Boys are Idiots ⭐︎ Guido Mista x Reader

A License to Love

"Are you serious?!" Mista slams the pedal to the metal in abrupt shock, his rinky-dink car speeding down the driveway.

You scream and grip onto the door handle in a moment of panic as the car shoots backwards. "What the fuck?!"

If this is where I die, please God, forgive me for sleeping with Giorno! And for burning my apartment down! ... And for joining the Passione... and for-

"Shit..." Mista quickly recovers, pulling his car back into the driveway and taking a moment to park it, before turning to you. He opens his mouth, about to scold you for keeping such an important piece of information from him when you're literally about to move in with him. But he hesitates as he sees your face, pale with shock from his horrible driving blunder. "Uh... You good?"

You take a deep breath, collecting yourself after the scare. The colour returns to your cheeks as you face Mista, his elbow leaning against the dashboard as he narrows his eyes, inspecting you. "Y-Yeah, you just-"

"Good! Now I can yell at you without feeling bad," Mista lunges towards you and grabs your shoulders, shaking you. It seems that he's making a habit out of the gesture. "Are you actually serious? You seriously burnt your apartment down cooking pasta?! And you want to cook fettuccine at MY house, tonight?!"

"..." You really do feel bad for springing this onto him, but you accidentally smile dumbly out of panic. You catch yourself and quickly try to play it off with a shrug. "It was my first time making it, so..."

Mista yanks his beanie off of his head and huffs in frustration, his long, slightly calloused fingers carding through his little brown ringlets of hair. He has a look of uncharacteristic concern, his eyebrows furrowed slightly as his eyes dart around the car. "Dio mio, arrivederci, my beautiful house..."

Does he already want to kick me out...? I have to say something right now... I already have one foot in the grave, let's not make it two.

"I mean, it's not like it'll happen twice..."

Mista waves a hand in front of you in dismissal, half burying his face in his other hand. "No, no, that's not the problem."

"It's not?"

"Just..." Mista groans, inner conflict blooming while looking at you. But it's short-lived, as the undeniable, genuine concern and fondness in his eyes gently softens his demeanour. He relaxes a little as he puts his hands on his hips, his posture shifting as he appears more laid-back. You begin to wonder what brought about this kind of sudden change in his behaviour. Perhaps the idea of you having nowhere to go was too much for him to handle. "D'ya at least wanna explain to me how you burnt a building down, making pasta of all things?" His eyes meet yours. "Like, I'm no chef, but..."

You laugh sheepishly and look at Mista's face, wondering if you're pushing him too far with your reluctance to go into detail.

I'm probably still on thin ice, after all...

He mutters your name in a special tone, a combination of disappointment yet strong intrigue. When your name leaves his lips, he can't help but smile a little as he looks at your facial expression.

Mista's incredible ability to focus has naturally blessed him with the skill to read the movements and expressions of others like a book, with almost scary precision. It's another thing that makes Mista so dangerous; because to the unassuming eye, he was a carefree, slightly dramatic guy, the type to not get involved in others' business, especially not any of that touchy-feely sappy crap. His personality contrasted with his ability to focus so well that even you, his closest friend, could sometimes forget how futile it is to do so much as lie to him.