JJBA ONESHOTS

(GioMis)Flowers under Midnight

<minor spoilers for pt.5 character personalities>

Description: Mista grins and Giorno feels like he's melting—it's that kind of problem.

-Or

Giorno thinks he has a problem, Trish calls it love. 

Trigger warning: contains a relationship between two male characters. If you have an issue with this, I recommend you don't read. 

---

   Giorno thinks he has a problem.

He isn't exactly sure what the problem is, though. All he knows is that sometimes when he's working he'll think of Mista, and he won't stop thinking of Mista. And all of a sudden his papers are scattered all over the place because he can't focus and he can't work and it's frustrating.

The young don listlessly studies the garden from his balcony, half between somewhere and nowhere. Not quite present and not quite gone. His desk sits unattended behind him, pen broken out of frustration.

If he knew what the problem really was, maybe he could stop it.

But all he knows is that when Mista touches his shoulder late at night and tells him to stop working, he feels less frustrated and more flattered. Flattered? Maybe that isn't the right word, or maybe it is. He wouldn't know. It feels good, though.

Speak of the devil and he should come, because suddenly someone is approaching Giorno's stationary form from behind. The blonde twists his body to look at the bodyguard.

Mista squints his eyes; adjusting to the bright midday light. Under the sun, his olive skin glows like bronze. The man purses his lips—a mix of red and pink. Pretty. His dark chocolate eyes focus on Giorno. "Ooo! Hey Gio! Wat'cha doing?"

Giorno knows the problem isn't anything exactly tangible; it's not like a landslide, or a stubborn politician. In a way, this problem is even more difficult than the takeover of Passione. At least that was something he could reach for, know how to attain.

The blonde shrugs. "Nothing much." He drags his eyes off Mista and looks at his garden below. "The roses are in full bloom."

"Hmm..." Mista hums, deep and light and nice. His strides over the railing, arm lighting brushing against Giorno. The man looks down and lets out a whistle. "Woah! They really are in full bloom! That's, what, a hundred?"

This is far more difficult, because even if he tries, it seems really quite impossible to grasp. He can't brush his fingers up against it, he can't....

Giorno nods, lightly. "Probably," he pauses, "maybe more." He wonders how Mista would look with roses—any flowers—in his hair. Mista would look good in red, or pink, he thinks.

The problem has to do with feelings though, he knows that.

"Man, you really did go all-out on the roses, huh." Mista stretched, turning his warm chocolate eyes back to Giorno.

"Yeah," the breath gets caught in his throat, "I suppose I did."

Mista grins and Giorno feels like he's melting—it's that kind of problem.

-

Giorno knows he needs to deal with his problem.

At first he simply tries to forget about it, or ignore it, he takes a long walk through Naples, and tells himself this is what he needs to focus on. He meets with a few politicians and tells himself this is what's important.

He closes his eyes, and thinks that Mista's laugh is really quite nice.

He opens his eyes, swallows his pride, and realizes he needs help.