A Step And A Half @anthy
A Step And a Half

Giorno Giovanna does not cry. 


Mob bosses do not cry. Because mob bosses aren’t children, and Giorno Giovanna is not a child. 


But underneath the image of the unmoving Giorno Giovanna, there is the boy named Haruno. The cold, lonely, and hurt little boy who Giorno was supposed to have killed so many years ago, but he only hid him away deep in his heart. 


And Haruno Shiobana is a child. 


It happens suddenly, so suddenly he can’t remember why. Maybe the sound of some kind of metal hitting the ground sounded all too familiar, or maybe it was Abbachio snapping at him in a tone of voice he hadn’t heard in years, but still was engraved into his mind. No matter its cause, something inside Giorno shattered, and he needed to retreat somewhere, alone. 


His sanctuary came in the form of his room, where he sat on the floor with his knees pulled into his chest, looking directly at the door. He was shaking as if he were made of ice, but he does not cry. But when the doorknob jiggles and begins to turn, he instinctively lifts his arms over his face, and he’s closer to crying than he’s ever been. The door opens and his eyes are wired shut, the only thing he does is repeat the same words over and over. 


“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I’m sorry-“ he whispered, his voice is quivering. 


All he gets in reply are slow footsteps, but they aren’t as heavy as he knows they should be. And they don’t carry the same pure unadulterated hatred of him like they usually do. Giorno slowly opened one of his eyes and slightly lowered his arms to see....


...Fugo, this entire time it had only been Fugo. A weight lifted off of Giorno’s soldiers, and slowly put his arms back down, wrapping them loosely around his knees. He still shook uncontrollably as Fugo silently and slowly walked over to him, and sat down on the floor next to him. 


“Oh Giorno....” he whispered, he sounded so worried. Giorno sniffled only response, if Fugo was like this he could only imagine what the others were like. 


“Giorno?” Fugo questioned, and inched closer to Giorno on the floor, slowly moving his arm and hovered his hand over Giorno’s shoulder. “It’s alright if I touch you...right?” 


Giorno shattered into a million pieces, and the next thing he knew he was latched around Fugo, borderline scream crying into the other’s shoulder. Despite his demeanor, Giorno’s mind was surprisingly clear as he realized something. 


How many times had he done this for Fugo?


Fugo was an incredibly private person, everyone knew this, but even then Giorno could recall a decent amount of times where Fugo would just break. And Giorno would be there to comfort him. But now that the roles had been reversed, questions ran through his mind.


When was the last time he was this vulnerable with Fugo? When was the last time he had been this vulnerable with anyone? Could Giorno even remember the last time he cried? 


Through his thoughts he didn’t even notice he had stopped crying, and that Fugo’s hands rested comfortably on the back of Giorno’s head, gently running through his golden hair. Giorno lifted his head to look at Fugo, who in combination with pale skin, creamy white hair, and the softest smile he’d ever seen, Giorno thought looked like an angel coming in to save him from the darkest depths of his despair.


“....do you want to talk about it?” 


Giorno stopped and pondered for a moment, then shook his head. Words failed him at the moment it seemed. 


“That’s alright,” Fugo said, understanding. “But I’m guessing you want to go back outside yet, do you?” 


Another pause, then Giorno took Fugo’s hand, squeezed it, and sighed. He thought that was enough of an answer. 


“okay so you don’t wanna talk about it, and you don’t wanna leave yet either, so....” Fugo inhaled, “how about we just sit here for a bit, just the two of us, okay?”


One more moment of silence, then Giorno nodded. Fugo nodded back. 


They didn’t even think about standing up, sitting on the floor just seemed so much more appealing. Giorno rested his head back on his partner’s shoulder, and Fugo placed his hands back to their original position on Giorno’s head, crying was exhausting. 


And as Fugo began to sway gently back and forth with Giorno still in his arms, did Giorno truly realize how eerily similar this was to when he would comfort Fugo. Right down to the questions. 


Can I touch you? Do you want to talk about it? Are you ready to go back out yet? 


These all seemed like fairly basic questions, but it made Giorno realize how similar they really where. They had similar traumas, sure. But where they really that similar? 


How much had his schedule changed over the couple months to fit Fugo? How much had Giorno defended him directly when people still called him a traitor? How much had he helped Fugo grow? How much did Fugo help him grow? 


They were two halves of a whole, paralleled each other, built off one another and helped the other grow. They were a matching set, a necessity. Giorno had made the half a step to Fugo, and Fugo had made the half a step to him. 


I’d be lost without him....


“Giogio.” Fugo said, his partner’s voice snapping him back into reality. Giorno hummed and lifted his head to look at Fugo. “I thought you had fallen asleep for a second.”


Giorno smiled, “I wish” he chuckled as he leaned forward to give Fugo a peck on his forehead. He sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes. “I think I’m ready to go back out now.” He said, pushing himself up back on his feet. 


“Are you sure?” Fugo asked, Giorno took his hand and pulled Fugo up for himself too. 


“Yes, I’m sure.” He replied, still clutching Fugo’s hand as he walked to the door. But his hand stopped when he was about to turn the doorknob. He turned back to the other, a soft smile on his face. 


“By the way, thank you Fugo. For everything.” 


Fugo beamed. “You’d do the same for me, Giogio. Anytime.”

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