomach still feels uncomfortably full. Maybe the adrenaline from their mission this afternoon hasn’t worn off yet, leaving his mind wide awake.
Or maybe—if he’s being honest—the reason is the blond kid lying beside him right now.
Giorno Giovanna, fast asleep, clinging tightly to Mista’s arm like a kitten.
And if Mista says he doesn’t like watching Giorno like this—peaceful, almost like a normal seventeen-year-old—then he’d be lying.
But that also means he can’t move freely the way he usually does. Not when he’s worried about disturbing Giorno’s sleep. So instead, he finds himself silently blaming the rest of the team, sprawled all over the place with no sense of space whatsoever.
Definitely not Giorno.
After going back and forth in his head, Mista reluctantly decides that, for both their sakes, it’d be better if he just moved somewhere else. Let Giorno have the bed, sleep comfortably. And maybe he can finally stretch out for once.
Carefully, he slips his arm free from Giorno’s grip, grabs a pillow, and makes his way over to the sofa near the door.
At 180 centimeters tall, Mista’s lanky frame is clearly not built for a mid-sized couch. He keeps turning and shifting—partly out of discomfort, but mostly because his mind refuses to let go of the image of Giorno holding onto him earlier.
Mista finds that he… kind of likes it.
As much as he hates to admit it—even if they’re both guys—he doesn’t mind the way Giorno presses his soft cheek against him. Or the way Giorno looks when he sleeps, so different from his usual, polished self. No carefully styled curls, no composed expression—just soft blond hair falling naturally, his body half-lost in an oversized shirt and loose sleepwear.
At night, Giorno feels like a completely different person.
Softer. Warmer.
Cute enough that the first time Mista saw him like this, he nearly blurted it out loud.
Lost in those thoughts, Mista doesn’t even realize when he closes his eyes. Just as he’s about to drift off—
Something heavy settles on top of him.
Half-awake, he cracks his eyes open—and nearly yells, if not for a small hand quickly covering his mouth.
Guido Mista cannot believe what he’s seeing.
Giorno Giovanna is lying on top of him, half-asleep.
“Y-You… Giorno, stop messing around. Go back to bed.”
Mista whispers, trying to sound firm, but Giorno doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. He lazily opens one eye, a faint, teasing smile tugging at his lips.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Giorno murmurs, like it’s no big deal at all.
“Whose fault is that, leaving me behind?”
He pauses for a moment—then smiles, just a little more mischievously.
“I sleep better when I’m with you.”
Mista feels his face heat up instantly. Since when did Giorno start saying things like that? He’s willing to bet Trish had something to do with it.
“What are you even saying…?” Mista frowns, trying to sound annoyed—but he doesn’t actually move to push Giorno away.
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Giorno replies, resting his hands on Mista’s chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I need to hold onto you to sleep. Otherwise, I’ll probably be awake all night.”
“You didn’t even ask for permission,” Mista mutters, pretending to be irritated.
“Then I’ll just go find someone else to hold.”
Giorno starts to push himself up, as if he’s about to leave—but Mista’s arm is already around his back, pulling him right back where he was.
Giorno smiles, pleased. He hit the mark.
“You’ve gotten pretty used to doing whatever you want, huh?” Mista grumbles, trying to sound serious, even as his actions betray him completely. “You’d better take responsibility for that.”
A quiet laugh escapes Giorno as Mista lifts him up and carries him back to the bed—because there’s no way that flimsy sofa could fit both of them anyway.
Back under the blankets, Giorno doesn’t settle for just Mista’s arm this time. He buries himself into Mista’s chest, wrapping around him completely. Mista responds in kind, an arm around Giorno’s waist, chin resting on soft blond hair as he breathes in the faint scent of shampoo.
They all use the same one.
So why does Giorno smell so much better?
With that thought drifting lazily through his mind, Mista finally feels sleep catch up to him—lulled by warmth, softness, and the quiet presence of the boy in his arms.
And just like that, they fall asleep together.
__
Morning arrives quickly—and loudly—when the others notice something off.
Narancia, with curiosity that rivals a five-year-old, is the first to catch on. He yanks the blanket off Mista and Giorno in one swift motion, letting out a dramatic yell.
“Bruno! Everyone, look! Mista’s almost crushing Giorno to death!”
“You’re an idiot. He’s breathing just fine,” Fugo snaps from the side, already awake enough to smack Narancia on the head.
“Oh? I don’t remember it being that cold last night,” Abbacchio drawls, unable to resist chiming in as he eyes the two tangled together. “Think we should start saving up for a private room for these two?”
Bruno quickly realizes everyone’s looking at him now. He lets out a long sigh, then shakes his head firmly.
“No. They’re staying together with the rest of us. If we give them their own room, who knows what they’ll end up doing.”
That earns a round of laughter from the entire group—loud enough to wake Giorno.
He slowly sits up, gently removing the arm wrapped around him. For a moment, he looks at the others, confused by their reaction—then glances down at Mista, who’s still fast asleep.
A small smile finds its way onto his lips.
“Hey, Giorno! You’re awake? Sleep well?” Narancia blurts out, barely holding back his laughter as he wipes at the corners of his eyes.
Giorno knows exactly what they’re laughing about.
And he doesn’t bother hiding it.
“Of course,” he replies calmly. “Mista’s warm, after all. It’d be a waste not to.”
That answer only sends the room into louder laughter, making everything all the more obvious.
As for Mista—
He’s still sound asleep.
Maybe he’s dreaming about taking Giorno out for food, or walking together along a sunlit beach with white sand and golden light. But wherever he’s going in that dream doesn’t really matter.
Because when he wakes up, Giorno will be right there—asking to sleep beside him again when night falls.
And for both of them,
that’s already more than enough.