Useless Late Night Thoughts

"Goodnight."

He ignored Mista's and Fugo's response, immediately closing the door behind himself, he sighed: it had been a long day.

Being the leader of Passione was... much harder than what he initially thought it would be. At first it had been difficult to gain respect from the capos and the other members of the organization since he was only fifteen, and many tried to kill him.

In vain, all their attempts were useless, of course.

Even though he had defeated and gained the trust and loyalty of many, that didn't make his job less stressful.

Not only the responsibility over hundreds, thousandths of lives was nerve-wracking, but also the fact that, contrarily to what he believed in years ago, dismantling the drug deal of the whole organization in the way he had imagined it was impossible: buying and selling narcotics had always been incredibly crucial for the benefit and grow of Passione. Yes, he had managed to immensely decrease the number of drugs that were in the hands of the organization and he made sure that they were never sold to kids, but it was useless, because that was only the tip of a darker, sinister iceberg.

It had been four years since Diavolo was defeated, but the memories of all the events happened in those eight fatal days were still vivid in his mind.

He moved from his door and went in his bathroom, everything was built with the finest slabs of Carrara marble and decorated with floral patterns of pure gold.

He undressed himself and started to undo his braid, his hair, golden like the flowers on the walls, was now longer than when he was fifteen, it almost reached his waistline. Looking at himself in the mirror, he noticed that, of course, his hair wasn't the only thing that changed over the course of time: his features were sharper, more like his fa- DIO's from what he had seen in the pictures provided by the SPW and from the photo that he always had in his wallet, and he had gotten taller, but only by a few inches, which was surprising since both his biological dads were very tall. Giorno didn't mind his height since it didn't stop him from beating the shit out of anyone. He had other ways to remind how powerful he was to the people around him, how useless their attempts to fight him were.

His skin was smooth and it was almost glowing in the dim light of the bathroom, he knew he was attractive, beautiful, gorgeous.

He cared a lot about his physical appearance, since in business and meetings with potential allies or subordinates, the first impression that people had of him was fundamental.

With the corner of his eye he caught a flash of gold in the room. He turned his head quickly, finally looking at them. Gold Experience Requiem was sitting on the edge of his bathtub, their unblinking violet eyes were staring right into his soul, quite ironic considering that Stands are indeed, part of someone's soul.

Giorno was the first to break eye contact.

Of course.

Since that day, since the day when they had defeated Diavolo, Giorno started to use his Stand less and less, he would often say that it was only because there was no need to use so much energy for such small inconveniences, but that was far from the truth. He had trouble admitting that even to himself, but he was utterly terrified by his own Stand. They were still part of him, but they were sentient, and he had little to no control over the ridiculous amount of power they held. He didn't even know the extent of their abilities, and he wasn't going to test them if not in case of extreme emergency.

In other words, never, he would never use GER again.

Useless, useless Stand.

"What are you doing?" Giorno's voice was cold, monotone, his signature poker face facing the golden figure.

The Stand kept staring at him, completely still, they didn't breathe, they didn't need to, they weren't an actual living being, per se.

"I asked you a question." His tone had now an edge to it, he hated this, he hated not being able to read his Stand's thoughts, they were the manifestation of his own soul, for Heaven's sake!

He clenched his fists, digging his nails in his skin, hard enough to feel the blood start pooling from the little wounds. He was too on edge to even think about healing himself.

"You don't have anything to say? Then why are you here?" his voice was almost desperate, almost.

Giorno Giovanna would never show any emotion, not even to himself.

It was useless.

He walked towards Gold Experience with an unreadable expression, his movements slow, calculated, his golden locks brushing against his skin as he approached them. They didn't react when he put a finger on their chest, his face was still neutral, but an attentive eye could have seen the boiling rage just under the surface.

"What do you want from me? Why do you show up when I clearly don't need you?"

He took a shaky breath.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

He didn't realize he had shouted until he heard the echo of his own voice in the bathroom. He was panting slightly, his chest felt tight and his vision was fuzzy, the Stand remained silent and, after what seemed like one hour, they disappeared, returning to his soul.

It took a couple of minutes for Giorno to finally calm down.

—

Truth was, GER was a painful reminder of what of a monster he was.

It wasn't like he had any regrets- he firmly believed in what he thought was right and wrong, and he knew that what he did was right- the final result justified the medium, right? But he was aware of the fact that no fifteen-year-old ever would defeat the most powerful Italian mafia boss, overtake his position and sacrifice their friends and companions for a dream to be fulfilled.

His golden dream.

Maybe he was selfish, deep down, he did all of this for his dream.

He brushed those thoughts away, those useless, useless thoughts.

He knew that he should have cried when his friends died, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, it was... useless. Crying was useless, he learnt that when he still couldn't speak.

Useless was also how he felt when he saw Abbacchio, Narancia and Bucciarati's graves.

Wasn't he supposed to give life to the lifeless? Then why couldn't he save them, why couldn't he bring them back? They were supposed to have long, fulfilling lives, not any of this.

He might have been the closest one to beat Fate, but it was still useless, It was still steps, miles away from him, and that's how it would always be.

Ironic, wasn't it? How he thought of having too much power with GER, but still not enough to save his friends.

GER was useless.

He was useless.

Giorno glanced at the zipper on his desk and smiled imperceptibly. He wondered how would it be if Bucciarati hadn't acted on instinct in that Church... would things have been different?

Would they have been able to achieve his goal?

His, no, their golden dream?

Probably not.

They were all Fate's sleeping slaves after all, even Giorno, deep down, knew he was one as well.