Asphodel

Chapter 4

   "Gio?"

     Giorno rolled over on the stump, his eyes meeting Mista's. More than a month had passed since their first meeting, and each week they ended up spending more time together than the last. They had arrived to their clearing a while back, wanting to get away from people and into the trees. They came to this place often, as nobody owned it, and often stayed late into the night while they talked.

     "We should buy this area." Mista said, his arms spread out over the stump. One hand rested on top of Giorno's chest which the boy held tightly in his own, their fingers intertwined.

     "And do what?" the florist scoffed. "It's better the way it is, belonging to nobody."

     "Kinda like us, huh?" when Giorno turned to look at him questioningly he continued. "Ever since I took care of your dad, you've been free to do what you want. And I cut contact with Passione and Bucceratti, and although if you wanna get technical I guess I'm still a part of Cerniera, I don't really owe anything to them." he sighed happily as he closed his eyes. "We're free, completely free."

     Giorno hummed thoughtfully. "Guess you're right." he said scooting a bit closer to Mista. It was dark, the trees no more than stiff shadows that formed a wall around them. Fireflies blinked on and off, casting their reflection into gaps in the greenery that coated the water. The night insects were loud, but neither of them minded.

     "You think they'll ever find you?" Giorno broke the short silence that had followed his last comment. Mista sighed.

     "I hope they don't. I'm thinking about changing my name, should have done that a while ago."

     "I don't know, 'mixed salad' is growing on me." Giorno said, laughing as the gangster elbowed him playfully in the ribs. "But then what? From what I can tell, just changing your name wouldn't be good enough."

     "Leave." Mista said simply. "Run away somewhere, find a place they can't get to me. Maybe even out of Italy." he turned to look at Giorno. "I'd like it if you came."

     "Me, run away?" Giorno said, disbelieving. "I couldn't."

     "Why not? It's not like you have much of a life here. If we left we could start from scratch, without anyone to tell us what to do." Mista's voice was wistful, Giorno could tell he had thought about this more than once. "We could make our own life, like they do in movies."

     "But what about the flower shop?"

     Mista scoffed. "We can start one, if you want. Make it better than the one your dad runs, maybe buy him out." He smiled as Giorno laughed at this, the sound clear and real. "If I'm not gonna be in the Mafia I might as well take up something useful."

     "Mista, the ex-gangster, selling flowers." Giorno giggled and Mista made an indignant noise.

     "I think I'd be quite good, actually!" Mista protested, causing the boy laying beside him to laugh harder. "I'll have you know that I have quite an eye for color."

     "Sure you do." Giorno replied, his voice horse.

     Giorno no longer felt the need to cover his bruise marks. They were visible now, blending into the similar-toned night that spread around them. "Battle scars" Mista liked to call them, and he had learned to accept them as a sign of his strength. Mista had taught him to accept a lot of things about himself, giving him the support he had needed for years. As they lay there, silently listening to the world around them, Giorno shifted his body until it was nestled closely against Mista's side, the other boy's warmth soothing in the cooling night air. Without speaking, Mista moved his arm so that it wrapped around the florist's waist, turning his head so they could better look at each other. They didn't often get this close, Giorno seemed hesitant to move their relationship into something more than it already was. But occasionally something similar to this would happen, like the kiss that he had given him almost a month ago. Every muscle in Mista's body relaxed as Giorno pressed tightly against his side.