Archive of Our Own ^beta

Giorno frowns at the phone screen in his lap. "But why did the girl have to be a bad guy?" 

Next to him, Mista scoffs. "Drama, Giorno, drama. Besides, the popular girls are always trying to get the hot guy for their hotness without ever really knowing their feelings! Unlike the shy cute ones, you know. Nerds are your best bet."

Back on the screen, the blond singing lady begins to smack lips with her designated love interest as the music slowly peeters out and the youtube suggestions fade in.

"So am I a self-absorbed, surface-level antagonist in some loner's love life?" 

"Yes, actually," says Abbacchio across the table. 

"Shut up, old man, you don't count. You're not single. And no, of course not, Gio."

"I'm literally the cheer captain."

"And a fucking nerd too. So, it cancels out!"

Giorno rolls his eyes in sync with Abbacchio, and subsequently causes Mista to laugh out loud. 

Guidio Mista, star player of the (not American) football team, sitting on top of a table in his rugged varsity jacket and classic beanie, all dimples and warm skin in the sunshine, being so utterly bright and gleeful about everything, making Giorno's heart do summersaults everytime he sees him being himself like that… Oh, Abbacchio was giving him that look again. 

Yeah, Giorno was pretty damn whipped. 

Mista's eyes snap open then, gaze fixed somewhere across the schoolyard. "Shit, that's Elena—this is my chance! Do I look okay? Is there anything in my teeth? Crap, I should've bought those flowers earlier, damn. Giorno, can you…?" 

With a little glow of his pen, Giorno offers Mista a stand-made rose. "You're fine," he says with a smile. The smile he gets back is worth the loss of his favorite pen. 

"You're a lifesaver, Gio. Ciao!" Mista promptly hops off the table and makes a beeline for the girl in glasses and pigtails exiting the main building. Still in his seat, Giorno sighs. 

"That was my favorite pen."

Across from him, Abbacchio groans, long and exasperated. "You're a goddamn idiot," he says. "You both are. Just tell him how you feel!"

Giorno shakes his head with yet another sigh. "I can't risk ruining our friendship and you know that. He's looking for a girlfriend, I'm absolutely not his type, and telling him anything now will only push him away. It's scientific analysis—Fugo can verify."

"Please, Fugo doesn't know shit about emotions except for anger. For the love of god, Giorno. Watching you pine is fucking painful. " 

Giorno stiffens. "I'm—I'm not pining ." 

"Pfft. You are. You are pining and closeted and stupid. How the fuck do you have top grades again? You sure Gold Experience can't help you cheat?" 

"I'm not pining!" He may or may not have stomped his foot. Abbacchio's laugh has no ground. "You're one to talk, oh 'miracle-worker forensics student who totally doesn't have a stand to help with finding clues'. Besides… Mista's straight."

"Giovanna."

"What?"

"You've got to be fucking with me."

"Gross. And no."

"I.. just—" Abbacchio clicks his tongue and pinches his forehead. "Are you sure."

"Yes. Absolutely. He likes romcoms, he likes breasts, he likes women. I have no chance." 

" Excuse me? Have you seen that kid's wardrobe? Giorno, no straight man willingly wears crop-tops on principle." 

"That's both homo and heterophobic," Giorno hums, watching his goth friend lean back and cross his leather-clad arms. 

"Hush, you know I'm right." Abbacchio then flicks his phone up before Giorno can get a word in, matte black manicured nails and all, clacking away at his screen. "You should still go for it, kid. Hatch some sort of contrived plan to show him popular, narcissistic brats can be his type too, since you seem to be physically incapable of being direct about anything."

"Wow. Thank you for the encouragement."

"No problem. I have my literature elective in 30 minutes, gonna have to leave you alone with your gay thoughts for now. Later, bitch."

Giorno raises his middle finger in farewell, and returns to the notes he was (supposed to be) studying. Across the field, Mista was walking away arm-in-arm with that giggling girl. 

Giorno rolls his eyes. Shy, quiet, pretty nerds, huh? Giorno could have probably passed for that four years ago. Although, depressive, ostracized, too-asian loner would have been a more apt description. He probably wouldn't have qualified for the protagonist of a Taylor Swift music video. Right now however, with his stand manifested, blond hair, top grades and close-knit friends, Giorno would be a prime star as the antagonist of one of those songs. 

He was pretty sure he wasn't selfish and shallow, though. Not too much, anyway. 

Bruno Bucciarati, resident mom-friend as he was, would have probably berated him for even thinking such thoughts. Luckily, he was away on his criminology classes for the whole afternoon, leaving Giorno to gloom alone at their 'friendship table'. 

Still. He had no plans to force Mista to fall in love with him if he simply wasn't his type. But, damn, Giorno really wants to be his type. 

So he groans, dropping his forehead against the table, and stares at the calculus spread half an inch away from his pupils. 

Might have to take Abbacchio up on that suggestion.

———-

"I can pull off short skirts. God knows I've slayed skater skirts at cheer events."

"Yes, Giorno, we know that. But I think Elena's more of the… t-shirts and sneakers type of girl." Fugo flips through another notebook page.

"I wear sneakers too. I wear sneakers at every cheer dance."

"Yeah, yeah, but so do the bleacher kids. I'm a bleacher kid. Elena's a bleacher kid. Sneakers for everyone." Narancia spits out the eraser tip of his pencil.

Fugo grimaces. "Elena plays flute across the field," he says, looking up from the floor to where Giorno is splayed across his couch. Fugo's couch. 

Because Giorno was simply so upset about Mista officially gaining a girlfriend that he decided to voice his woes to his two closest male friends (who were in high school, anyway). 

"Dude," says Narancia, sweeping his now finished calculus notes over to Fugo. "Just confess to him already."

"No, he has a girlfriend," says Fugo, receiving the notes. "It would be unwise. And potentially friendship-destroying. What's the point in telling a taken man you like him?"

Narancia snorts then, flopping over on his stomach. " Taken ? Desperate and settling for less, more like. Trish tells me that Elena girl's got a bad reputation. Totally had more than one boy-toy."

" Boy-toy? What are you, thirty?" Fugo seems to cross out another item in Narancia's notebook. "No, nevermind that. A thirty-year old could have solved this problem. And—are these dick doodles? You fucking asshole—!"

"I don't know," Giorno sighs over the sound of Fugo shoving Narancia's screaming face into the carpet. "I mean, he likes those types of girls, I think. Unpopular, unpretentious. Cute. Pure. Shy. I'm none of those things." 

"Pure and shy? Nah. But cute, totally." Fugo gives him a mocking wink, which Giorno returns. Fugo then bites the hand that Narancia was trying to slap him with.

" Ow! And, ugh, why don't you two just start dating, you fucking flirts." Narancia grits out over trying to wrench Fugo's arm behind his back.

Giorno gives his bruised friend a look. "Trust me, we would if we could."

"Alas, forcing oneself to like someone you don't simply isn't possible. And is stupid," Fugo sighs, sitting triumphantly on Narancia's back. 

"Yeah, which is why I'm saying Mista's relationship with that Elena girl is a farce," Says the defeated boy. His hand slaps the floor to tap out. Fugo does not get up. 

"Still," says Giorno. "If he likes girls like Elena, facade or not, I can't be that. All this reputation-climbing already negated that. If I tried being shy and demure now I'd just get sent to counseling." 

"Mista would send you to counseling," Fugo snorts. "I think a guy can sense when his best friend's personality suddenly does a one-eighty. And knowing him in particular, he'll chalk it up to you joining four clubs or something. Gonna get you an exorcism to boot." 

"Hmm. Maybe if I wore less makeup and ditched the heels…"

On the floor, Narancia groans. "I thought you said you weren't confessing."

"No, no, I think he plans on seducing." Fugo grins.

Giorno winces. "No, definitely not." 

At that moment, Abbacchio chose to walk into the dorm with a jangle of keys. He takes one look at Narancia suffocating under the weight of Fugo on his back, and sighs. 

"Dick doodles?"

Fugo nods. "Dick doodles."

"Mhmm. This is why Bruno doesn't tutor you anymore, brat." Abbacchio then looks to the couch, turning a pointed black nail on Giorno. "Other brat. Done moping?"

"Yes. No. Maybe."

"Cool. Five minutes, and we're heading home or you're walking back." 

Abbacchio struts his way into the kitchen, presumably to raid Fugo's fridge, and Giorno sighs for the umpteenth time that day. 

"Hey, don't beat yourself down over some girl, Giorno," Fugo says, sympathetic. "You're too gay for that." 

"Yeah!" Narancia pipes in, now seemingly accepting his current circumstances as a human futon. "Besides, you've got everything that Elena girl doesn't. You're popular, the student council president—"

"—smart," Fugo nods. "Nerdy but like, in a cool way. You could start a Star Trek revival here. Make D&D cool with the hot people crowd." 

"And you can sing pretty decently! That's like, part of the Taylor Swift charm, right? And you're blond too!" 

Giorno frowns. "Elena's blond."

"Bleached," Fugo corrects. "And she's an introvert. At least, presents as one. And she's not Mista's best friend who has badass magical powers and badass magical hair."

"Yeah, and badass magical debate skills. Shit , Fugo, god, if you're gonna sit on me don't break my fucking spine." 

"Hey," Abbacchio grunts, re-entering the sitting room with a juicebox in hand. "Preppy brat doesn't need an ego boost. He knows he's perfect."

"Aw, is that a compliment, Abba?"

"Correction; thinks he's perfect." He sips from the juicebox. "What he needs is a reality check. Use your preppy badass powers to destroy that girl. Ruin her life. Scrub her grades out. Ban her from all the clubs."

"Jesus, Abba," Fugo says, but he's grinning, the scheming little shit. 

"I want Mista to like me, not ruin a girl's life." Giorno crosses his arms. "Besides, she's already failed all the club auditions. Her grades are also really terrible. I checked." 

There's a pause in conversation as everyone seems to momentarily judge Giorno's actions, because no one expects him to actually listen to Abbacchio. But it was Giorno, and mild power abuse was par for the course, so it was quickly disregarded. 

Abbacchio waves his hand dismissively. "Eh, potato-potahtoh." He shrugs.

Giornos throws his hands up in defeat. 

"Hey, Gio," Narancia finally, successfully, throws Fugo off of him and stands. "You're still Mista's best friend. You know him best. Just, you know, be there for him and stick around until you see an opening. And if there's not one, well, you're the best judge for that. Just proceed as normal, you know?"

Giorno smiles then, grateful. Narancia was always one to know what to say. "Thanks, Nara."

"No problem, Gio." He then gets tackled back to the floor by an angry Fugo. 

———-

Mista's waiting by the side of the road when Giorno honks his car.

Well, Abbacchio's car, but Giorno has spare keys for a reason. 

"Get in loser, we're going shopping." 

"You say that every day," Mista grins, getting in. 

But that grin is worth it everyday to Giorno. He'll make as many Mean Girls references as it takes to get a smile out of Mista anytime. Hell, he didn't even like the movie his first time around watching it. Granted, he'd watched it from behind the couch of his knock-out drunk step-father at the age of ten, and watching it cuddled up next to Mista on his own clean, alcohol-free couch may have given him a more favorable outlook. 

And well, now he'd based his entire debate style on the sheer aura of Regina George. So what? Sue him. 

Hmm. Abbacchio would, probably. 

But Giorno wouldn't give up his routine of driving Mista and himself to school everyday. Giorno roomed with Abbacchio in an apartment a little ways from Mista's dorm, and although the guy could have just walked a good fifteen minutes to get to class, he still waited for Giorno on the sidewalk. Everyday. And Giorno liked to think that meant something, romantic or not. 

"So, two weeks with a steady girlfriend for once." Hmm. Maybe not the best opening topic to bring up while actively trying to win someone's affection back. "How's it going? Any plans for your week-a-versary?" Well, Giorno couldn't stop now. 

Something he regretted, given how quickly Mista's grin disappeared. "Well, I mean, I love her I guess."

Giorno winces. Internally, that is. 

"But," Mista sighs, shrugging off his jacket as Giorno begins to drive. "Man, I think girls are just dramatic no matter what type they are."

"Careful, Tirsh is always listening."

Mista groans. "She can probably read minds. It's useless."

Giorno laughs at that, and Mista joins in too, but it doesn't last. He quickly lets out another depressing sigh. "I'm not really sure how to make her happy, you know? Like, she's great and adorable and all—"

Ouch. Ouch, ouch. 

"—but everytime I try to do something, to-to connect , it just doesn't work for her? Like, watching movies and cracking jokes or just talking feels like a constant mental battle with her. I feel like I'm walking on a minefield." He laughs quietly. "But hey, if the end goal is her being happy, I think it'll be worth it." 

Giorno tries to give his friend an encouraging smile, simultaneously hoping he doesn't notice how white his knuckles are on the wheel. "Well, while I don't think all women are like that, I do think guys tend to be more direct. Like, just say what's on your mind outright, you know?" 

"Exactly!" Mista claps. "Elena doesn't really appreciate when I, like, just, say things like I can do with you." 

Heh. Win for Giorno. 

He grins internally, but externally shrugs. "Well, I think it's just easier when you do that. Say what's on your mind, you won't keep me guessing." 

A lopsided smile makes its way into Giorno's peripheral. He has to resist from tearing all his attention away from the road. "See, you get me! Man, I love you, Gio." Mista sighs again, and Giorno has to battle with both a feeling of glee and a stroke of pain. "Like, wow I really missed talking to you. It's just…easy."

"Yeah," Giorno smiles. Easy. That's what it's like with Mista. He couldn't have said it better. "Same here. You almost missed movie night last week."

His companion winces. " Right . Man, Gio I'm…" He puts his head in his hands and Giorno's heart drops. 

"Are we… still on for tonight?" He asks cautiously. When Mista only looks at him very, very guiltily, he tries his best to smile. 

"Hey, it's alright—"

"No! No, it's not okay. Man, I shouldn't've promised Elena to go to that art gallery thing tonight. Urgh, stupid, stupid …"

"Hey no, Guido, it's fine." It was not fine. "You're… relationship, it's new. And I know you really like her, so, it's fine. We can move it to next week. Two movies, yeah?"

Mista looks up. "You… you're really okay with letting this slide?"

Giorno hopes his smile doesn't look like a grimace. "Of course." Ahahah. Nnnnno. "I've got you. What are best friends for?" 

"Aw, thank you so much, Gio! God, I love you!"

"...Please stop hugging me or I will crash this car."

"Pfft. You wouldn't. Abbacchio would beat you within an inch of your life then find a way to strip all your possessions away for hurting his baby ." 

"I thought Bruno was his 'baby'." 

"Dude!" Mista chortles. 

And just like that, they were back to their regular banter. Giorno tried to forget his awkward blushing moment and tried to slip back into trying to pretend things were normal.

 Five minutes later, he was pulling into the school grounds where he then usually got off with Mista at the parking lot. From there, Abbacchio would find the car after his classes and go on some date with his boyfriend while Giorno would walk home. Usually with Trish, Fugo, Narancia, and, sadly not today, Mista. 

But today, the first part wasn't going to happen either. 

"Elena!" Mista yells. The bleach-haired girl was waiting by the front gates, startled at seeing her boyfriend in a convertible with another guy, most likely.

So Giorno pulls over, pointedly ignoring her. 

"Guido!" 

First name basis. That was Giorno's thing. 

"Hey, I told you to call me Mista. Guido's weird. Or, just, babe is fine." 

Hmm. Interesting. Did Mista mind when Giorno called him that? Oof. 

"And, ah, President Giorno! I didn't know you two were friends."

Oh? "I see G- er, Mista here didn't mention me." He gives ' G- er Mista' a tight smile. "No worries. I'll see you around, Miss Elena. You best get going, Mista ."

If Mista frowned as he hopped out, Giorno didn't say anything. "Hey, um, so, parking?"

"Please, like I need a passenger to help me park." Giorno slips his shades on. "Ciao."

Elena giggles and waves as he drives off. He tried to pretend he didn't hear her mumble, " Hey, why don't you have a car? It would be so… cool. " 

But Mista mumbles back, " I'll get a car for you if that's what you want ." 

No more morning pick up sessions then, Giorno supposed. 

———-

Next Friday happens. Giorno does not pick Mista up all week because Abbacchio wanted his car back for thesis prep. Then Giorno receives a call regarding movie night. 

There is no movie night. 

" She wanted to invite me to this family dinner thing…"

"No, no, it's cool. I understand, Gui- I mean, Mista." 

" Hey, um, you know you can still call me Guido, right?"

"You said it made you uncomfortable."

"Yeah, but not—oh, wait, Elena hold on I'm in a call—"

"Hey, it's okay, I promise. You don't even owe me three movies next week. It's fine. I know you're occupied."

" Wait, Giorno, are you sure?"

"Of course."

"Aw, jeeze, I'll make it up to you I swear! Fuck, I have to go. "

"Have fun."

The line goes dead. 

Hmm.

"Hey, Abbacchio."

"What, brat?"

"I need you to buy wine and popcorn at the convenience store and call Bruno. I need to cry for a bit."

"Wait, what—? HEY WAIT. YOUR FOUNDATION WAS FORTY-EIGHT DOLLARS!" 

With a string of curses, Abbacchio scrambles to find tissues and call Bruno at the same time while Giorno sits tucked into a ball on his couch. 

Later, Giorno gets his movie night, but mostly spent sandwiched between mom-friend-with-a-shoulder-to-cry-on Bruno Bucciarati and his grumpy goth roommate who hand-fed him the popcorn. 

"Why are we watching Up?" Sniffle. Bruno pats his shoulder. 

"Because it has a dead female love interest and a happy ending."

A watery laugh. "I can't believe you're a misogynist now too."

"Shut up, brat. Eat more popcorn."

———-

" Eh, practice practice. You didn't have to practice! You could do your routine with your eyes closed, Gio. "

"I know. But my team can't, and I have to keep them on their toes. So, practice."

" Pff. Whatever, you're the boss."

"Yes. I am the boss. The boss who wants his team to perform well."

" Still! We could've hung out yesterday. Elena was… busy. "

"She blew you off, you mean."

The line goes quiet for a while, and Giorno worries that he's hit a nerve.  

"Mista, hey, I didn't mean—"

" Guido!"  

What?  

"For the love of god just call me Guido. You're makin' me feel like a stranger here." 

Oh. Giorno laughs, because he can hear the pout in his voice. "Fine, fine. Guido . I apologize."

" Eh, don't. You're right, anyhow. Still, I know you'll kill it out there, practice or no practice."

"And so will you, but I think you still should attend practice more often."

" Relax, Sex Pistols've got this in the bag."

"I didn't make cheer captain through Gold Experience, you know."

" Heh, I didn't need a stand to make MVP either. You know how naturally hot and talented your best friend is."

" Sure. Well, alright, then. If you get that winning shot without using the Sex Pistols, I'll uh… buy all the snacks for our next movie night."

"Fuckin' deal! Just you watch me."

Giorno smiles, because he knows he will. 

Win, that is. But Giorno will also watch him. Win. Yes.

In the distance, beyond the frantic chattering of high school students, he can hear Coach Tiziano calling in for the team pep talk. 

"Captain, come on!" His other best friend and assistant captain Trish yells over the cheerleaders beginning to gather. Giorno holds a hand up. 

"I have to go. Good luck out there." 

" You'll do awesome ," Mista reassures. 

Something hangs in the air. Something missing. An extra buffer before a weird goodbye. Giorno wonders how stupid it would be of him to say 'I love you' now. He shakes the thought off. 

"Bye. Guido."

" Bye, Boss."

With that, the call is over, and Giorno shoves his locker closed. 

"Alright team!" He claps his hands, gathering the attention of the whole room. "Let's make those Squadras out there feel sorry for crossing the Passione Arrows."  

Cheers and whooping all around, Giorno looks forward to his front row seat at the game. But first, his trademark encouraging speech. 

"As you all know, we each came in here with a dream—"

He ignores the collective groans. 

———-

Game night, as always, was insane. Chaos. Excitement. Not a place for introverts, that’s for sure. 

From Giorno’s spot at the foot of the bleachers, he could see Fugo ready to murder the jock stomping at his back. Next to him, Narancia was cheering along wildly with a very audible “ GO MISTA! ”, the pink and yellow colors of their school smeared across his face. At his feet, Bruno sat waving politely with one hand, the other carrying bottles of water and orange slices in a tupperware. There was probably more in that zipper on his arm. 

“Mom-friend,” Trish snickers next to him. 

But Bruno was also the weird friend, because he then narrows his eyes as though she didn’t whisper thirty feet away. A visible shiver passes down her spine. 

“Alright, mom’s pissed,” Trish breathes, turning away. “Where’s dad?” 

Giorno snorts, then, because even though Abbacchio was dating the designated ‘mom-friend’, the man hadn’t a single parental bone in his body. He was more of the awkward, unmarried boyfriend to a widowed mother. But angrier about it. 

“Goth boyfriend is prepping for his thesis presentation. Said he doesn’t trust me not to throw an after party at the apartment so he’s holing up at mom’s place.”

“Nice. We’re totally having an afterparty. Look at Sheila E over there; she’s doing fantastic for a third year! Girl deserves a celebration. You should recommend her as your replacement after we graduate.”

And Sheila was amazing, doing cartwheels for the casual cheer like nobody’s business. But Giorno’s attention wasn’t on her, but beyond her, where Mista was zipping back and forth across the field, the number 06 shining in bright white on his back. 

“Definitely,” says Giorno, a little belatedly. “She’s great.” 

“You mean he’s great.”

Giorno only rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t deign Trish’s smug smirk with even a glance. 

Just then, Mista dove right beneath the wide-open legs of an angry, blue-haired opponent who began to yell audible curses. Giorno wondered if that was a foul. The cursing, that is.

Mista swooped in to take the ball from where the opposing team was passing, ran as close to the goal as he could before being blocked, and at the last possible second, kicked the thing off to the far right. 

“ Here comes the classic Mista Misdirection!” Says the announcer over the speakers. The crowd goes insane. Three tiny golden lights hover over the grass, invisible to everyone except a few, and ping, ping, ping, the ball twists at all three turns and misses the goalie's hand by miles. One more point for Passione College, right before halftime, and the audience on both sides lose their shit. 

“ Boo! Fucking cheater!” Trish laughs. Mista winks at her, then waves to Giorno as he passes to get to his bench. Giorno offers a warm smile back. 

La Squadra College’s team is up to perform their cheer routine first, and Giorno considers walking up to chat with Mista for a bit. It’s been a while since they’ve simply hung out. 

Four weeks, his mind supplies. A month.

“Do it,” Trish nudges him, shrugging her track jacket off to get into her intentionally too-sexy uniform. Which Giorno did not approve of. “Talk to him, you dumbass. I’ll rally the team for you.” 

The woman could be an absolute menace most of the time, but she certainly backed her friends up when it mattered. Giorno gave her a grateful half-hug before beginning his jog through the crowd of students dispersing for the bathroom. 

“Guido!” He called, voice lost over the noise. He spotted the—very sweaty—object of his affections handing a water bottle back to a doting Bruno when he finally broke from the stream of people. He walked up with a smile, only to stop in his tracks when a bleach-haired girl in a band outfit walked right through Bruno’s personal space to cling to Mista’s arm. 

Right. The girlfriend. The reason Giorno missed out on nearly a month’s worth of movie nights. The reason he felt like he was losing his best friend.

“Guido! You were awesome out there!” 

“Hey, I thought we agreed on babe, yeah? And, oh, hah you think so?”

“Yeah, Guido. ” She slunk her arm around his neck, and standing on the tippy-toes of her brand new Nike sneakers, gave Mista a big, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

Bruno walks away with a frown, but Giorno does so first, too annoyed to see whether or not it was even reciprocated. It didn’t matter. 

Because God. Damnit. 

He grit his teeth as he walked back to his team. Grit his teeth on the rim of his water bottle. Grit his teeth on the orange slices. Grit his teeth while giving a motivational speech. 

“ We are going to fucking crush their dreams. ”

Giorno grit his teeth while he led his squad to the centre of the field. Grit his teeth doing the five consecutive flips in the air he specifically trained to do so he wouldn’t do four. Grit his teeth yelling out the school’s cheer. Grit his teeth sticking the landing of his solo. Grit his teeth tossing Sheila E a little too high into the air—but hey, the girl still stuck the landing like a champ. And he grit his teeth stalking back faster than his panting, exhausted teammates. 

“I’d offer you a towel but I think you evaporated all your sweat through sheer force,” says Bruno as they approached the benches. Giorno grits his teeth on the rim of his water bottle again. And then the orange slices. “Jesus, Giorno. That was the most aggressive series of cartwheels I’ve ever seen.” 

“Aw, I wish Abbacchio was here to see that,” Trish panted as she approached, gratefully accepting some orange slices. “He would’ve been so proud.”

“He would’ve filmed it,” Bruno confirms. The man seems proud, but less sarcastically so. “I see you’ve moved on to the second stage of grief, Giorno.” 

“I’m not angry,” Says Giorno angrily. 

They give him a look. 

“I’m not angry!” He absolutely does not stomp his foot. Their barely constrained laughter has no ground. 

Just then, Coach Tiziano interjects with a cheerful whoop. “Giorno! That was amazing, my boy! Let’s give it up for Captain Giovanna and his surprise extra three backflips!”

Suddenly, Giorno is lifted onto the shoulders of his teammates and his coach, and all his blood promptly rushes to his face. He would have easily diverted all the attention to Sheila E, star performer as she is, but alas, she was the one lifting him on her shoulder with a proud grin. 

The cheers of his name lasted for a solid eight seconds before Giorno regained his bearings and diverted attention masterfully back to the team, with a well-placed, “None of this would be possible without all your hard work! You all took my pushing like absolute mad lads. Give yourselves a cheer here, yeah!?” 

And soon enough Giorno was back on the ground and the squad was cheering amongst themselves, doing show-off flips for the audience, suddenly high on another shot of adrenaline and ego. 

Halftime was just about over and students were piling back into the bleachers. Giorno was ready to take his place back in the squad when a hand on his back stopped him. 

“Giorno!” 

“Oh, hello. Um, Miss Elena, was it?” 

Shit, shit, shit, what the fuck?

He could see Trish staring wide-eyed behind the girl in front of him.

What did she want? A favor? Ask for Mista’s favorite cake or something? Shit, maybe she found out about his stupid little crush and was going to confront him about it. Fuck. He couldn’t ruin this for Mista. 

“Hi, yeah,” Elena giggles. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. Shy. “You were awesome out there! I didn’t know you could dance so well.”

“Ah, well, thank you. You were rather elegant with the flute back there as well.”

Compliment for a compliment. When all else fails, Giorno has manners to fall back on. Especially when a gnawing awkwardness roots his feet to the ground and makes his hands all shifty. 

“Thank you! I guess it’s just… well, you seem really cool. And you’re friends with Mista! I just wanted to say hi.”

“Oh, well, hello then. You’re rather charming yourself.” He offers a polite smile. Behind her, Trish is pulling Bucciarati close by the ear.

“Um, is it alright if I catch up with you later? I think it might be awesome to get to know you too. You just seem really cool.”

Mhm. Of course. This is fine. 

“No worries. For Mista, right?” Giorno laughs, and this time, it’s painfully awkward even to himself. If Elena notices, she doesn’t show it. 

“Sure.” The whistles blow, and the announcers’ voices boom through the speakers. “See you later then, Giorno!” She trots off, back to the band, and Giorno can only stare dumbfounded. 

What the fuck just happened. Was she trying to… befriend him? 

Gross. 

“Giorno!” Trish hisses, coming up to him. “What the fuck? Elena Bonacarte?”

“Yeah, that’s the girlfriend.”

“ That’s the girlfriend?! ”

Ignoring Trish’s distressed digestion of seemingly new information, Giorno walks as gracefully as he’s able back to the benches. Whatever the hell that was, he was going to have to follow through. The way Mista was beaming at him now on the field—having witnessed the exchange, Giorno supposed—well, it was life giving. If him getting along with that… Elena, was going to make Mista happy, well, then… Fuck Giorno. 

He gives Mista a shaky thumbs up, followed by a shrug. He only chuckles back.

His life was going to be a mess from now on, wasn’t it? 

———-

With the game back on, Giorno can take his sweet time paying attention to the players while cheering out of sync with everyone else. Yes, the players. With an 's'. All of them. Definitely. His eyes only follow 06 because of sheer coincidence. He promises. 

The time was closing in. Passione was only two points ahead. All they had to do was stall long enough and they had the game in the bag. That winning shot had been hit long ago by a speedy little member named Secco. 

Then Mista looks over at the cheer squad, winking conspiratorially. The girls in the team start screaming, including Trish, who smacks Giorno upside the head. Because of course she does. 

Twenty seconds left on the clock, Mista swoops in front of that blue-haired player from earlier. He knocks the ball away, a teammate kicks it back. The stomping from Passione College's end grows louder, and so does Narancia's distinct yelling. 

There are no golden lights on the field this time when Mista strikes. There is, however, a suspicious sheen of ice beneath his feet, causing him to slip. The crowd shouts, and maybe Giorno does too, but the ball flies straight and true—one last goal for Passione before the whistles blow. 

Mista jumps up back on his feet, ice now suspiciously gone, and confetti erupts from a cheering crowd. There's a chanting of his name, and a chanting for the team, " Go Arrows! " 

"Giorno!" Trish calls, because his team agreed to do a triple flip if—no, when they won.

He grins, confident, gets in the center between Sheila and Trish and does his airborne turn. "Go Arrows!" They yell in unison. And the atmosphere is absolute revelry. 

"Giorno! Giorno!" A voice calls. 

He turns and forces his smile to stay intact as he greets the person. "Miss Elena, hello." 

Mista's girlfriend giggles serenely at him. "That was so awesome, Gio! Can I call you Gio?" 

"Um—"

"Seriously, that backflip right there? I didn't know you were so flexible." She tucks her hair behind her ear. A hand slides up his arm, making him freeze.

What the fuck. 

"Thank you?" He squeaks out, because what. 

"I'm pretty flexible myself, you know." Her wink goes unnoticed to the rest of the raving crowd around them. Her arm wraps around his neck and Giorno leans away. That doesn't stop her though. 

"Just so you know," she says, her mouth inches away from his own and her body draped all over his front. Gross. "You're way cooler than Mista. You're hotter, more flexible, and insanely popular. You can have any girl you want, you know?" 

She blinks demurely up at him, all eyelashes and cuteness. Giorno feels rooted to the spot. She was leaning in and he was beginning to pray to all the gods. What the hell what the hell—

"Elena! What the fuck?" 

Mista stalks up, shoving his way through the crowd. He was sweating and panting and looking very pissed off. 

Giorno was coming up with new religions in his head. 

"You're flirting with my best friend ? Behind my back?"

Elena only scoffs. "What's it to you? Do you really think you're worth shit compared to him? Girls go after the top dollar, Guido. You really should have expected this, hanging out with people better than you."

Oh ho, gods and heaven be damned. Giorno was going to call upon the devil. 

"I—what—" Mista's face goes through a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, hurt, desperation. "You're my girlfriend!" 

"And you're a second rate high school hazbin who should be grateful that a girl is giving you any attention at all." She smiles sweetly. "You're a disaster in the making, Mista. Sorry." 

Mista freezes, frowns, then stalks away without another word. 

Elena turns her attention back on Giorno, tracing the zipper of his suit. "Now, where were we?" 

Like a switch has been flipped in his head, Giorno's joints are suddenly able to move again. He grabs her wrists and pulls them off delicately. 

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says with a serene smile. "I don't involve myself with manipulative freeloaders."

Elena's face changes. Pure shock. Heads begin turning their way; perfect. 

"See, darling, my type in girls are none at all." She looks mortified. "But if I had to like them, I wouldn't choose rich daddy's girls who play victim at every chance and beg for new shoes by shopping for a new boy toy every two weeks."

She was looking around now, because something of a circle had formed around Giorno's little roasting session. "I certainly wouldn't go after girls who cheat on their boyfriends out in the spotlight while having to pay their way to a barely passing grade." The crowd oohs , and Giorno smiles at his less-than-legal access to school records. "And let's not forget all of your failed club applications. There's a reason you couldn't make the cheer squad, sweetie. And it's called a lack of capacity to put effort into anything." 

The crowd jeers, and Elena turns away with a furiously red face. "Do refrain from openly flirting with every piece of dick you see, darling!" He calls loudly after her. "Some people are loyal!" 

Giorno can't help but revel with evil glee at the ensuing whoops. 

Man. Abbacchio was right. He should have done that sooner. Maybe he could have saved Mista from the heartache.

Right. Shit, Mista. 

Face falling, Giorno rushes to where he knew the men's locker room was. He nonchalantly takes a few high fives on the way there. He also gets his packed bag from Bruno and gets his tackles from Fugo and Narancia. 

Eventually, he makes it to the locker room where he can hear sniffling and a familiar scolding voice. 

"That woman is a whore in sheep's clothing!" Trish was saying, holding a box of tissues out to a very dejected Mista sitting on a bench. "Elena Bonacarte is notorious for cheating on her boyfriends! You paid for that concert she took you to, paid for her new shoes, paid for your dinners out. And she's a rich fucker too! She acts all cute and nice and targets people like you who would simp for the first person to show them any attention." She whacks him upside the head. Giorno winces. "God, please use your head and pay attention to the people who actually care about you, Mista."

Mista sniffles, and Trish pats his head placatingly. Then, she looks up and smiles with a grin that oozes pride. "Speaking of which…"

"Giorno," Mista says, following her field of vision. His eyes were rimmed red. This was the most upset Giorno had ever seen him. It makes something awful pulse in his chest. 

"Mista, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

Mista cuts him off with a lengthy groan, rolling his eyes. " Please , please, just call me Guido again. I just didn't want anyone else calling me that 'cuz it feels weird if it isn't you, okay? I promise it's not weird when you say it." 

Oh. Giorno's trying not to smile now. 

"Okay. Okay, Guido, I'm—"

"Please don't be sorry either." He smiles, and Giorno feels himself beginning to breathe easy again. "I know you're not into girls. That was probably more traumatic for you, than anything. And I heard your little roast fest back there. I should probably be thanking you."

Despite himself, Giorno lets out a soft chuckle. "Fine, just because I hate repeating myself." He approaches Mista and hands him the remaining orange slices in that tupperware from Bruno. 

Trish and Giorno get one watery smile before they're both engulfed in a big hug around their waists. "Man, Trish is right."

"I'm always right."

"I love you guys." 

It's soft watery smiles all around after that. 

"Hey, how about we get to that movie marathon night, yeah?" Giorno offers. "I'll buy all the snacks, as per our deal."

Immediately, Mista's eyes widen. "No! No way! I owe you big time for the past month, Gio. C'mon, let me make it up to you. You deserve that much."

"Are you sure? Mista, it's fine, really. You know I've got you, always."

"Just let him pay, Gio." Trish rolls her eyes and hikes up her bag. "Unless that leech drained his wallet completely."

Mista winces. Giorno puts his hands on his hips. "Alright, enough of that victim blaming. Hold that afterparty at your place, Trish. I'll get a cake delivery for Sheila."

"Yes boss," Trish says with a mock salute. "I'll leave you lover gays alone. Ciao!"

They get in Giorno's (Abbacchio's) car in silence as Giorno begins his drive home. Well, to the nearest Seven-Eleven, actually. Which is a little ways past Mista's dorm. 

"Are… you okay?" Giorno dares to ask tentatively. 

Mista huffs out a weak chuckle, easing the silence a little bit. "I'm, well, not okay , but I'm not so torn up about it. She was kind of a terrible girlfriend." Giorno snorts. "No, really! I mean, I guess I was too stupidly in love with the idea of a pretty person actually liking me, you know. Romantically. She was bossy and bitchy and expected me to pay for everything we did, expected me to clear my schedule for her at all times. All she had to do was blink pretty and say 'I'm your girlfriend!' and I'd be convinced I was in the wrong."

Giorno felt his brows furrow. "So she's manipulative. Not your fault, Guido." 

"I know. It still sucks, though."

"She sucks."

"Very. She's actually a terrible person, now that I think about it."

Giorno smiles, wry. "I bet she has a shitty manicure job."

It does the trick. Mista laughs. "Abbacchio would fucking faint." 

"And her hair… ugh. Bleach with no maintenance. It's going to fall off one day." 

"Very itchy. Kept thinking about how you'd chop it all off and make her start from scratch," Mista laughs, and Giorno laughs back. 

The silence they fall into is easier. Giorno decides to breach it again.

"I missed you, you know." 

"I missed you too, Gio. Gosh, I'm seriously so sorry for blowing you off." Mista runs a hand down his face. "Maybe bros before hoes was the right way to go."

"Trish would stab you."

"Nah, she's a bro, not a hoe." 

They laugh as Giorno pulls up in front of a convenience store. They grab their snacks and booze, and Giorno pays because Mista has an empty wallet.

Soon enough, Giorno is leaning comfortably against his best friend's shoulder, drunkenly watching the plastics perform Jingle Bell Rock on the TV as he finishes placing an order on cake to be sent to Trish's home adress. Mista's arm is around him, and he feels comfortable, safe. Things are okay again. 

"Hey, Guido."

"Yeah?"

"Don't you ever think that you're stupid for any of this, okay?"

"Gio… "

"You're not second rate. You aren't a lesser person. You're no high school hazbin. You're awesome and smart and your jokes are definitely funny. Mostly."

A laugh. "Alright, you're drunk."

"No, no. I'm serious. You're fucking amazing and awesome, and fuckin'... fucking perfect. Don't think for a second that you deserve to be treated like shit, or should be thankful whenever some pretty girl glances your way. You deserve better, you idiot. You're a catch. You're talented as all heck. And people do love you."

"I… Thanks, Gio." 

When Giorno regains consciousness, he's lying on Mista's chest, still on the couch. He's barely awake himself, and so closes his eyes to the daylight streaming in, snuggling into the warmth beneath without much thought. There's a shift, and maybe arms around him, and maybe a faint kiss on the forehead that he probably totally imagined. And then he's out completely.

———-

Prom night is coming up, and Giorno is busier than ever. He has to prepare a whole speech for the Arrows winning the district finals, and then prepare well, everything about the prom as head of the events committee. And the student council. 

Elena Bonacarte's reputations is wrecked, but the girl still had the balls to try and get back with Mista. It was almost insulting, really, because Giorno took offense to anyone who dared underestimate his best friend. He may seem like a stupid jock, but he was also incredibly intelligent in his own right. Smarter than Elena, most definitely.

But still, Mista would love to avoid confrontation. For the whole week, he's been soliciting help to dodge her.

On the first day, he'd dove into the pile of decorations Giorno had stuffed in the backseat when Elena was waiting by the gates. He deliberately slowed down, gave her a judging glance above his shades, then drove off. Her face in the rearview was priceless. 

Then, he'd slammed himself into Fugo's locker in the middle of a conversation. Fugo wouldn't stop bringing it up at lunch. 

Next, Abbacchio had thrown his long black cloak over him when the girl passed them waiting for Giorno in the car.  

Then Narancia had accidentally spilled juice all over her while trying to push an oblivious Mista away. The funniest part was perhaps the fact that it was entirely accidental. 

Trish didn't need to do anything special. One glace while she was speaking to Mista had the girl scurrying away like a frightened mouse. 

When the day of prom night finally came, Giorno had given out his final directions to the events committee who had taken to calling him Boss, something Mista was miffed about because "That was my thing! "

He was going to drive to the salon with Trish, suit up, and arrive back in time for the opening event. He was the host, after all.

Well, technically that was Assistant Principal Doppio, Trish's uncle, but Giorno was still in charge of the program and most of the speeches. So, unofficial host. 

Giorno's in the car while Trish drove them to her special favorite salon when he got a text from Mista.

We goin 2 prom 2gether?

Giorno rolls his eyes, but smiles all the same. 

I'm prom committee, remember? Have to get there first with Trish. 

Awwww boo

You'll save me a dance tho, rihgt? 

Giorno frowns at the typo, then his brain catches up with the rest of the sentence. Well.

We'll see.

He types, then locks his phone. 

"Trish, should I get my hair done?"

"Hmm… how about have them do those intricate Nordic braids I showed you on Pinterest? I don't know, what does Mista like?"

"Not sure about the braids, but he said he liked my hair down—" Giorno stops, stares at a smirking Trish. "I— no, wait, fuck. W-what does Mista have to do with any of this? Trish!" 

—-

——-

—-

The prom is in full swing.

Giorno had already given his opening speech and congratulated the football team, as well as his cheer squad. Assistant Principal Doppio was now rallying students into order at the buffet table, and Giorno had yet to spot Mista in the crowd. 

He wasn’t sure how much longer his ironed-out hair was going to hold. 

He thinks he looks rather decent in the pitch black suit Bucciarati had helped him pick out. It was accented with swirls of silver and gold, complimenting the jeweled flowers in his hair that Trish put in. He looked more like he was attending a gala instead of a prom, but well, there was Trish in her four-inch Gucci heels and sparkly pink dress with a thigh slit, who would probably put the whole event on hold if her father didn’t own the school. So Giorno wasn’t too worried about standing out obscenely. 

If there was one person who he wished would stand out, it was one Guido Mista, because where the fuck was he?

“Ooh, someone’s grumpy,” Narancia says, rolling up in his black and white hand-me-down suit from Bruno. It fit him remarkably well. “Waiting for prince charming to pick you up?”

Giorno swings his phone out of Narancia’s view. “No.”

Mista only texted that he was already there, but Giorno could not, for the life of him, spot the guy in this ridiculously large auditorium. One would think that the man who preferred wearing clashing neon outfits would stand out in a crowd, but Giorno was wrong. 

“Nah, he’s the prince charming. He’s just waiting for his princess,” Fugo says as he comes up, all smug smirks in his sleek purple suit. 

“Oh har, har,” Giorno rolls his eyes.  “Just tell me if you’ve seen Mista? Bruno wants that family picture Trish promised him.”

“Mhm. Sure.” Fugo sips from his punch. “Of course that’s the reason you keep patting your hair down.” 

It isn’t. 

“It is.”

“I don’t get it,” Narancia says as he takes Fugo’s punch for a drink. “Why doesn’t Bruno just come if he wants a photo with us together so bad? Or hell, force wine-dad to come with his camera.”

“This is a high school event, idiot,” Fugo growls, swiping his punch back after Narancia takes a sip. “College kids can’t be here and they probably have classes. And Abba has his thesis presentation today.”

“Indeed. He kicked me out of the apartment all day, told me to dress up at Trish’s.” 

“Boo. He didn’t even come to Mista’s game.” Narancia mock-sulks. He doesn’t seem too upset, however, when his eyes dart back into the crowd. “Hey, Giogio, check out the drama.” 

Giorno looks, and back at the entrance, the crowd parts along with the double doors as in walks a bleach-haired girl in a sparkly white dress. A spotlight passes through at just the right moment, and parting like the red sea, the light follows the parting of the crowd and catches one Guido Mista in the middle of the auditorium, on the other side of where Giorno stood. 

He looks absolutely gorgeous. Hell, he wonders how the fuck he was that gorgeous. As much as Giorno held Mista’s capabilities in high regard, there was no damn way he could’ve dressed himself alone. His hair was slicked back, with a few choice curls dangling out the front. He wore a pressed, red shirt, and his athletic figure was perfectly sculpted into a form-fitting, navy blue vest. Sleek black pants brought out his impossibly long legs and ended in the dark blue shoes Giorno had bought him for christmas.  Bar from the shoes, his clothes looked new. And tailored. 

“Hey, Gio, close your mouth you might catch a fly.” 

Giorno wipes a bit of drool from his lip with as much nonchalance as possible. “I wasn’t staring.” Fuck. They didn’t ask. 

He was about to backhand Fugo and Narancia’s smug grins with a sassy retort, but then their faces fell as they looked behind him. Giorno turned.

The crowd was whispering, hovering around the girl in the white dress. A path, perfectly in the middle, was just begging Mista to walk to her. She brought her hand up, beckoning him. The crowd muttered louder. 

“Shit, she’s using the power of peer pressure,” Fugo says just as Mista begins to walk, eyes darting around frantically. 

“Oh, hell no,” Giorno all but seethes and shoves his way through the mass of students. 

He breaks into the open path right in front of Mista, stopping him with a hand on his chest. He feels the mood in the room screech to a halt. But Giorno pays the crowd no mind, because Mista’s shoulders are sagging in relief and he’s grinning down at him. And is that—is that eyeliner on him? And lip gloss? Oh no, this man definitely had some help. 

“Well, I didn’t expect to run into you, here,” Giorno quips. Mista chuckles, and he feels a smile break onto his own face. 

“You are such a life saver with metal balls thank you so much.” He says in one breath. 

“You look dashing,” Giorno says with a smirk, hand still on Mista’s chest. Then he throws a glance over his shoulder to look at a very mortified Elena. “And oh, would you look at that! The cheating bitch is here too. What, can’t find a new scam victim to buy you a third pair of louboutins, hm? Why don’t you skitter off and ask daddy again, sweetheart?” 

The crowd oohs collectively, sending the girl shuffling into the crowd with a bright red blush seeping through her foundation. Giorno wasn’t sorry in the slightest. 

Mista was laughing, a slight blush present on his cheeks too. Off to the side, he could hear frantic hollering from Narancia and Trish, and Fugo seemed to be clapping. 

“So, that dance..?” Giorno squeaks, a little more tentative now that all the adrenaline of being a sassy bitch had seeped away from him like Elena. 

Perfectly timed, slow, romantic music began to echo throughout the hall, and the lights overhead cast a rosy shade of pink. Glancing to the side, one Trish Una at the DJ station was obviously to blame.

Before Giorno could form a coherent thought, a pair of hands slipped down to settle at his hips, and Mista looked right at him as he smiled. “I’d love to.” 

“Perfect,” Giorno took a breath. He places his own hands on Mista’s shoulders, and they begin to sway. Giorno’s legs were feeling a little too weak. 

Holy fuck. He was dancing with Mista. In an actual romantic setting. Fuck. Shit. His hands were sweating. Help. 

“So,” Giorno mumbles, trying to diffuse the pounding in his chest, while also trying to ignore the slight glossy sparkle in Mista’s eyeliner and how sexy that looked. “Do you, uh… happen to be straight?”

Shit. Fuck. Shoot him now. 

“Hmm, I never actually thought about it.” Mista hums, licks his lips. “Do you wanna help me figure it out?” 

He leans in, and so does Giorno. Without really thinking about it, he nods and closes his eyes.

They kiss. 

And it’s the most fan-fucking-tastic kiss that the universe could ever bestow upon him. Words fail him. His brain fails him. Everything goes blank because holy shit .

“How was that?” Mista asks, a little breathless. 

Giorno pauses, considers, vaguely registers a Taylor Swift song playing overhead, then wraps his arms around Mista’s neck. “Again, please.” 

———-

Calculus kind of sucks, Giorno thinks. 

He’s doing homework at their friendship table again. It was just after school, the weather was nice out, and Abbacchio had just finished getting graded for his thesis. 

“Yeah that fucking Professor Polpo deserved my roasting,” Abbacchio sneers victoriously. 

Next to him, Bruno pats his shoulder in that loving manner. “Glad you stood up for yourself in that case, babe.” 

“Did you really have to kick me out of the apartment last week?” Giorno points his pencil at him. “I brought the wrong eyeshadow case and had to ask Trish for her stuff. The color barely matched my suit.”

“I had my reasons, brat.”

“What sort of thesis prep did you even need to do at home?”

“Oh, right! Prom!” Bruno interjects, all wide grins. “How was it? Did you get that family photo I asked for?”

“Hmm, this is why everyone calls you ‘mom’, babe.” Abbacchio mutters and sips from his coffee. 

“Yeah, it’s with Trish.” Giorno shrugs and returns to his notes. “Prom was fine, I suppose. Everyone was there, they cheered for Mista getting that winning shot during the speech.” 

Abbacchio frowns, puts down the starbucks cup. “Just, fine?” He asks. 

“Yeah, it was fine. Fun, I guess.” 

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” Bruno pat Giorno’s hand that was on the table. Man, what a mom. 

Just then, a fourth presence makes himself known by jogging loudly up to the table. Three heads turn to find Mista carrying a paper bag with a starbucks label, waving gleefully. 

“Hey guys!” He slides in next to Giorno and gives him a big kiss on the cheek, then leans back to swing an arm around his shoulders. “Hey babe, I got your coffee.”

The table is quiet. 

Giorno looks up from his notes to see Abbacchio and Bruno staring with their mouths hanging open. He can’t hold it in. 

Giorno giggles, then laughs outright, trying to bury his glee in the shirt of a very confused Mista. Abbacchio starts yelling. 

“WHEN THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN?” Abbacchio demands as he slams a hand onto the table, leering at Giorno. “Fucking prom was FINE, my ass!” 

But he was grinning, and so was Bruno, who began to join in on the chuckles. “Congratulations, that took you forever,” says mom.

“What the fuck, brat?!” Laughs dad. 

Mista, on the other hand, snuggles into Giorno’s hair as he curls his arm further around him. “You said you’d tell ‘em, ladybug!” He chuckles. “What the hell?”

“I am going to,” Giorno wheezes out. “So, uh, we’re dating now.”

While Abbacchio proceeds with his manic yelling—on account of the grins he wasn’t at all suppressing—and Bruno’s encouraging thumbs up, Giorno kisses his boyfriend one more time. And there’ll be another time more. And more, and more, because Giorno’s not letting go now that he’s where he belongs. 

———-