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His lips parted slightly, eyes burning holes at the sink mirror, staring curiously at his golden hair — which had not been this color the previous night. In fact, it was quite the opposite, the strands were as dark as the night which differed from even his mom who had dark brown hair.
Truly an outcast.
But there he was, for seemingly no reason, blond. A fleeting thought passed through his mind, thoughts of a father he'd never met, who he has only seen a picture of which shows that he was blond.
But genes just don't kick in out of nowhere like that, and even if that was a thing, only his roots would be light, not his whole hair. That's basic knowledge, …at least he thinks it is.
Giorno dismisses the hair issue to focus on another one.
It was spontaneous, of course, he'd always sort of felt he could do more than the average person could — incredible things — and looking at what was behind him, a being hovering behind his shoulder, something humanoid and yet eerie in a way. He just knew that it was the cause of that. And also that it is somehow an extension of himself.
‘Gold Experience’ — he caught himself thinking, he watched the thing closely, standing just behind him, and it stared right back. With those dull things that seemed to mimic eyes.
Giorno had less trouble accepting it than he probably should have, as if it was just another fact about him, he'd uncovered and technically that is what happened.
It felt right.
An itchiness had made its way to the back of his hand, he scratched it, but was surprised to see words written on it. “… Purple Haze?” Giorno paused for a beat, tried to wipe the ink off his hand, to no avail. It was looking more like a tattoo, which made no sense, he's never given enough thought to getting one, and surely, he would remember if he did.
It was nothing flashy, just simple, black bold letters — straight to the point. Yet.
The more Giorno took in its sight, the more the two words were engraved in his brain.
“Purple Haze.”
It meant nothing to him.
It had no deeper significance.
… It made Giorno crave for something.
Different from how he knew Gold Experience was an extension of himself, ‘Purple Haze’ felt like it belonged to him, but wasn't his per se. As contradictory as it may sound.
Like Gold Experience, like the blond hair, Giorno decided that Purple Haze was part of his life now too.
Simple as that.
The weird man in white grabbed his wrist, and for the smallest of moments, he glanced down at the back of the hand he had on his own, something akin to recognition flickered in his eyes, but almost as quickly he went back to glaring at Giorno.
Although, there was something softer about it now. Giorno took notes, but had no time to dwell on the fact this has been the first person he's met to acknowledge his mark properly — he has a feeling that Koichi guy would be able to too — everything else happened too fast. That man left the train, but Giorno suddenly found himself holding an eyeball and out of nowhere the man licked his face.
Fingers came out of his mouth, ‘Bruno Bucciarati’ as he had dubbed himself stood tall, “It'd be a shame if you died, considering your mark, I'd rather it didn't come to that.”
What does he mean by that?
When Gold Experience was let out due to the need to defend himself, Bucciarati was startled at the suddenness of its attack, holding his injured arm, but didn't seem surprised.
“So this is it? Gold Experience.” He examined Gold, and Giorno just got more confused as the events unfolded.
“How do you know that?” Giorno almost shouted, but Bucciarati just grimaced. “There's no doubt, you were the one who attacked Luca!” Albeit reluctant, the man went for a fight.
Even while explaining his plan of action, Bucciarati kept shooting glances at Giorno's hand. “Bucciarati.” The man looked up, Giorno raised his hand, “I can't help but notice you staring at my hand.” he turned it, so the back of his hand was facing the other man, “You mentioned something about ‘my mark’ when we fought, what is the meaning of it?”
“…” Bucciarati averted his gaze, “You've only recently learned about stands, it makes sense that you wouldn't know.” he looked Giorno straight in the eye, “The simplest way to put this is that your soulmate is also a stand user.”
“… My soulmate?” Giorno has heard of the term, of course, you don't have to be a romantic to be familiarized with what a ‘soulmate’ is. But for it to be an actual thing? Well, after stands, nothing can be as outlandish.
“That's right. To my knowledge when someone awakens their stand, usually they get someone else's stand name on their body and vice versa.”
Giorno nodded, “So do you know who mine is?” It would make sense, given he expressed his aversion to the idea of killing him before due to his tattoo.
“Yes. But even so, your person would not like it if I told you, so I am not.”
“That's understandable.” Giorno isn't sure he wants to know himself, would it be a liability? Something in the way of his dream?
Maybe it'd be better if he didn't find out at all.
He should start wearing gloves.
Even before entering, the commotion inside the building could be heard from the outside. Bucciarati barged in, scolding the group inside, presumably people under his command.
Giorno could be thinking of many things, how everyone present were stand users, making a good first impression, how none of them trusted him just yet — and even so. His eyes immediately zeroed on the white-haired boy with piercing red eyes.
Giorno stood frozen to his spot, everything came to a stop and suddenly, everything was about him.
About them.
No one else.
Nothing else mattered at that moment — he didn't want anything to interrupt this.
He watched as slowly, but surely the other teen's calculating glare relaxed and stared at him with such intensity, Giorno's breath hitched.
Bucciarati cleared his throat, and it was as if the spell were broken, and for the first time, Giorno looked down at this other person's hand, the same spot he has ‘Purple Haze’ on. And was met with the sight of an ugly scar — he doesn't know what exactly he expected to see.
He bowed, “I'm Giorno Giovanna. Nice to meet you.”
Between enemy attack after enemy attack, Giorno couldn't dwell on that feeling, only being able to watch the young man from afar — Fugo, that was his name, Pannacotta Fugo. Giorno thinks it fits the boy perfectly — and sometimes, only sometimes, he caught him staring too. Deep red meeting soft green.
Giorno baskered in everything about Fugo, how deeply he cared about his teammates, his quick thinking and intelligence. Of course, Giorno also saw his flaws, his short temper and issues when it came to managing his anger, lashing out almost immediately — he'd seen it first hand.
Pannacotta Fugo was far from perfect.
But he was everything Giorno never even dreamed of and more, oh so much more.
It made him feel silly.
He wasn't even 100% sure that he was his soulmate, not knowing how to figure that out just yet, but if he turned out to not be Giorno wouldn't mind. Never had he felt this strongly about someone.
Giorno never experienced heartbreak, but he imagines it'd be a real shame if Fugo didn't share the same sentiments as him.
Then he got a chance, sooner than he had expected, Bucciarati set the both of them off on a mission to retrieve a key on Pompeii. If you ignored the other tall, long-haired man that was sent along with them, one could even call this the first time Giorno is hanging out with Fugo.
Almost a dream come true.
Then Fugo was caught by the enemy.
He was assessing the situation and tried thinking of the possible abilities their enemy could have — Yes, peeking behind the mirror was a valid course of action, who knows — when he heard a sharp intake of breath and rushed words came from Abbacchio behind him, ushering him to come near him.
Giorno craned his neck to look behind him.
It was a stand, an enemy stand, he had to get Gold Experience out- But he didn't. It was a rabid thing, drooling all over, with an off-putting aura, and yet, Giorno didn't feel threatened at all.
Abbacchio kept sweating and started to yell at Giorno to get over there, it was a sight to behold, but he stared at the stand, a familiar feeling of knowledge and words at the tip of his tongue.
“Purple haze.” He whispered, it wasn't a question.
Abbacchio had the nerve to roll his eyes, “Okay, listen here you loverboy, yes, that's Fugo's stand. Get away from it, now!” The man was beginning to sound hysterical. Giorno backed away, but did not take his eyes off the stand.
The way it acted, it was a culmination of Fugo's worst traits, it seemed, and yet Giorno could only feel drawn to it, in a deranged way. Reckless.
He was snapped back to the situation by Abbacchio, of course, the man was more concerned about Fugo's stand being too near than the whereabouts of the other teen.
Well, at least now he is sure that he, Giorno Giovanna, and Pannacotta Fugo were, in fact, soulmates.
And isn't it ironic how much their abilities differ from one another? Almost poetically so, they were two halves of a whole. That is what soulmates are after all.
They struggled, Giorno had a plan, and it worked, but did it hurt. That virus was no joke and the procedure of injecting the antidote in himself was just as painful, but in the end it was worth it. Fugo looked at him, really looked at him, he didn't try to hide or be subtle about it, he looked at Giorno with such- adoration, for a lack of a better word, it almost made all the pain feel like nothing.
Almost.
Time was somehow never on their side, constantly on the run, driving to the train station only to be attacked. And Giorno just could not find himself alone with Fugo, but it was to be expected.
He was left to ‘steal’ the other cars for them to get a better chance at staying hidden from enemies for a longer time.
Someone cleared their throat.
Giorno turned around and was surprised to see Fugo, but he shouldn't really, this is objectively the perfect time. The white-haired boy looked at the ground before meeting Giorno's eyes, “You must've realized that we are-”
“Soulmates?”
A faint pink made its way to Fugo's cheeks, “Yes.” Giorno stared intently at him, What should I say? Fugo beat him to it. “Straight to the point, I'm sorry.”
Oh. Is this it? Is Fugo trying to let him down gently right now?
“That's-”
“I’m sorry I’m the one.”
Giorno paused and frowned, “You're sorry you're my soulmate.”
“Exactly. I- I really admire you, Giorno, you're one of a kind — I mean it positively, of course — and I truly believe you are capable of great things and have a bright future ahead of you.” Fugo rambled. Giorno felt his own cheeks heat up. “And you deserved someone as good as that. Not- me, I'm a mess, you've seen my stand and all-”
Giorno approached him and by the time Fugo was beginning to spiral they were face to face, he noticed Fugo was just some inches taller than him, “Fugo.” the teenager startled, vision focusing back. Giorno tentatively reached for the other's hand, the scarred one, and when he was met with no resistance he caressed it on his own.
They locked eyes.
“I couldn't have asked for someone else.”
Fugo scoffed, “You can't possibly-”
“I mean it. I don't like repeating myself, so you better believe it.”
For a moment, it was dead silent.
Then Giorno heard the sound of a motor, and of course it had to be an enemy attack.
“Are you sure you're fine, Giorno?” Fugo was cradling his face, thumb going over the lines where a chunk of his face had been taken off and put back together — he was tempted to say that no, he wasn't fine, just to keep Fugo's attention all to himself.
“Yes, I am sure. What about you?”
“Me?” The stand they were fighting off against had used its ability on Fugo too, to see him being sliced evenly into small cubes and being scrambled back only to turn into something else was- unsettling. “There's nothing to worry about.”
“If you say so.”
Fugo's eyes widened when he realized he was still holding Giorno's face and tried to get his hands off, but Giorno placed his own above Fugo's, keeping it in place.
They stared deeply at each other.
Faces inching closer almost in slow motion.
And then-
“Yo, are you two done making out or whatever?” Narancia's voice came from up on the street, he peeked over, hand covering his eyes, “What was that fire by the way, didn't take y'all for the freaky kinda dudes!”
Giorno could hear the moment Fugo's teeth gritted, and the teen jumped over to where Narancia was still covering his eyes, “We were being attacked! Did you idiots seriously not realize that!?”
Giorno mourned the loss of the moment they almost shared, it just wasn't the time, but smiled upon hearing Fugo's voice in the background — shouting horrible things at the poor teenager who was still older than both of them.
Has he always been this sappy?
Maybe that's just how… love is.