The noise below Giorno alerted him to the others finishing the preparations for the holiday dinner. Looking at himself in the mirror, Giorno made one last check at his attire: a “festive” version of his usual suit, custom ordered by Trish. It had white trimming over a red base, with red and white ladybug brooches. The cuffs of his sleeves, pants and the coattails of his suit were even adorn with faux white fur.
After slipping on a pair of black shoes that had a bit more height than he is used to, Giorno looks to a box on his bed, a last minute addition that Trish had bought for him on Christmas Eve. Walking up to it, Giorno slowly opens it to see the contents. With the lid off, Giorno blushes at what is contained.
* * *
As Bucciarati walks out of the kitchen with the last dish for the dinner, he looks fondly at the others’ work on the dining table. Fugo and Narancia finish laying down the last plate and silverware set on the table, smiling to themselves. Mista and Trish, having finished setting the other food on the table, are seated across each other, happily chatting away. Abbacchio, in a good mood for once, pours vin brûlé in the last glass on the table.
Setting his dish on the table, Bucciarati takes his spot on the table, with Fugo, Narancia and Abbacchio following suit. Narancia rapidly taps his foot, drooling at all of the food in front of them.
“Can we eat now, Bucciarati?” He eagerly asked the capo, preemptively leaning forward with fork and knife in hand. Fugo fortunately restrained the hungry boy before Bucciarati spoke.
“Not yet, Narancia.” Bucciarati said calmly. “We’re still waiting on Giorno.”
Narancia dejectedly withdraws into the back of his seat as the others settle in silence, waiting for their boss. Not even a minute passed before Abbacchio decides to get snippy.
“What’s keeping the brat?” Abbacchio scoffed. “If he won’t come down soon, I’ll...”
“You’ll do what, Leone?”
At the sound of Giorno’s voice, the mafiosi stand up in attention of Giorno’s arrival.
“Buon Natale, Gior-,” The mafiosi cease their festive greeting to see Giorno, their boss, unabashedly blushing as he stands in front of them all, his suit topped off with a Santa hat with a mistletoe hanging above him on a small rod. Most of them blush too at the sight of the boss looking very vulnerable, save for Bucciarati and Trish, the latter smiling at her handiwork.
“Looking good, GioGio!” Trish cheered, giving an “okay” signal towards the blushing boy, who began to shuffle in place.
“Thank you, Trish.” Giorno turns his gaze from the pink haired girl to the others. “And Buon Natale to you all.”
Narancia was the first to sit down, grabbing his silverware once more.
“Good, now that Giorno’s here, can we finally eat?”
Just before Narancia can grab some food for himself, Giorno clears his throat, signaling Narancia to stop, much to his annoyance.
“There is one more stipulation Trish gave, when she ordered this outfit for me.” Trish’s eyes gleam as Giorno fishes out the note that came with the hat.
“'Giorno',” the boss began. “'I hope this outfit fits well. Sorry for this last minute addition, but I couldn’t pass up on this'.”
Giorno hesitates before reading the rest. Abbacchio, tired of this shit, speaks up at the boy.
“Just spit it out, Giovanna.”
Taking a deep breath, Giorno blurts out, “Before we eat, you all must give me a kiss on the lips, under the mistletoe.”
Upon hearing this, the mafiosi blush as deeply as Giorno is, with Trish giggling to herself, as she stands up and walks towards Giorno. She looks smugly at the hesitating mafiosi, taking note of Abbacchio hastily sitting down and looking away from Giorno.
As she places one hand on Giorno’s shoulder, and the other hand under his chin, Trish turns to the others.
“You heard him.” Trish announces with fervor. “We’re not eating till we kiss the boss.”
Winking at them, Trish then turns to Giorno and gives him a firm kiss on his lips.
“Buon Natale, GioGio.” With that, Trish swaggers her way back to her seat, settling in as she waits for the next person to set forward to kiss Giorno.
Mista, Fugo, and Narancia look among themselves, afraid to make the first move. Looking to Abbacchio, the three see the goth hides his eyes behind his clasped hands. Turning to Bucciarati, the three collectively gasp as the capo walks up to Giorno, leaning down to plant a quick kiss.
“Buon Natale, Giorno.” The boss nods to Bucciarati as the capo returns to his seat, a small blush still present on his face. Looking up, he gives a firm stare towards the rest of the mafiosi.
Steeling himself, Mista runs up and quickly kisses Giorno, followed by Fugo and Narancia. As the three sit in their seats, everyone turns to Abbacchio, grimacing behind his clasped hands.
“Abbacchio~” Trish teases from across the table. The goth looks up, angrily staring at the mastermind behind this nonsense. “You gotta do it if we’re to eat. No other way around it.”
Narancia slams his elbows in front of Abbacchio, clasping his hand together. The goth glares back at the younger boy.
“Come on, Abbacchio!” Narancia begged. “We’re gonna starve if you don’t kiss Giorno!”
Groaning aloud, Abbacchio finally stands up and turns to the boss. Giorno gulps as Abbacchio makes “come here” gesture. Walking to the goth, Giorno hesitantly looks up to see Abbacchio staring down at him, not hiding his blush.
“A-Abbacchio,” Giorno stammers as the older mafioso slowly brings his hands to Giorno’s cheeks. Giorno’s blush deepens as the two linger like this for a moment. Feeling Abbacchio exhale in front of him, Giorno flinches as the hot breath hits him, but then feels Abbacchio’s lips meet his.
Giorno looks back at the goth, taken aback at the older man’s suddenness, but then closes his eyes as Abbacchio’s surprising gentle treatment towards him. The kiss lingers for a bit too long for Giorno’s liking, who attempts to step out, but Abbacchio’s grip keeps them together. As Giorno’s begins to feel lightheaded, Abbacchio finally ends the kiss, making a brief gasp for air.
“Buon Natale.” Abbacchio mutters as he yanks the hat and mistletoe off of Giorno, tossing it away as he sits down.
As Giorno’s breathing stabilizes, he makes his way to his chair. As he settled in, the septet finally begin their festive dinner, relaxing and engaging in various conversations. As Giorno quietly eats, he steals a few glances towards Abbacchio, his eyes closed as he eats. Giorno can’t help but blush when he remembers Abbacchio’s gentleness.
Giorno thinks to himself that, maybe, Abbacchio does care for him. He just doesn’t want to admit it.