Gold And Sapphires (JJBA)

Ripples

Giorno feels warm.

His veins thrum with it, he's overheating—he's done little more than sample every dish and yet he feels stuffed. Perhaps his standards are low. He's never had nearly this much to eat in the past. Back when his hair was black and messy and his arms were too thin, he'd never been allowed to eat much at all. And since his ascension to Don-hood, he's never given himself the chance to indulge.

Positions have shifted. Trish had led him across the room, before drifting somewhere else and Giorno hardly finds himself having much of the heart to move. The blonde finds himself leaning against the wall, quiet in his observations. A safe distance away sits Joseph and his wife—the only two that Giorno realizes he's hardly interacted much with at all. Yes, there had been some passed lines between Joseph and the blonde, but nothing much—nothing one-on-one. Giorno is glad for that.

Joseph is...well, Giorno isn't actually sure. He's small, he's large—his being is melded into the very threads of this familial quilt. He's the embodiment of something Giorno doesn't understand. Of course he's heard plenty on the man—heard of his vigor and strength and pride in his star. It's not hard to hear about how much Joseph had utterly and completely despised Dio. The man had been completely and absolutely determined to bleach out the parasite on his family's lineage.

It is for this reason that Giorno wonders; 'Is the son of a parasite, in his eyes, also nothing more than filth?'

(The thought scares Haruno. It doesn't faze Giorno.)

Perhaps Joseph doesn't hate him—but cloaked disgust—annoyance—discomfort isn't hate.

"'Getting full?" a voice asks, old and rich; like ancient oak and ringed pine. There's no malice in it.

Giorno stills his fingers, tilts his head, takes a half step. "Yeah," he says, measured, "The food has been very good. Your daughter is an amazing chef."

Joseph laughs, open and genuine. "She is, isn't she! She's Suzie's daughter after all. I don't know how they do it!"

In the rocking chair beside him, Suzie snorts—a frail kind of breathless sound. It reminds Giorno of the last breaths of an old, long-living tree—its branches sagging under the weight of the life it's lived and the shade it's provided. "You're just not patient enough! You're no fool. If you set your mind to it it'd be easy."

"Fair enough, fair enough!" The man's eyes crinkle in mirth. Giorno feels like a third wheel. He shifts uncomfortably, wonders if he should leave, wonders if that'd be rude. As though sensing his discomfort, Joseph turns back, looks like he's going to say something.

A pause, Joseph stares. Giorno holds himself in perfect position. There's the sound of conversation and the crack of old heating and the sound of Giorno's heart crawling up his throat.

The elder speaks first. "You...remind me of Josuke," he says, eventually. The blonde can't decipher the tone of his voice.

"Oh," he responds after a moment, it sounds painfully awkward. "I see...? I'm sorry, but I don't completely understand what you mean..."

Not only does Giorno not understand; he also dislikes the implications of such a statement. He likes Josuke, sure, but... Josuke is awkward and afraid and when Giorno looks he sees the mirror of someone less competent and less strong and less like the sun. The blonde likes Josuke, but he doesn't want to reflect the inherent awkwardness, unsure-ness, hesitation, anxiety that he sees in the older teen.

He won't say it terrifies him and he won't critique Josuke for it, but he doesn't want to be that. Weakness should be purged.

Joseph chuckles, "Well, It's been strange to accept both of you...strange but...not unwelcome. It's good to have you here."