Chapter Text
“This heart is breaking
This heart is breaking
This heart is breaking”
- Cut Copy, “Zap Zap”
---
Bruno felt bad for rescheduling on Giorno twice but he was feeling so optimistic after Trish’s launch party he knew he had to clear his schedule before he heard Giorno play guitar. They’d met for coffee to discuss details a few times as Bruno frantically worked overtime to tie up all his loose ends.
Based on what Giorno said about his musical influences alone, Bruno was pretty sure this was it. As much as he was hoping in the back of his mind that he could get Giorno to agree to fly out to Vegas by the end of the week, he couldn’t get ahead of himself. He crossed his legs then laid his interlaced fingers over his knee to prevent himself from fidgeting as Giorno set up to play, unrolling cords and plugging in his amp and effects pedals.
Giorno’s weapon of choice for his informal audition was a pink Stratocaster, possibly vintage but definitely customized. He gave Bruno a sly little smile as he seated himself and put his fingers to the strings without any further preamble. What followed was a sonic punch to the gut. Time both sped up and slowed to a standstill. Bruno felt like he was watching himself watch Giorno show his chops, flexing on complicated solos with precision and a lovely tone that was bright but not too bright.
“Have you ever been in a band before?” Bruno asked, uncrossing his legs to lean forward and pull his phone out of his pocket.
“No,” Giorno answered. “I’ve only ever played for family or Trish.”
“If you’re serious about this, I’d love to introduce you to Leone and the boys in his band already,” Bruno paused, mentally calculating how Giorno’s calm demeanor would work to balance the group. They needed to like each other as well as be able to perform together after all. “But as talented as I think you are, you’re going to be behind the others in terms of experience. They’ve all been in different bands or have been playing with other musicians for years. Are you ready to play catch-up?”
Giorno nodded. “Of course. I want to play with the best. If you already have a band formed around Leone Abbacchio I want to be a part of it.”
“Good!” Bruno finally let himself grin. Giorno didn’t know that his recognition of Leone’s talent had earned him major brownie points. “I’ll do everything in my power to promote the five of you. You’ll be ahead of the others in dealing with fame for the most part. You’ll be the only one with positive experience to draw from. I’m going to need you to steer the direction for the band. I won’t lie to you. This isn’t going to be easy. Leone is stubborn. He needs the right push to put himself out there again.”
“I understand.” Giorno smiled back, but what Bruno heard instead was I’m ready. It would be enough of a challenge to get Leone back in the studio much less anything that came after.
---
Trish screamed and threw her arms around Giorno when she heard the news. “Finally! Tell Bruno I’ll book our flight. I’m going with you to meet Leone Abbacchio’s band.”
“You are?” Giorno asked in such a mild tone it barely sounded like a question. His raised eyebrows formed the punctuation more than anything.
“Of course!” Trish sneered at him, grabbing his arm to drag him into her house as per usual, but completely forgoing sitting in the living room to drag him all the way to the bedroom he’d taken over as his own. She made a beeline for his closet to start rifling through his things. “If I like these guys I’ll let you open for me one day. Oh!” She dropped a pink silk blouse. “We should look them up before we go so you already know what they’re like.”
Giorno sighed as he crossed the room to pick up his fallen shirt. “We’re not going to cyberstalk them. I want this to happen organically, Trish.”
“Ugh,” the wind taken out of her sails, Trish walked over to flop onto Giorno’s bed. “You’re no fun. You’re like an old man.”
“It’s creepy to know too much about someone before you’ve ever met,” Giorno countered as he moved over to lay down next to her.
They mirrored each other lying side by side staring up at the white ceiling, arms just barely brushing. Silence settled between them as the promise of the future pressed down with the comforting weight of a thick quilt on a cold winter night. Maybe soon they would both be out creating their art and promoting it instead of just Trish doing so as Giorno waited for her to come back home. Giorno was finally going to get his chance to share his vision with the world, to leave his mark on the musical landscape, to fulfill his childhood dream of becoming a rockstar.
“I’m so proud of you,” Trish said so quietly it was nearly a whisper, turning towards Giorno and throwing an arm over his waist. “I know they’re going to love you like I do.”
---
Another Sunday set done. Another week in the bag.
Clean and changed into loungewear, Leone flopped onto his back on his couch and let out a contented sigh. The best part about Sundays was having the whole evening to himself.
He’d just closed his eyes to take a nap when an elbow poked him in the stomach and a damp head tucked itself onto his shoulder nestled in close to his neck. Narancia had crawled over him to squeeze into the tiny space between him and the couch to snuggle. Again. Little asshole had no concept of personal space.
“What are you doing?” Leone opened his eyes to frown down at Narancia. Then, he looked towards his armchair off to the side when he heard Fugo settle onto it. “Why is he over there? Why aren’t you curled up with your boyfriend, Ghirga?”
Fugo opened a book to hide his smile. God, they were both such little shits; how could Leone forget?
“You’re more comfy,” Narancia patted Leone’s chest. “Besides I know you like this or I’d be on the floor right now.”
“You know I could kick you out, right? I don’t have to let you live here,” Leone warned. His life used to be so much more peaceful before he took in one brat and got a second one for free.
Narancia didn’t even dignify that with a response. He just took out his phone and started scrolling Twitter. Curled up in his chair, Fugo turned the page in his book, matching Narancia’s complete lack of concern.
Leone closed his eyes, sighing in exasperation this time. “Nobody respects me anymore,” he said as he shifted his hand up to rest on Narancia’s rat’s nest of hair because the smaller man was kind of squishing his arm before and not for any other reason. He didn’t feel relaxed at all. He was definitely just tired after a long week of work.
---
Mista pulled up to the supper club for rehearsal day at the same time as Fugo and Narancia and picked a spot to park right next to their car so they could all walk in together. He watched Narancia yeet himself from the passenger side as soon as Fugo cut the engine and raised his eyebrows. Fugo just shrugged back, a small smile on his face.
Tap. Tap tap tap. TAP. Narancia frantically knocked on Mista’s window until he rolled it down.
“Hi? Can I help you?” Mista laughed.
“Kiss. Now,” Narancia demanded as he leaned forward into Mista’s car.
“No,” Mista put his palm over Narancia’s face to push the smaller man back out. “I told you I’m not putting out until I get to take you on a date.”
“Aw but it’s just a kiss!” Narancia whined. “Don’t be such a prude!”
By this time Fugo had joined him outside Mista’s door. “Let him get out, Nara. We’ve got shit to do.”
Narancia grudgingly pulled away to give Mista enough space to get out of his car, pouting the whole time.
Once Mista was standing he pulled Narancia into his arms for a tight hug as a consolation prize. Seemed to do the trick. Narancia laughed and squeezed back when Mista lifted him off of his feet and swung him a little, and he was smiling by the time Mista drew back.
On a whim Mista held his arms out to Fugo to offer a gentler hug, surprising his new metamour if Fugo’s expression was anything to go by. Slowly and endearingly awkwardly, Fugo tucked himself close to Mista’s chest and wrapped his arms around Mista’s waist to hug back. It felt nice. Soft. Mista refused to read too much into it but in the moment he felt so much love for Fugo and was suddenly hit with how much he cared about this band and wanted to keep playing music with Fugo and Narancia and the absent Abbacchio for as long as possible.
Mista smiled at Fugo once they drew apart again. “Hey, where’s Abbacchio by the way?”
“He has a bit of a sore throat so he’s taking it easy today to make sure it goes away by Wednesday show,” Narancia popped into view with Mista’s bass strapped to his back. Wait what? When did that happen?
“Said it was probably because somebody put their wet hair on his neck last night.” Fugo rolled his eyes in Narancia’s direction as the other man took off for the entrance to the supper club. “He gave us the setlists for this week though. We can call it early if you want to. I’m mostly here because Bruno texted to say he had a keyboard delivered for me.”
“Oh, so is Narancia gonna need help dragging you home?” Mista laughed when his comment made Fugo flush bright red.
Setup took a little longer than usual since Fugo had a new toy to play with. Mista and Narancia ended up fucking around just jamming on drums and bass as Fugo messed with settings on his new keyboard like some kind of evil genius. It really made Mista curious about the scope of his musical talents again.
“Hey Fugo,” he called out, waiting until the man in question looked up to ask his question. “Can you play drums?”
“Yeah, he can!” Narancia answered as he twirled one of his drumsticks around in a showy flourish.
“I’m not as good as Narancia,” Fugo demurred.
“You’re not that bad though.” Narancia was up off his stool and dragging Fugo over to his drum kit in a flash. “Show him.”
“Fine.” Fugo sighed before he took his boyfriend’s drumsticks and complied.
Mista nodded along, catching the beat before he started to play with Fugo. Where Fugo played piano (or about any stringed instrument as far as Mista could tell) like breathing, he clearly had to think a little more to play drums. The concentration made his playing hesitant to start, relaxing into the flow as he locked in with Mista, but he was clearly not as used to being on this side of a rhythm section. Speaking of, Mista wondered how would Fugo play with a drummer as the bassist.
“Hey Fugo!” Mista grinned when Fugo cast him an exasperated expression, sensing more bullshit afoot.
---
Narancia was going to explode. He wasn’t expecting Mista to be such a romantic. Ugh. He thought they’d make out a bunch, fuck some until they got tired of it, and just lapse back into being friends again. This waiting shit was fucked. It wasn’t like they weren’t both adults! Why wait for what they both clearly wanted?
“If Fugo asked you to kiss him would you do it?” Narancia whined, hanging off of the back of Mista’s shoulders when he was turned down yet again.
Mista rocked side to side a little to shake Narancia before answered, “I mean, sure.”
“What!” Narancia squawked, dropping to the ground in shock so Mista could escape his clutches. “Why him and not me? It’s not fair!”
“You want it too bad,” Msita shot a fingergun at Narancia and then aimed another at Fugo with his other hand. “I’m not afraid he’s gonna try to devour me whole like you.”
“The logic is sound.” Fugo laughed. “Now I want to ask you to kiss me just to rub it in.”
“I mean, if you wanna be petty I support you.” Mista shrugged.
“Don’t you dare.” Narancia glared at his boyfriend. “Pannacotta, don’t. Please.”
“Hmm…” Fugo hummed thoughtfully, tapping his index finger against his chin. The corners of his mouth turned up slowly in an evil little grin that suddenly reminded Narancia that the love of his life had a dark side. Fugo was the best, most loving partner, all Narancia could ever ask for and more. He was also, deep down, an absolute fucking bastard. As a kid he’d agreed to learn law just so he could figure out how to free himself from his parents’ custody and get the courts to reward him to his grandmother. His reasons were justified, but it was still some real hardcore stubborn bastard shit.
“Guido,” Fugo said in a honey-sweet voice as he turned towards Mista. “Kiss me?”
“Okay,” Mista blinked rapidly, caught off guard by this teasing, playful Fugo but still game to keep his promise. He stepped close and gently cupped Fugo’s jaw in his hand to tilt his face into a better angle.
Narancia forgot he was supposed to be mad about this.
It was just they were just so hot together. About the same height but so different, slender and pale vs muscular and tanned. Fugo’s pale eyelashes fluttered closed as he melted into the kiss. Narancia really wanted to know what it was that Mista was doing to make Fugo go so still. Maybe it was that his lips were really as soft as they looked or the way he stroked his thumb on Fugo’s cheek, slowly slowly to match the languid pace he’d set.
It wasn’t fair that Mista was right, but Narancia wanted to press himself against Mista’s back and whisper all Fugo’s sensitive spots into his ear. He wanted to bite Mista, to taste him. Wanted to see his stupid sexy body without any of his dumb graphic tees or low rise jeans on. He wanted to get his hands on Mista’s ass and squeeze his stupid bubble butt.
Fugo let out a little gasp when they pulled apart for air and immediately covered his mouth with a hand, hiding his kiss-swollen, spit slick lips from Narancia’s view. “Sorry.”
“It’s all good,” Mista answered in rough voice, swallowing to clear it. “Guess I’ll see you Wednesday, yeah? Unless you wanna hang out tomorrow.”
“Yeah, you should come over. It’s, uh, supposed to be nice tomorrow. We can all sit out in Abbacchio’s backyard,” Fugo mumbled, tucking his hair behind his ear.
Oh, interesting. He was definitely blushing. Narancia tucked that information away to think about later. For now he had a mission.
This time he played it smart and picked up Mista’s bass again as leverage. “Take me on a date tonight.”
Mista stared at him for a few silent moments before turning to Fugo.
Fugo just shrugged back. “You might as well. You’ll have tomorrow to recover in case he’s… enthusiastic. I’m going to get some more tea to bring home for Abbacchio.”
“I’m only doing this because you’re holding my baby hostage,” Mista rolled up his last cord and put it away before walking away towards the edge of the stage and hopping off. “Let’s roll, asshole.”
“Yes!” Narancia scrambled to catch up. He paused to look back at Fugo, pointedly raising his wrist to his mouth to press his lips against his the tattoo of his boyfriend’s initials.
“Get out of here, you menace,” Fugo chuckled softly before blowing Narancia a kiss.
---
Just because Giorno didn’t want to do a little digging to find out what his potential bandmates were like didn’t mean Trish had to abstain from snooping on their social media accounts. She just had to do it when her best friend wasn’t around which mostly meant she spent her free time between meetings and interviews scrolling and watching videos with her earbuds in.
Look, she didn’t get as far as she did in the industry by playing nice and keeping her head down. She knew how to spin a controversy to make herself look good, how to soften her enemies by targeting their weak points and making them look worse in comparison. She was going to use every bit of information at her disposal to make sure Giorno’s dreams came true here. It was the very least she could do.
By far the hardest member of the Golden Experience Supper Club band to find anything out about was Leone Abbacchio himself. Unsurprising since he’d deleted all of his accounts long ago after the guitarist for his old band Siren had gotten shot by a crazy fan. He’d never even joined any of the new sites that got popular after the band’s breakup. Trish remembered hearing from Bruno that Abbacchio was sober now, but other than old rumors about his mean streak that might not even be true anymore, she had no idea what to expect from him.
Guido Mista, the bassist, kind of looked like a fuckboy but maybe that was because he always seemed to be showing off his abs. Trish was willing to concede that he might be nice since he dedicated his TikTok account to his weird, big-pawed cat’s antics. She just wasn’t all that interested in him to be honest. He seemed like a pretty basic Italian-American twenty-something who loved his mama and flexing in his gym pics.
Moving on, Pannacotta Fugo, the pianist, was interesting in that his accounts seemed like they were already run by a publicist. He only tweeted to announce upcoming shows and projects or signal boost friends’ work. Actually she was surprised that he chose to be in the band when with a little more work he probably could have leveled up his Youtube from a moderate success to a top music themed channel. All he’d really need to do would be to set up a Patreon and chat more with his fans. The little glimpses of his personal life he shared seemed carefully, curated, in a way that made it seem like he was grown in a vat in a sterile lab.
The drummer had to be Trish’s favorite. Narancia Ghirga. Gender unknown, messy as hell, unapologetically a weird little freak. Their twitter was all dumbass shower thoughts and memes; their TikTok was full of legitimately good dancing, and their Instagram was all thirst traps. From really blatantly horny thirst traps to funny tongue-in-cheek ones that made Trish wonder if Narancia was running the whole account as a satire. She had to meet this adorable idiot and find out how an absolute feral raccoon of a human being like them could attract somebody like Pannacotta Fugo.
If, no, when Giorno joined the band, whoever was assigned to clean their image and promote them was probably going to end up prematurely bald after tearing all their hair out. Trish was really looking forward to that future media circus. It was going to be so wild they’d all become household names for sure.
---
Mista threw an arm over his face and held his breath. Maybe if he pretended to be dead Narancia would leave. It worked with bears right?
“Mista?”
Silence
“Mista?” Two hands trailed up Mista’s sides starting at his hips and stopping to curl over his shoulders as the bed shifted, and Narancia climbed back on top of him.
Mista’s dick did not so much as twitch in interest. In fact, if it were possible he would have sucked it and his balls up inside his body where they’d be safe from the monster he’d willingly invited into his home. If he could go back in time and tell himself not to tease so much, not to poke the bear so to speak, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d rewind the clock to that afternoon and put himself in a headlock until his past self agreed to just give Narancia a fucking kiss.
Tired of being ignored, Narancia bent over to take a healthy bite of Mista’s right pec.
“Hey!” Mista threw his arm back to his side to glare up at Narancia.
“Hi,” Narancia chirped, smiling as he straightened back up. “Ready for round two?”
“No! Of course I’m not ready for round fucking two! I think I died for like a second there.” Mista laughed hysterically, lifting both hands to rub at his eyes, which was honestly a huge mistake considering what kind of substances they were covered in.
“Oh,” Narancia was sitting with his head tilted like a confused puppy when Mista stopped trying to frantically wipe dried spunk off his own face. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
Mista reached up to pull Narancia down against his own chest to force a cuddle. “Naw, man, I loved it. I’m just gonna need you to take it easy on me. I haven’t gotten laid in awhile. Plus I don’t wanna keep you out too late. You’ll need a shower before I drive you back home to Fugo.”
“Need a bigger place so I can have both of you,” Narancia whined petulantly but still snuggled into Mista’s embrace.
That was an interesting idea. Too tempting to think about when Mista was too tired to even feel hopeful about the kiss he shared with Fugo earlier that day.
---
Leone still really wasn’t sure what the appeal of the great outdoors was, but he had to admit that Narancia and Fugo had somehow transformed his backyard into a little oasis since they’d moved in. At some point they’d planted some drought resistant plants in his once barren flowerbeds. Now it was almost nice to hang out around his over-optimistically large patio set. He had a fan in one hand, an ice cold sweating bottle of cola in the other, and an umbrella over his head to keep the sun off. He was seated at the table next to Mista, who was flipping through a trashy gossip magazine.
Some distance away, Narancia was in the middle of the dirt “lawn” turning cartwheels and making a mess of himself. Fugo sat on matching outdoor couch in the shade from the house playing his saxophone. Smooth jazz interrupted by the occasional thwip of a glossy page turning formed a lullaby soothing Leone into a drowsy state as he watched Narancia make a mess of himself and get absolutely coated in grime and dust.
“One of the D’Arbys got arrested for illegal gambling and insider trading,” Mista commented offhandedly as he flipped to the next page.
Leone raised his eyebrows above his sunglasses. A mogul’s downfall seemed more like actual news, not just the usual celebrity and reality star fodder that only the nosy really cared about. He was about to ask more about what happened when Mista frowned and sat up straighter, bringing his magazine closer to his face to squint at it.
“Oh shit,” Mista hissed. “That’s Bruno.”
“What,” Leone said flatly and loudly enough that Fugo abruptly stopped playing to look over at them.
Mista looked down at his magazine, over at Leone, and down at his magazine again, clenching his teeth in a grimace. “I don’t know if you wanna see this, Abbacchio.”
Now he had to see it. Leone folded his fan up and placed it on the table before silently holding his hand out for the magazine. He even tilted his head forward so he could make eye contact with Mista over his oversized sunglasses, a look designed to weaken the other man’s resolve.
Sure enough Mista handed it over as Fugo got up to move closer out of curiosity. Even Narancia seemed to sense the shift in atmosphere and stopped throwing himself around the yard.
What Leone saw made his heart fall out of his chest.
Blazoned across the top of a half page article chock full with pictures was the title “Trouble in Paradise?” It seemed that Giorno Giovanna, Trish Una’s socialite (ex-?)boyfriend and son of famous actor Dio Brando, had been spotted several times chatting and spending time alone with Bruno. The article itself was a total fluff piece that was just barely readable, but the pictures spoke for themselves.
There was Bruno laughing with Giorno at Trish’s new album launch party as the blonde leaned into his space, one hand poised delicately on Bruno’s arm. There they were at a coffee shop with their heads bowed together, talking animatedly about something as if they were in their own little world. There they were walking on a street as Bruno frowned and lifted an arm to shield Giorno from the cameras of the paparazzi. There they were standing close as Bruno pressed a hand to the small of Giorno’s back. There they were going into some type of residential building together.
“That’s where Bruno lives. I recognize the door,” Fugo said quietly, pointing at the most recent image.
He took him home.
Bruno took Giorno Giovanna home. Beautiful, quiet, golden Giorno Giovanna who was five years younger than Leone and had none of same baggage. Giorno was probably insanely talented too if he’d inherited even a fraction of his father’s charisma and cunning. He probably wouldn’t fight Bruno every step of the way if Bruno tried to give him career advice.
“Are you okay, Abbacchio? You’re spilling your pop,” Narancia pointed out. When had he gotten so close?
Leone looked over at his other hand and realized he’d been squeezing his soda bottle so tightly it was spilling out over his fist. He put the bottle down and then looked at the magazine, put that down instead, and picked up the bottle to take a sip. The artificial sweetness hitting his tongue was not enough. He needed more, something harder, a mixer to go with it.
“Where are you going?” Mista immediately stood up when Leone stood.
“Inside,” Leone answered absently as he turned towards his back door. If he grabbed his keys and left he could make himself forget all about this, all about Bruno and his perfect new boyfriend.
Leone drifted through his house like a phantom. By the time he made his way to his front door from his room after ditching his slides for better shoes for driving, his keys were gone and all three of his bandmates were standing in front of the door looking very determined.
“Give me my keys,” Leone growled as he held out a hand so whoever had stolen them could return them. “I’m going out.”
“Like hell you are!” Mista growled right back. “I’m not gonna watch you throw away all your hard work over a guy, Leone. You’re better than that! If Bruno doesn’t know how you feel, if he can’t wait for you then, well, fuck him! We’re here for you. Lean on us instead, man.”
“It’s not worth breaking your sobriety,” Fugo added quietly. “How can we help you?”
Narancia broke away from the other two to plaster himself to Leone’s side, wrapping his arms around the taller man to squeeze him tight. He didn’t say anything, but the contact, the pressure was grounding. Leone had never been a hug guy before and now, hell, here he was hugging his little limpet back, gross coating of dirt and all.
These three were like family to him now more than ever. Maybe Leone had gotten them all through Bruno’s scheming, but they were his. Nothing would ever make him give them up again.
He could feel the unshed tears in his eyes finally break free and laughed as he wiped them off on his arm. “Follow me and bring my keys,” he said as he gently extracted himself from Narancia to lead the way upstairs to the home studio he hadn’t entered since he wrote his solo album and the memories got to be too much for him to want to create anything else.
None of the boys, no, the other men. They were men no matter how Leone tried to separate himself from them. At twenty-seven years old he was only two years older than Mista in fact. None of the rest of them had ever been in this room before. They all looked around curiously as Leone flicked the lights on.
“Ew, it’s dusty in there.” Narancia wrinkled up his nose hypocritically.
“It’s beautiful,” Fugo gasped as he looked around at the recording equipment tucked away in a soundproof booth that sealed off part of the room and the guitars neatly hung up on racks on the opposite wall.
Leone made a beeline for his desk to dig around in the drawers for a notebook and pen. Once he’d obtained his quarry he turned to his audience with a triumphant grin. “I think it’s time we started officially writing our own music.”