Asphodel

Chapter 2

     It was sunny out, the brightness characteristic of this kind of Italian summer. Flowers bloomed along the paved road that Giorno was making his way down, enjoying the feeling of the breeze on his skin.

     It was a Sunday, just barely noon, two days after his encounter with Guido Mista. He caught himself wondering how the boy was doing sometimes, drifting off in thought as he imagined what kind of life he led. As much as Giorno loved flowers, he loved the idea of adventure more. Growing up without parental support and almost no friends caused him to take up reading, which he did almost consistently, plowing through an average of a book a day, sometimes two on weekends. He'd often stay up late into the night, flashlight in hand, as he rushed to finish a particularly exciting novel.

     As a result, a part of Giorno longed for the type of life he imagined Mista leading. He knew next to nothing about what he did, but his brain had put together scraps and pieces unconsciously, trying to figure out what exactly he'd done to get so many people out for his life. Mista was daring, wild, and so exciting, a completely different kind of person than Giorno was used to and one that his parents would never approve of, which just heightened it even more.

     Giorno was thinking of these things as he walked down the hill, ignoring his close surroundings- cars usually didn't drive on these side streets until later in the day- when he was almost launched to the side as some thing came careening down the road, out of control.
     That thing happened to be Mista riding a bike. He was going faster than a bike should go, the tires screeching as he gripped the brakes to stop the speeding vehicle. Kicking out the kickstand, he rushed over to where Giorno had landed, dazed and not knowing quite what had just happened.

     "Excuse me!" Mista knelt down, shaking him in a panic. "Are you okay? Should I call someone?" He stopped suddenly as Giorno rolled over, immediately recognizing who he had almost killed. "Giorno!"

     "Mista..?" Giorno groaned, trying to get his eyes to focus. "What the fuck-"

     "Sorry about that." Mista said sheepishly. "I usually go fast down hills, I didn't expect anyone to be walking on it." He helped Giorno into a sitting position, checking him over for injuries. "Especially not you."

     "I was just on my way to lunch." Giorno said, still a bit dazed. "I don't have work today."

     "I'll pay for your lunch. In apology for almost running you over." Mista pulled out a leather wallet and flipped through the bills. "And I guess I'll get something as well, if you don't mind me having lunch with you."

     Giorno smiled. "Not at all."

    The restaurant Giorno chose was known as Caffè Blu. It was one that Giorno had been to quite a few times, enjoying the relaxing atmosphere on his days off. It was a nice place, small in size, with the antiqued walls painted a deep shade of navy blue. Fishing equipment hung as decorations on the wall, drawing its theme from the lake stationed directly outside. They chose outdoor seats, the air perfumed with the fragrance of flowers. Willow trees were draped around the edge of the water, their branches barely touching the glassy surface, and the sound of crickets sounded from the trees.

     "What a nice place." Mista sighed, relishing in the beautiful weather. "I don't think I've been here before."

     "I come here fairly often." Giorno said, scanning the menu. "It's a nice place to take a break."

     "I can see." Mista's gaze had settled on Giorno, watching how the sunlight shimmered through his hair. He had left his apron back at the florist's and was clad in only his collared white shirt and a pair of dark grey shorts, his slim frame giving the fabric a draped look that reminded Mista of a Greek statue. His golden hair, which was previously tied back in a ponytail, now hung draped over his shoulders in loose curls, his bangs pinned in their usual circles. He reminded Mista of home, although Mista had never really had a home, and he didn't quite know why. There was something about the boy that seemed so in place, as if anywhere he went he would fit in immediately. The way he talked was comforting and almost warm, a tone Mista hadn't heard used with him for years.