A/N: Warning for spoilers for the ending of Vento Aureo. Mista x Giorno, mostly told from Fugo's POV. Rated T for kissing and hinting at sex at the end

"FUGO! FUGO, YA GOTTA HELP ME!" was what blasted through the blond boy's cell phone with all the force of Gold Experience Requiem's Mudattack- graciously named by Mista and adopted by the Don when he overheard him telling Fugo about the name.

Fugo winced at the sudden noise and stood up, bowing apologetically to his company as he headed outside to take the call in a place that wasn't a nice bistro worth more than all of Mista's shitty beanies combined, aching eardrums in tow.

Making a mental note to burn said beanies, he angrily snapped out, "What?"

"CAN'T EXPLAIN, JUST COME! NOW! SOS! FUCK MAN, FUCK, JUST GET HERE!"

The dumbass even had the gall to nearly hang up the phone before Fugo managed to get out, "WAIT!" Taking the following silence to mean he was still there, the blond ground out "Where are you, Mista?" There was no point in asking how he could possibly be so idiotic as to think Fugo knew exactly where he was at this very moment. He already knew how: every ounce of brain matter within that ridiculously cramped, tiny space was occupied with guns, Clint Eastwood, or Giorno. God forbid there was room for common sense.

"ON THE CORNER OF VIA S. NICANDRO AND VIA ARENA DELLA SANITA! GET HERE NOW OR YOU'RE DEAD MEAT!"

Fugo wasn't even given the chance to yell at the asshole to stop fucking screaming before the call clicked off and he was left staring at his phone like an idiot while a few passersby scurried around him, no doubt hearing the call despite it not being on speaker.

Only crushing his phone just a little bit (which he was very proud of, this was his third cell this year and it was only April), Fugo headed back into the restaurant with a sigh and a heavy fist- one that was very ready to come crashing down on Mista's head the second he knew the man wasn't really in trouble.

"I'm so sorry to have to do this, Signor Alfonsi, but I must go. There is a… important matter that needs immediate tending to." Figuring that was the best excuse he was going to come up with, he stuck out his hand to shake hands with the older Italian man, who looked a bit annoyed but begrudgingly acceptive. Thank God. He couldn't afford to ruin this deal. Again.

Flooring the gas the second he was buckled into the car, Fugo proceeded to ignore all speed laws as he quite literally almost flew to where Mista said he was. What were they gonna do, arrest him for breaking the law? He basically was the law.

Three skipped stoplights, seven missed stop signs, and a near-death experience when he had to brake at the speed of light to avoid hitting a dumb kid in the middle of the road (because he does have standards), Fugo arrived at the spot.

Mista was waiting outside underneath a sign that read Pasticceria Poppella and the second he saw Fugo, he flung himself towards the man- only to stop when he noticed the murderous look on Fugo's face.

"You have five seconds," the blond growled, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white, "to explain to me why you had the nerve to call me when you knew I was in a business deal with the owner of one of the largest wineries in Lazio, whom I was already on thin ice with since the little disagreement we had last time, to drag me out here - screaming bloody murder the entire time, mind you - to a goddamn PATISSERIE?! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't disembowel you right here, right now, and feed you your own fucking intestines!"

"BIRTHDAY!" Mista shrieked just as Fugo grabbed the collar of his ugly sweater and yanked him forward violently. "It's his birthday! Also, dude, that's fucked up."

"Whose birthday?" Fugo asked back, deciding to kindly ignore that last comment- for Mista's sake, of course.

"Gio- the Don's!"

That caught Fugo off-guard and he let go of Mista's collar. "I didn't think he had a birthday."

"Dude, what? Of course he does. What kind of God do you think he is?"

"Which of us thinks he's a God?" Fugo muttered as he sighed, hands on his hips as he raised an eyebrow expectantly at the gunslinger. "So? It's his birthday, whatever. That's not what I even asked you; why am I here with you?"

"My bike broke!" Mista pointed to a plume on smoke that was climbing into the sky around the corner and Fugo didn't even want to bother looking at the flaming wreck of what he was pretty sure was the man's sixth one in as many weeks.

"Why do you insist on wasting your all-too-generous salary - and I would know, I do your taxes, you dumbass - on motorcycles that you don't even know how to drive!"

"They look cool! And I'm cool! And Clint Eastwood rode one in Every Which Way but Loose and he has a collection of them, and if he can have a bunch, so can I!"

"YOU CAN'T DRIVE THEM!"

"Whoa, calm down there, Mr. Stick-In-The-Mud, I can do whatever I want to, so fuck off. No one's even died." As if that was the defining factor that should let him ride them.

"Yet," Fugo added. "You forgot the word 'yet.' And you're getting me off-track, dipshit. I still don't get why I'm here." He figured he'd just tell Giorno to put a stop to it later. Mista was more whipped than a fifty-year-old married man fresh out of a mid-life crisis.

"You're gonna drive me back to his house so we can get his surprise party set up!"

"His what."

"Well it was just gonna be me doing it, so I dunno if that still counts as a party, but my bike's broke 'n I gotta get back somehow and I'm sure he'd like ya t' be there too," Mista replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Part of Fugo really wanted to pound his pathetic excuse of a friend into the fucking ground at this moment, but another part also wanted to see GioGio react to a party, much less a surprise one. In the four years he'd spent by the Don's side, he never once had seen him react with shock. Four years is a surprisingly long time to act as though you expect everything that's coming, even when it's literally nine rusty nails flying at your face 150 kilometers an hour by a Stand user from a rival gang that they crushed a week ago. Fugo would never get the image of Giorno practically Matrix dodging it with an elegant side step and twist of the back as Gold Experience Requiem destroyed the man before he even had a chance to wonder what was happening. Nine Inch Nails hadn't even gotten a chance to get his name out, so Fugo had named him himself. He was quite pleased with it and Mista had gotten a kick out of it. He bet Narancia would've too.

Shrugging off the little pang of sadness at remembering his old friend, Fugo sighed (for the third damn time in fifteen minutes, Jesus Christ, what was wrong with this day) before pointing at the car. "Get in, asshole. Before I change my mind."

Mista's expression lit up and he scurried inside the car, white pastry box held tightly against his chest as if it were his precious child. As if noticing Fugo's curious expression, Mista explained, "It's a cake. Can't have a birthday party without a cake. A fancy hot fudge chocolate pudding one. He'll love it!"

Fugo didn't have the heart to question how long that type of cake would keep, and instead figured he'd hope for the best. Even if it did deflate some or a get a bit mushy, the Don wasn't really the type to care about that. He'd appreciate the thought.

And speaking of appreciation, Fugo realized that if he was gonna be there, he should probably get some kind of gift for Giorno. It was a birthday party, after all, he couldn't show up empty handed. Well, he could, but his pride refused to allow that. He'd give Giorno the best present he could possibly think of- way better than Mista's, he had more money to spend. Didn't waste it on dumb motorcycles he didn't even have a license for.

"What did you get him?" Fugo couldn't help but ask, curiosity winning out. And if he knew, then he'd know the gift to beat too, right?

"You'll find out!" was Mista's all too carefree answer, and Fugo figured that really, he should've expected something like that. The blond was about to say something back when he glanced over to see a gentle expression on Mista's face, the likes of which he'd only ever see when he was thinking about a certain something. A certain someone.

"...Is it really alright for me to be there?" he couldn't help but question. Sure, he was friends with Mista, and even though he had qualms with admitting it about his boss, with Giorno as well. But he wasn't as close, not in the way the two of them were. And if this was one of those times that he shouldn't intrude in… well, he wanted to know.

But Mista just gave him an incredulous look and said, "Dude, of course! The more the merrier! I'm sure Giorno would love it if we're both there; original Bucci gang and all that!"

Fugo smirked at that, remembering the last birthday party he'd celebrated. It was Abbacchio's, just days before Giorno had joined them. That sour expression the man always wore had softened just a bit when he'd taken in the sight of the other four members in the kitchen of the lofty apartment they all shared, surrounded by presents and cake- that is, until Narancia smashed the cake into Abbacchio's face, and then he looked like he was seriously considering murdering all of them as he chased after the idiotic teen.

"To think four years have passed," he murmured aloud, drawing Mista's attention.

"Heh, yeah," the man agreed. "Come t' think of it, we haven't had time to party or anythin' since, huh?" He reached out and ruffled Fugo's hair, receiving irritated complaints from the blond in return. "Sorry I haven't partied with ya since, man."

"That doesn't matter," Fugo replied. "Not like I've been much better. We're both far too busy for such things as parties. Besides," he added, not wanting to put a damper on Mista's mood, "I still have that tie you gave me for my last birthday. I will never wear that monstrosity of mishmashed colors and hideous patterns, but I have it."

"Not like your fashion sense is much better," Mista grumbled, but Fugo could tell the man was secretly happy that he'd kept it. And of course he would, he wasn't heartless. Even if it was probably just something Mista had picked up from the department store in a rush, having forgot until that moment. Not everyone could rank as high as Giorno on his list of priorities, after all.

"...If I'm not mistaken, the Don must attend a dinner party tonight," Fugo remembered suddenly, shifting to eye Mista suspiciously. "Just how did you get him out of that?"

"Oh, uh, I may've… asked Trish to go?"

"You did what."

"Look, Fugo, before ya get mad, she volunteered! She was more than chill with it!" Noticing that the blond was staring directly at him, Mista swallowed as he pointed to the road, "Uh, maybe you should look where you're-"

"We have both been instructed to keep her out of Passione business," Fugo growled, already feeling his temper swelling. "And I have done my utmost best to listen to the Don's instructions despite her insistence that it's fine, and you thoughtlessly rope her into this mess in spite of my best efforts all because of a BIRTHDAY PARTY?!"

"She wanted to! She wanted to! It ain't my fault, I was just callin' to bounce ideas offa her and she came up with it! Fugo, the road! Eyes on the road!"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!"

It was with those words that Fugo accidentally swerved headlong into a farmhouse along the side of the road with the kind of vicious ferocity only he could muster, breathing hard as splintered pieces of wood, hay, and dust kicked up and rained down around them with Mista shrieking in his seat.

"Tell me one more time what happened please, Fugo?" The blond sighed, shooting a savage glare at Mista, who was waving wildly at him with the ix-nay sign- as if he'd be stupid enough to spill all the details of the party while he was at it.

"I was on my way back to your manor; I had forgotten some important files there, and accidentally ran into someone's barn. Thankfully it was vacant but there is quite a bit of damage done to the structure. I would stay to locate the owner but haven't the time. I'd like to request permission to leave contact information for them to get in touch with one of our repair contacts. Obviously I'll pay for all damages."

"That's fine of course, but Fugo, are you alright?" Leave it to Giorno to worry about that more than the fact that he'd plowed into something and caused needless property damage. Again. How many times did that make this year?

"Of course, Don. I always am."

"Good. I'm thankful. As for seeing to the repairs, I trust your judgement. And don't worry about paying for it, I can take care of it."

"Don, I can't let you-"

"It's fine, Fugo," crackled Giorno's voice over the phone. "You will go bankrupt at this rate if you pay for every little thing you break. This time was simply an accident and that's more than enough for me."

'If only he knew,' Fugo thought, as he bowed in spite of himself even though he was on the phone. "Thank you, Don. My apologies for interrupting your work."

He hung up the phone once Giorno acknowledged his apology and swung his head around to shoot daggers at Mista. "This is your fault!"

"Mine?! I'm not the one with serious fuckin' anger issues, man! 'N you think I shouldn't get to drive bikes, you shouldn't-"

"One. More. Word." Fugo took a step forward, violet eye glinting in the sunlight that poured into the massive car-shaped hole in the side of the empty barn. "Go ahead. I dare you."

"Know what, I think I'm good," Mista chuckled nervously.

"Now then." After the crash, his temper had died down considerably, and he was hoping he could listen to Mista with a bit of a cooler head. "Why don't you explain to me why Trish got involved?"

"Well, she 'n I are friends and-"

"Since when?"

"Since, like, four years ago, keep up bro. So, I was bouncin' gift ideas offa her when she asked how I was gonna get Giorno outta work and I told her I hadn't thought about that yet-"

"When do you ever think?"

"-and she asked what he was doing. Also that was unnecessarily mean. What if you hurt my feelings?" Fugo cocked an eyebrow and Mista cleared his throat. "Lucky for you, I have nerves of steel. Anyways, I told her he had a dinner thing goin' on and she asked what it was for 'n I said networking 'n she said "Oh I can take care of that" and asked me t' let her go instead. I figured it was a great idea, so I agreed."

"How is that possibly a good idea?" Fugo groaned, bringing a palm to his face. "We've spent four years trying to keep her out of the mafia business and you just suddenly let her do whatever she wants?"

"Look, ain't my fault she's crushin' on one'a the other Don's daughters."

"And the truth comes out. Can't she keep it in her pants- or that strange bra-shirt thing, I suppose, in her case."

"Look, it was somethin' that benefitted botha us and I wanna throw Giorno a party 'n he can't be at a dumb dinner thing if I want that to happen, so ya better just deal 'cuz there's nothin' you can do about it now!" Mista's voice had taken on that tone where he sounded both stubborn and pouty and honestly, there was no reasoning with him when he was like that.

"I hope you at least assigned her guards."

"O' course! Who d'ya think I am?"

"Hmm, let's see, how many words for 'complete and utter buffoon' can I come up with? This'll be fun, hmm, idiot, fool, dolt, dunce, clown, dumbass-"

"Okay, okay, I get it, point taken." Mista cut him off before he could continue, which was a pity, Fugo hadn't even gotten halfway through the list yet. "Anyway, yeah, she's got three 'a the best guards in my squadra, along with herself. Spice Girl ain't no pushover."

"I know," Fugo agreed, remembering the first time he'd encountered the Stand. She had almost pounded his face in when he had questioned how sentient she was. Honestly, he had been a little envious after growing so used to dealing with a difficult Stand- although that problem seemed to solve itself when Purple Haze had evolved.

He looked over at Mista's hopeful, almost pleading expression, before sighing in irritation and moving his hands to his hips. "If anything happens, you're taking the fall for this. And I will not bail you out this time."

"You're the best, Fugo!" Mista cried as he threw himself on top of the blond man, grunting as the gunslinger squeezed him tightly before letting go. "Now that that's settled, let's get back! Although I guess the car is totaled now, huh?"

"As if something like that could break the car," Fugo scoffed as he slid into the driver's seat again, haphazardly brushing away bits of debris as he turned the key in the ignition and the vehicle roared to life. "See? Just a few scratches?"

Mista looked at the car. The paint was covered in scratch marks, there was a massive dent in the front where it had hit the wall, part of the roof seemed sort of caved in, both headlights were crushed beyond repair, and the windows were nearly all shattered. To say that the car working was nothing short of a miracle would be an understatement. Still, if it worked, who cared?

"You're lucky I guarded the cake with my life," Mista grumbled as he got in the car as well, still holding the white pastry box. "Or you'd be buyin' a new one."

"You call that girly shrieking you made 'guarding with your life'?" Fugo questioned sarcastically as he backed up and pulled back onto the road. Judging by the noises it was making, the car was worse off than he'd thought, but they'd be back in ten minutes. He was sure it'd be fine.

"Oi! Anyone woulda screamed, the way ya fuckin' hit that thing! That's why I toldja t' keep your eyes on the road! But noooo, ya just had to yell at me to prove a point."

"Sorry, I have a personal policy to not listen to dumbasses," Fugo replied as they sped off down the road.

"Yeah? Well I have a policy to not fuckin' die cuzza your anger management issues!"

"Hmm? What was that? I can't hear you, the whole dumbass thing, remember?" And that was how the car ride continued for the remainder of the trip back to Giorno's mansion.

"Can you calm down and stop pacing around for like five seconds?" Fugo snapped angrily as he finished fixing the streamers to the ceiling of the large sitting room, climbing down the ladder and glaring at Mista all the while.

"Well whaddaya suggest I do?! He'll be here soon, I'm antsy!" the gunslinger protested from where Fugo was quite sure he was wearing holes in the floor from all the pacing back and forth he was doing.

"Oh I don't know, maybe you could help me?" he replied, tossing the remainder of the streamers to Mista as he added, "Y'know, since this was your idea in the first place?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Mista grumbled but summoned out Sex Pistols and started instructing them on how to put up the decorations so they wouldn't have to keep moving the ladder. Initially refusing, when they learned it was for Giorno, they were more than eager to help out. That, and the promise of cake.

"What if he doesn't like the color?" Mista proclaimed suddenly, eyeing the pinky-purple, gold, and turquoise streamers that now decorated most of the room.

"Well if he doesn't, oh well, too late now," Fugo answered irritatedly as he headed towards the kitchen to grab the bag of other decorations and the balloons that they'd picked up from the supermarket on the way back. The looks their car had gotten had been something else, but Fugo had never cared how other people looked at him.

They had been in luck and the ladybug balloons were still in stock. They had bought a dozen of those, six turtle shaped ones, three that looked like frogs, and a couple that said 'Happy Birthday!' on them. His strange fascination with reptiles and oddly shaped suits had made it fairly easy to pick themed ones- although Fugo supposed he wasn't really one to be calling the suits Giorno wore strange.

Bringing them back into the room, he began tying them to as many surfaces and posts as he could find, and soon the room was filled with birthday decorations in bright colors that warmed the otherwise-serious way the sitting area had been furnished. Fugo took a step back to admire his handy work just as he heard a loud popping noise behind him, sending him flying six feet into the air.

"Don't do that!" he yelled, spinning around to glare at Mista, who was holding the remains of one of the ladybug balloons in his hands.

"But twelve is a multiple of four! That's bad luck, Fugo! This party's gotta be perfect, no shitty number is gonna ruin that!"

Fugo just groaned and turned back to what he was doing when he felt his phone vibrate. Pulling it out, he saw that he'd received a text from Giorno saying that he was nearly home. Ignoring the part where the Don had questioned why he needed to know, Fugo turned to Mista and said, "He's almost here. Five minutes out at most."

"Shit, fuck, okay, the cake! I gotta bring the cake out! Cake, cake, cake…" he chanted it over and over as if it was a mantra as he sprinted into the kitchen out of sight. Fugo dug around in the bag he'd brought out along with the balloons, searching for the candles he'd bought. Nothing too fancy, just a simple '20' shaped out of wax with two wicks in it.

"Fugo! Fugo, I forgot-" Mista burst back into the room holding the cake on a nice platter (which Fugo had to admit, had held up very well considering all it had been through) and froze when he saw what the blond was holding up. "-the candles. Fugo, you beautiful bastard!"

"Why can't you just thank you like a normal person?" Fugo mused as he walked over to the cake and stuck the candle into it, admiring how he'd put it perfectly into the center. "Now we just have to wait. You brought the lighter out?"

"'Course!" Mista set the cake down on the coffee table with all the care and precision of a seasoned patisserie, as if his life was on the line here, before plopping down onto the couch next to it.

"We don't need to hide or anything?" Fugo questioned as he took a seat as well. "I thought you said this was a surprise party?"

"Well it is, but I figured that maybe jumpin' out at the Don right after he's been at work all day might not be the best idea." Fugo nodded. He could easily see Giorno accidentally beating the shit out of them if they popped out of nowhere before even realizing what he was doing.

"That reminds me, didja ever get a present?"

Fugo smirked. "It's a surprise," he mimicked in the same tone Mista had used earlier in the day. It earned a bark of laughter from the gunslinger.

"Guess I deserved that," he said just as they heard the sound of a key in the lock. "That's him! You ready?"

Fugo nodded as the front door opened. They could hear shuffling as the man obscured by the walls removed his coat and hung it on the rack. The sound of something hitting the shelf next to the stairway was next and then the click of footsteps that told them the Don was heading down the hall towards them.

Just as he turned the corner into the sitting room, Mista and Fugo both stood up and yelled "Surprise!" as loud as they could.

Giorno, as it turned out, was perhaps incapable of making an expression of shock but his eyebrows did turn up and his eyes widened the slightest bit and his mouth opened but no words came out and Fugo chalked that up as a victory.

Then he broke into a grin, one wider than Fugo had ever seen on his face before, and suddenly he thought he sort of understood why Mista was so head over heels for the man. He was pretty damn attractive, especially when he smiled like that.

"What is all this?" Giorno asked as he entered the room, glancing at the two men, then the decorations, and eyes finally landing on the cake.

"It's your birthday, Giorno! We gotta celebrate!" Mista exclaimed, barely able to contain his excitement at this point.

"And when did you hear about that?" Giorno questioned, but smiled back all the same as he sat down next to Mista on the couch.

"I got my ways," the gunslinger said just as Fugo replied, "Snuck a look at your medical records."

"Oi, Fugo!" The blond shrugged as Giorno chuckled to himself.

"Still, this was unnecessary," he said. Before either of the other two could say anything, he added, "But not unappreciated. This is a very pleasant surprise."

"So it did surprise you," Fugo muttered to himself, making a mental note that it took more than just a birthday party for it to truly register on the man's face. One of these days… He tuned back into the conversation as he heard Mista laugh.

"Good! We got this cake for ya, Giorno! It's your favorite, right?" He pointed at the chocolate pudding cake that was only a little bit misshapen and waited for a reaction.

"What kind is it?" Giorno asked but he was already eyeing the way the fudge seemed to drip down the sides of the circular sweet, clearly excited to eat it. Well, he was as excited as Giorno could get.

"Chocolate-" Mista paused for a moment before finishing with "-and pudding! Your favorite things! They made it special 'n everything!"

"Mista…" Giorno sounded touched and he grinned before reaching out to pat the man's head. "Thank you. This is wonderful." Fugo was pretty sure Giorno was the only one who could treat the gunslinger like a dog and receive an equally doglike reaction.

"We need to light the candle," he said, gesturing to Mista who had the lighter. The man nodded and flicked the switch so a flame alit on the tip. The candle illuminated the cake just enough to make the chocolate glisten, and Fugo had to admit, it looked pretty damn tasty.

"Happy Birthday, Giorno! Make a wish!"

Giorno smiled at them both before brushing a lock of golden hair behind his ear as he bent down to blow out the candle with a soft whoosh of air, the flame reflecting in his turquoise eyes for just a single second before it winked out of existence.

Mista clapped loudly while Fugo did so in a more reserved manner, asking Giorno "What'd'ya wish for?"

"Dumbass, he can't tell us or it won't come true," Fugo answered before Giorno could even say anything. Mista shot him a look but the Don just laughed.

"Let us just say it is something I already have," he said lightly, winking at Fugo. The blond's eyes widened before he smirked. He was pretty sure he knew what Giorno was getting at, but there was no way in hell he'd ever tell.

"Oh, right!" Fugo stood up and headed over to the bag of supplies that was tucked behind the couch. He pulled out a pristinely wrapped package in pale green wrapping paper decorated with hot pink polka dots, a perfect bow tied from a strawberry-patterned ribbon perched on top.

"This is for you," he said as he walked back over to Giorno, a soft smile on his face. The Don reached out to take the package as Mista struggled to try to figure out what it was before it was opened.

Giorno undid the wrapping with all the grace Fugo would've expected from someone like him to reveal an old book with the hard-bound cover showing the slightest bit of wear. Engraved on the cover were the words Il Nome della Rosa and as Giorno flipped through the book briefly, the pages were shown to be faintly yellowed and fraying. However, the spine was in pristine condition and the book had obviously been shown tender love and care.

"This is my favorite book," Fugo explained as Giorno read over the back cover. "I bought a new copy recently, as I do every few years, but this was the first copy I ever owned. My mother got it for me many years ago. I spent a long time wondering what to do with this copy since it's important to me, but I'd like you to have it. If it's you, I know you'll treat it with care."

"Fugo…" When Giorno looked up, his eyes looked just the slightest bit wet and he wore an expression of sheer gratitude, the ghost of a smile gracing his delicate features. "This is wonderful. One of the most thoughtful presents I have ever received. From the bottom of my heart, thank you."

Fugo couldn't help but smile back, extremely grateful that Giorno had liked the present. "Happy Birthday, GioGio."

When the Don stood up unexpectedly and pulled him into a hug, it only took Fugo a second to return it, squeezing the man all the more tighter when he felt the way Giorno's shoulders trembled just a bit.

As they pulled apart, Fugo caught sight of Mista still on the couch, expecting to see the man looking jealous. Instead, he was smiling at the two of them with a sort of fondness on his face that Fugo hadn't seen in a long time. Feeling a little embarrassed, he sat back down on the couch avoiding eye contact with the gunslinger.

"Well? How about we eat my present now?" Mista said, procuring plates, forks, and a carving knife from somewhere behind him, and Fugo sincerely hoped he hadn't been sitting on them or something. He wasn't Giorno; he wanted nothing to do with Mista's ass.

"That's your present?" Fugo scoffed. "And after all that blabbing you did earlier. Maybe if you didn't waste all your money on dumb motorcycles, you could've procured something better."

Obviously Fugo didn't believe for a second that Mista's present was the birthday cake. There was just no way that was it, no matter how dense and uncaring that fool was. Not when it came to Giorno. But, judging by the expression he'd had earlier in the day when he'd talked about the present, Fugo could pretty easily determine that it wasn't something for his eyes to see. Let them have their gay little soiree when he wasn't here, thank you very much.

"Quit using words I don't know," Mista complained as he sliced into the cake. "And this was expensive! Worth more than you, that's for sure."

"You're on thin ice, bub," Fugo growled as he leaned forward to grab one of the slices, the smallest one of course. He wasn't a huge fan of chocolate but it would be rude to not eat the cake, and it wasn't like he disliked it. Besides, Mista had gone to the effort to include him in this, after all. Even if that effort was caused by him crashing his sixth motorcycle and needing a ride.

"This is plenty, thank you Mista," Giorno said as he accepted the largest piece of the cake, proceeding to take a single dainty bite as a wide grin crossed his face. "It's delicious. You picked the perfect kind." With those words, the man wolfed down the cake with all the speed of a ravenous hyena, though he still somehow managed to make it look graceful.

"Giorno, ya got some on your face," Mista chuckled as he reached out to brush his knuckle against the blond's cheek, pulling away with a dollop of fudge sauce on his fingers. Giorno instantly leaned down to lick the chocolate off of Mista's fingers, much to the gunslinger's blushing adoration and Fugo's disgust.

"Oh, get a room," he chided as he stood up, empty plate and fork in hand. Gathering up the rest of the trash, he calmly added "If you two are going to do that, then I think I'll retire to my room for the night. You know what they say about getting kicked by a horse."

"Ah, Fugo, wait!" Giorno called just as Mista asked, "What do they say?" The Don stood up and moved over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he smiled softly. "I just wanted to tell you thank you again. For the gift as well as your presence tonight."

Fugo glanced over Giorno's shoulder to see Mista flashing him a thumbs up with an expression that said 'I told you so.' He decided to let the guy's pompous attitude slide this time. "Of course, Don," Fugo answered as he took the man's free hand in his own and placed a kiss atop it, ignoring Mista's cry of indignation as he said, "Anything for you."

Giorno shook his head. "No Fugo, tonight I'm not your Don. I'm just your friend. And I'm thanking you as a friend as well."

Fugo paused for a minute before grinning, yanking the startled man forward to give him a noogie atop his curly hair and a hearty slap on the back. "Then I'll say you're welcome as a friend," he grinned, "and treat you like that dumbass over there."

Giorno laughed as they pulled apart, the melodic tinkling noise sounding incredibly pleasant to the ears. "I shall see you tomorrow, Fugo?"

"Bright and early," he agreed before looking at Mista as he added, "Some of us do actually work, after all."

"Oi! I resent that!"

"Who cares," Fugo replied as he turned on his heels and headed towards the entrance to the kitchen to throw the garbage he'd gathered away. Pausing in the doorway just long enough to clear his throat and say, "...thank you both for including me tonight," he disappeared around the corner, leaving the two to their alone time.

Mista watched as Fugo vanished into the kitchen, grinning from ear to ear as he exclaimed, "Didja see that Giorno, he was blushing! So cute!" He'd known the whole time that Fugo would enjoy himself if he was there as well.

The party had been just as much for Fugo as it had for Giorno, after all. The motorcycle crash had been unfortunate but necessary in order to rope the blond into this and it had taken great efforts on his part to hide it from the man that his initial plan included him from the start. In a way, the party had also been for bringing the three of them together for a change. Fugo hadn't been kidding when he said he'd been busy and the same had gone for all of them. Mista was just glad his plan was a success and that they'd all caught a break together.

"I agree," Giorno replied, settling back into the couch next to Mista. "Although perhaps having someone younger than him calling him cute might be an annoyance."

"Aw c'mon, you're only like a few months younger. Doesn't matter, you're like the same age."

"True. If I had to say who is truly the youngest, it would be you after all, Mista." The gunslinger rounded on the Don, elbowing him brusquely as he exclaimed, "Oi!" Giorno laughed as Mista shook him, the playful smirk on his face looking absolutely adorable.

"Don't talk about your seniors that way," he grumbled goodnaturedly. "Just 'cuz I know how t'have fun once in awhile."

"I can have fun too," Giorno argued, forming a makeshift pout as he reached up to poke Mista's cheek with a delicate finger.

"Sure, by goin' t' the opera or some shit," the gunslinger answered, shoving Giorno away with a friendly nudge. "You're one weird twenty-year-old, gotta tell ya that."

"I do believe you weren't ever much better," Giorno hummed, crossing his legs as he leaned into Mista again. "Remember that time you were convinced the Sicilian mafia was going to off me on a golf outing, of all things?"

"Look, our hotel number was 414, the restaurant was 344 East Boulevard, there were four seagulls outside the window while we were eating; birds don't fly around in groups of four for nothin', it was a sign Gio! And I was right!"

"The Sicilian mafia is hardly the same thing was the Roman mafia, Mista."

"I saved your life."

"Yes, you did."

"Aw man, don't do that to me, now I dunno what to say!" he complained, always hating when Giorno just agreed with him. How could he banter when the other party refused to? It just didn't work that way.

"I know, watching you get confused is cute," Giorno replied as he smirked at his boyfriend. Mista frowned and stuck out his tongue; who cared if it was childish? "As I said, just who's the youngest here?" Okay, maybe he should've seen that coming, Mista thought as Giorno chuckled at his own shitty joke.

"Fuck you," he grumbled.

"Gladly." The blond was then on top of him not a second later, arms wrapping around Mista's neck as he leaned down from where he was perched over the gunslinger's crotch to press a kiss to his lips- and not a simple peck either. Mista had quickly learned that Giorno was definitely someone who preferred to take things fast, and he eagerly stretched up to meet him, pushing his tongue into the man's mouth as he pulled him closer to take over the kiss. Giorno's hands moved up to Mista's head, pushing under his hat to grasp at his hair in that gentle-yet-tough way he'd somehow mastered within just a few weeks of dating. His noises were music to Mista's ears, the soft moans and gasps making his blood race, but just as he tried to sneak his hands down the Don's pants, the blond jerked away and slapped at his hands.

"Fugo's right," he murmured breathlessly, the red flush across his face looking positively ravishing on him (Mista always thought red was a good color on him). "We should move this to the bedroom."

"Your place?" Mista teased as Giorno stood up, running a hand over his golden locks to smooth them back in place. You'd have no idea they'd almost fucked right there. The man flashed him a wide grin as he beckoned him with an index finger and Mista fell in love all over again.

As he stood up, he suddenly remembered the little wrapped package in his back pocket and froze. "Giorno, wait, stop, DON'T MOVE!" he cried, mentally cursing himself for almost forgetting the most important thing; damn Giorno and his sexy body and wily ways.

"What, what's wrong?!" Giorno looked concerned and a little paranoid and Mista felt a little bad he had been so frantic but he was an emotional person man, could you blame him?

"Nothin', sorry, just-" he pulled it and held the shiny gold package out, tied messily with a purple ribbon. It was nowhere near as pretty as Fugo's, but hey, he tried. "I almost forgot this. Your real present; I can't just get ya a cake."

"You really could have," Giorno argued as he took the gift but the soft smile on his face was exactly what Mista had hoped for. The wrapping was removed in an instant and fluttered to the ground to reveal a small black box. Giorno's green eyes widened in recognition and they flitted up to Mista's as he whispered quietly, "Is this what I think it is?"

"Here, gimme," Mista replied, holding out his hand as Giorno placed it on his palm. Pulling open the box gently, he removed the thin golden ring that sat nestled in velour fabric with a delicacy Giorno had only seen him use with his guns. Spying the engraving on the inside, Giorno's breath caught in his throat.

Wordlessly, Mista reached out to take Giorno's right hand and slide the ring onto his ring finger. "A perfect fit," he murmured as he brought the elegant hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to Giorno's ring finger and the golden band now resting around it. "Per il mio angelo, just like it says. My angel."

"Mista…" Giorno swallowed thickly as he started to say, "I can't-"

"Stop." The gunslinger looked up to stare at Giorno with a sincerity that was rare to see on his face. "I know what ya wanna say, so stop. It's on your right hand for a reason, Giorno, I'm not that dumb. You're a mafia boss, ya can't possibly get married, not to me. But your right hand, now that's fair game."

"But I want to-"

"I'm not askin' for an answer," Mista elaborated, once again cutting Giorno off. "Just a promise. That one day when we're both old 'n wrinkly 'n can barely summon our Stands, let alone use 'em, that you'll be mine. Long as ya promise me a part of your life, I got no problem givin' ya all of mine."

Giorno stared at him for what seemed like an infinitely long time before he broke the silence with a near-silent, "I love you, Mista. I'm always yours- just unofficially."

Letting out a breathless chuckle from the air he'd been holding in, Mista replied, "That's more than enough, boss."

"Stop, don't call me that when we're alone," Giorno said with a shaky sigh. He looked like he was struggling to maintain his composure. Mista usually hated when he did that, but this time was a little different. He wasn't mourning or incensed or anything like that this time.

"Giorno," he murmured as he moved closer to press a kiss to the man's forehead. "Mio angelo." A kiss to his right cheek. "Mio caro." A kiss to the left. "Mio bellissimo." One to the tip of his nose. "Mia stella." A deep kiss to his lips, eliciting a quiet gasp from the blond. Mista grinned as his hands entwined in golden strands of hair to touch their foreheads together. "Buon compleanno, mio vero amore."

"Grazie," was Giorno's hushed response, his emerald eyes watery and beautiful as they met with Mista's, the smile on his face the most gorgeous in the world. Of course, Mista had been sure since he'd met him that no one on earth was as pretty as Giorno.

"How about that bed?" the gunslinger joked as his arms moved to the man's thin hips and wrapped around them, lifting Giorno into the air with ease. The blond wrapped his legs around Mista's waist as he grinned.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Around 2 AM, Fugo groaned and pulled the pillow over his head for the millionth time. It was Giorno's birthday. Mista had gotten him a great gift probably. Birthdays were always romantic, chocolate added to that. It was a good day. Fugo understood all of that.

What he didn't understand is how someone as prim and poised as Giorno Giovanna could be so goddamn loud and have so much fucking stamina. Literally.

He should've just gone back to his flat.