Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You’re great at a lot of things, Giorno, but driving just isn’t one of them.”  

Mista snatches the frozen bag of peas that Giorno holds out for him with a grumble.  

“I advised you to wear a seat belt, Mista.  Please be more careful in the future.”  

Slipping the door of the freezer closed, Giorno moves behind the kitchen counter to pour water into the kettle on the stove.  

“You’re kidding, right?  I can’t even begin to count how many red lights you blew past- Do you know how hard it was to aim when you swerved around that corner?!”  

Giorno turns toward the cabinet to look for the hot chocolate powder, the whistling of the kettle drowning out the rest of Mista’s shrieking.  The gunslinger goes on to say something about the importance of the rules of the road, but Giorno ignores him in favor of finding a spoon in the cluttered utensils drawer.  

“Yo!  I heard shouting, Mista- did you guys fail your mission or something?”  

Narancia enters the kitchen, hanging off of the doorway.  Ripping open the packet of powder, Giorno pours the hot chocolate mix into his empty cup before turning around to greet him.  

“Hello, Narancia.  Our assignment went according to plan, if you were wondering- Mista just got a tad bit scraped up in the process.”  

“That’s not the problem and you know it!”  

Letting out a groan of frustration, the gunslinger raises an arm to point directly at him.  

“Narancia, this guy drives like a maniac!”  

Innocently stirring his hot chocolate, Giorno hears Narancia start to giggle from behind him.  

“No, I’m serious!  Tell him what happened at the plaza, Giorno, tell him!”  

Pursing his lips, Giorno watches the powder dissolve into the hot water.  

“Mista chose not to follow through on road safety, neglecting to put on his seatbelt, and had an unfortunate collision with the dashboard when I braked.”  

Turning towards Mista and Narancia, he sees an open-mouthed expression of shock on the gunslinger’s face.  

“Wha-  don’t make it seem like I’m the one who did something wrong!  Do you even know how fast you were going?!”  

Narancia settles on the couch besides Mista, clicking his tongue.  Though clearly trying to contain his laughter, he pulls himself together to continue with a chiding tone.  

“No seat belt... really, Mista?  I’m surprised you’ve managed to live this long- ya’ know, being so irresponsible and all.”  

The frozen bag of peas slips off of the gunslinger’s face as he jumps up from his seat.  Shooting a look of disbelief at Giorno, who is calmly sipping his mug of hot chocolate, he lets out an indignant squawk.  

“How am I the irresponsible one here?  Giorno, don’t you remember that old lady you almost hit on the way back?!”  

Giorno shakes his head, arching an eyebrow at Mista.  

“Of course not.  I don’t believe in accidents, Mista- if I wanted to run over an old lady, I would’ve.”  

Flabbergasted, the gunslinger sinks back into his seat on the couch with a groan.  

“I give up, Giorno.  Where’d you even learn how to drive?”  

Narancia suddenly waves his hands in the air from where he’s laid out on the sofa, exclaiming.  

“Oh, yeah!  You can’t get a license yet, right?  You are, after all, two years younger than me-”  

Narancia’s sentence is cut off with a wheezing gasp at the sudden arrival of Fugo, who swings over the back of the couch and lands directly on Narancia’s stomach.  As if realizing that he is in fact, not sitting on a couch cushion, Fugo swiftly rises to his feet, seemingly sheepish.  

“My apologies, Narancia.  I didn’t see you there.”  

Still clutching his stomach, Narancia bares his teeth as he starts shouting.  

“Don’t give me that ‘sorry’ bullshit, you fucker!  You did that on purpose, didn’t you?!”  

Fugo himself quickly becomes red-faced at the accusation, clenching his fists at his sides.  

“...Didn’t you hear me the first time?  I said, ‘I didn’t see you there’.  I wasn’t aware that you’d acquired a hearing problem, Narancia.”  

“What did you just say?!  You’re the one who sat on me!”  

“And I said ‘sorry’, you shit-for-brains!”  

Seeing the situation start to escalate, Giorno sets down his mug on the counter, casting a glance towards Mista.  The gunslinger only places a hand over his eyes, clearly not planning on trying to intervene.  Clearing his throat, Giorno approaches Fugo and Narancia.  

“On the day I learned how to drive, I got involved in a police chase.”  

The two who had formerly seemed only seconds away from a full-blown fight turn to face him at the same time, confused expressions quickly replacing their anger.  

“You asked how I learned to drive, right Mista?  I’ll only say it once, so listen up.”  

Thoroughly intrigued, Mista, Fugo, and Narancia settle back down on the couch.  With the situation successfully diffused, Giorno takes a seat across from the trio.

“I’d just started high school, and I was looking for a… ‘job’, when I’d stumbled across the airport.”

“My prices start at ₤300,000!”

“₤175,000.”

“Th-That’s way too low!”

“₤175,000.”

“Wha- ₤280,000, at least!”

“₤175,000.”

“₤250,000, and that’s my final offer!”

“...₤175,000.”

“Alright, alright, you got me.  ₤220,000 and I’ll provide the car.  I can be nice like that, y’know?”

Giorno does not, in fact, ‘ know’, seeing as he expects that a driving teacher bringing the car that was needed for a lesson would be a given.  Nevertheless, he’s gotten the man to drop the price by quite a bit- as he’d intended from the beginning.  

“Very well.  I can get the money as soon as tomorrow.  Where will we be meeting?”  

The man- who actually appears to look greasier and greasier the longer that Giorno looks at him- waves a hand, gesturing to the airport that they’re standing in.  Dressing in a bright yellow raincoat, he somehow rather resembles a lemon.  

“Right here will do, kid.  9:00 should be fine, hopefully less traffic.”  

No, really, the man is surprisingly oily.  Waxy skin that’s dotted with beads of sweat alongside shiny hair slicked back with product- the word ‘slimeball’ comes to mind, but Giorno thinks that might be rude.  

“I can make that work.  Before I leave, would you tell me your name?”  

The man narrows his eyes, looking suspicious.  

“What’s it to you, kid?”  

So that he doesn’t keep calling him ‘Slimeball’ in his head.  

“Just curious.”  

Slimeba- the man- turns away from him, picking up his bag from where he’d left it on the floor.  

“Then you can call me Ben, kid.”  

The next day, at exactly 8:45, Giorno leaves his dorm room on foot to head for the airport.  Taking a seat on a bench outside the building, he settles in to wait.  At 9:07, Ben strolls up to him, his large raincoat from their last encounter draped over his shoulder.  

“Sorry, kid, I got held up with some… business.   Car’s parked over there.  Did you remember to bring the cash?”

Giorno simply nods in response, pressing a tightly bound bundle of bills into Ben’s waiting hand.  Seemingly satisfied by his payment, the hired driving instructor starts towards the aforementioned car, gesturing for him to follow.  Ben immediately climbs into the passenger seat, shooting him a look when Giorno doesn't enter the car.  

“Getting cold feet or something, kid?  Remember, you already paid.”  

Shaking his head, Giorno walks around the car to the driver’s side.  

“No, I just thought that it might be more practical if you were to drive us to a less crowded place for me to start practicing.  Perhaps a… parking lot?”  

Ben lets out a gruff laugh, slapping the side of the car.  

“That’s not how it works.  Experience is the best kind of practice, y’know?  If you want to pay me to teach you how to drive in an empty lot, that’s fine by me, but I can’t guarantee that you’ll be able to manage a busy street after our time together is up.”  

Experience was the best kind of practice, huh?  While Giorno can see the value behind the statement, it certainly doesn’t stop him from thinking about all the things that could go wrong.  What if another car crashes into him as he’s taking the car out of park?  Nevertheless, he gets into the driver’s side seat- and almost climbs right back out.  

He knows that he’s supposed to put his hands on the steering wheel, but where?  

What are all those dials for?  

And the buttons- why are there so many buttons?  

Ben must sense how lost he is, since he starts laughing again, this time clapping him on the back.  

“Try not to get too overwhelmed, kid.  Just put your hands on the wheel and your feet on the pedals, and I’ll talk you through the rest.”  

Giorno hesitantly lets his hands rest on the steering wheel, and breathes a silent sigh of relief after finding that he can reach the brakes.  

“Alright, let’s get started, shall we?  I’ll be teaching you how to drive stick- which basically just means that you’re going to be driving the car manually.  All with the help of this thing right here- the gear shifter of the car, or the gear stick.”  

Under where all the godforsaken buttons are, Ben points to an object protruding from the raised section of the car that separates the two front seats.  How did Giorno not notice that before?  He’d made sure to study road signs and driving etiquette for weeks in advance, but everything that he’d learned seemed to have been thrown out the car window as he was preparing to actually drive.  

“Moving on to the pedals- the left is the clutch, the center’s the brake, and the right’s the gas.  Got all that, kid?”  

Giorno’s mouth has been dry for a while now, so he only nods.  Ben tosses him a pair of keys, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  

“Great.  Now put it in neutral, and turn the ignition key twice to get the engine started.”  

Giorno knows how to put a car into neutral.  He also knows where the ignition key goes, so he thinks for just a moment that driving might not be so bad.  He can feel the car rumbling from his seat- maybe he’d worried for nothing, after all.  

“Then, after you move the stick into the first gear, press down on the pedal- wait, not that one-!”  

Crash.

After what feels like two new dents to the car’s bumper and what looks to be a missing side mirror, Giorno gets the car onto the main road.  He’s always been quick to learn new things, so driving should be no different.  It should be , but…  

“For Christ’s sake, why are you going so slowly?!  Not to mention, you can’t just brake in the middle of the road every time you need to switch gears!”  

“I assure you that I am trying my best, Signore Ben.”  

“Watch out, watch out-!”  

Thud.

The car makes contact with the (thankfully empty) curb.  Alas, Giorno forgets to take his foot completely off the gas, which he realizes as the vehicle continues to move forward.  As the car starts to roll onto the sidewalk, Giorno frantically stomps on the brake.  Tightly clutching the steering wheel, he lets out a sigh as it finally stops moving.  

Ben, on the other hand, immediately climbs out of the death trap on wheels, hunching over on the sidewalk.  He takes off his glaringly bright raincoat, draping the neon abomination over his seat.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this bad at driving other than you, kid.  I’ll be right back, just… just give me a second.  Oh, and do me a favor- get the car off of the goddamned sidewalk already!”  

Watching Ben disappear into a nearby café, Giorno hesitantly puts the car in reverse, managing to park it without further complications.  Parking is actually one of the few things he can do decently- since it doesn’t have anything to do with trying to remember what some obscure symbol on a street sign means, or what pedal he's supposed to be pressing, or a freaking stick-  

Rapid banging on the passenger side window snaps Giorno out of his thoughts, startling him.  He turns toward the source of the sudden noise, instantly spotting Ben frantically knocking on the glass from the outside.  Giorno quickly reaches over to unlock the door, leaning back to avoid colliding with Ben as he scrambles inside.  

“Signore Ben?  Is something the matter?”  

Ignoring him, Ben quickly fastens his seatbelt, before shooting him a glare.  

“No questions, kid, just drive!”  

Giorno cautiously begins easing the car out of park, carefully going through the motions- the memory of the last time still fresh in his mind.  Ben slams a hand down on the dashboard just as he’s shifting the gear stick, yelling with real frustration for the first time since the driving lesson has started.  

“I said drive!  Step on it, or I’ll kick your sorry ass onto the curb!”  

Giorno tenses at the threat, but firmly keeps his gaze on the street ahead of him.  Soon enough, they’re back to bumpily cruising down the road- going in short bursts of speed that make Giorno panic or causing Ben to groan in frustration by slowing down way too early in anticipation of stoplights.  

After five blocks and two right turns, Giorno suddenly becomes aware of a high-pitched sound that’s been following them ever since they left the café.  

“Signore Ben, do you hear that?  Are those… sirens ?”  

Ben digs his nails into the leather interior of the car as he whips around to look behind them.  Glancing up at the rear view mirror, Giorno sees flashes of red and blue, followed by more ear-piercing wails.  He quickly flicks his gaze back to the street in front of him, not wanting to take his eyes off the road for too long, but he’s seen enough to confirm his suspicions.  

“Why are the police chasing us?!”  

Giorno winces at the note of panic that slips into his voice, and casts a glare at Ben.  

“Don’t worry about it, just do as I said- drive!”  

He grips the steering wheel in his hands, spotting a traffic jam up ahead.  

“If you don’t tell me what’s going on right now, I’ll keep driving- straight into that roadblock.”  

Ben rips his gaze away from the rear window to stare at Giorno, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets, mouth aghast in shock.  

“...You wouldn’t do that.”  

“Do you really want to find out?  Try me.”  

“For fuck’s sake- fine, fine.  Just make the next turn up ahead and pull over.  I’ll explain everything on the way there.”  

With a sharp nod, Giorno turns right, the sirens only growing louder as Ben continues to speak.  

“Alright, so, funny story- this car isn’t actually mine.”  

“So, it’s a rental, then?”  

“Not… exactly... well, I mean-”  

“Pardon my intrusion, Signore Ben, but could you just get to the point?”  

“Fine!  I stole it, okay?!”  

“ What?”  

While he keeps his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel and his feet on the pedals, Giorno just barely manages to avoid another crash.  

“I told you I was doing business this morning, didn’t I?!  I hate to break it to you, kid, but that business just so happened to be stealing cars!”  

Ben throws his hands up in the air, his tone turning sour.  Giorno is mortified- his first ever driving lesson couldn’t possibly get any worse.  

“How did you even get the keys?!”  

“I mugged the guy who owned this hunk of junk- though, that doesn’t really matter now, since you’ve just about gone and busted it up beyond repair!”  

“Are you kidding me right now?!”  

“There- yes, right there!  Pull over!”  

Giorno brings the car to a sudden stop, the tires screeching in protest.  Ben clambers out of the passenger seat in a hurry, leaving his coat behind.  

“Y’know, you’re a shit driver, but a good friend.  And not to mention, a good diversion.  If you start driving now, you might just get away- good luck, kid!”  

With that, Ben rushes away from the car, disappearing into a backstreet alleyway without a second glance.  

“Son of a-”  

“Freeze!  Naples Police Force!”  

Well, there goes Giorno’s plan to run after Ben to beat the shit out of- to have a nice, civil talk with him.  There’s no way he has the time to get out of the car without being seen, followed, and arrested, so Giorno wrenches the gear into the first shift and stomps on the gas.  He ignores the street signs and the stoplights as he flies down the street, the sound of blaring sirens hot on his tail.  

Coming up to a four-way intersection, Giorno takes his eyes off of the road to check the rear view mirror.  Sure enough, the cops are still chasing after him, the initial three cars having grown to a fleet of seven.  He curses under his breath before turning his attention back to the upcoming crosswalk, and feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach.  

Standing only a few metres away from the front of the car, Ben is frozen in the middle of the road, staring at Giorno like a deer caught in the headlights.  

Shit, shit, shit- Giorno is about to crash right into him!  Not wanting to have murder tacked on to being the accomplice of a theft, he slams on the brakes.  

The gear- is he supposed to do something with the gear stick?  With no time for second-guessing, he cranks the stick into second gear.  It is at this time that Giorno realizes that he once again forgets to let go of the gas pedal, and the car lets out a terrible screech.  

His vision tilts as he desperately tugs on the steering wheel, almost as if time is stopping. He can see Ben move in slow motion as the car moves horizontally.  The man begins to raise his arms to protect his head, and Giorno’s gaze catches on the red glare coming from the police cars’ sirens.  

Like a rubber band being pulled taut and released, the world snaps back into focus as the car swerves sideways- missing Ben by a hair.  Ben remains huddled in the middle of the crosswalk as the car comes to a stop. Giorno widens his eyes at the near collision, stunned that he hadn’t squished the man like a bug or crashed into the sidewalk.  

More sirens begin to blare, reminding Giorno of his current predicament.  Judging from the sound alone, there are more cop cars coming his way.  Most of the noise is being drowned out by the other vehicles at the intersection honking at him, but Giorno can still hear the ear-raking sound of the sirens.  The group of police cars that have been tailing him are stopped in their tracks, stuck behind the crosswalk as Ben continues being an unintentional human roadblock.  

With no time to waste, Giorno kicks the gas pedal and shifts the gear stick, speeding around the corner.  Without even stopping to check for pedestrians, other vehicles, or the cops behind him, he speeds down the street, clipping more than a few parked cars as the tires start skidding.  After enough twists and turns that would make a lesser man sick, Giorno finds himself being cornered, the police closing in on him from both sides.

Spotting a bridge up ahead, he wrenches the steering wheel and turns towards it, only to find that there are more cop cars stationed on the other side.  

Effectively blocking off both his routes of escape.  

Now, if Giorno were in his usual calm, collected, rational mindset, he might come up with some kind of plan of action.  He could pull over and try his best to make a run for it.  He could bribe the cops with what little money he has left.  

He could, he could, he should- and oh my god, what the fuck is he doing?!  

Giorno spins the car to face the bridge’s short guard rails, barreling through them and launching the vehicle- with him inside- over the edge.  Freefalling towards the canal below, he stands corrected.  His first ever driving lesson could- and had- gotten worse.  

So, so, much worse.  

With a split-second decision, some decidedly bad judgement, and an extra stomp to the gas pedal, both car and driver are submerged in the murky water.  The deafening splash echoes throughout the canal, where Giorno blearily opens his eyes to try and navigate in the muddy green-brown water.  After warring with his seatbelt, he slips out of the car and dives fully into the canal, quickly putting some distance between himself and the wreck.  

Swimming in what he hopes is the direction of the bridge, Giorno cautiously pokes his head out of the water.  He immediately sees the ivy-covered brick underside of the bridge above him, assuring him that he’s hidden from sight.  Well- for now, anyway.  Letting only his nose and the upper half of his head breach the surface of the canal, he inhales, nearly gagging at the rotten smell.  Giorno takes in the scene that’s playing out in front of him- and nearly starts choking on the cloudy water.  

The abandoned vehicle is three-quarters of the way sunken into the water, its windshield wiper somehow still working, pathetically waving back and forth.  While struggling to tread water as he’s stuck under the bridge, Giorno’s breath catches in his throat as he hears voices yelling.  

“He’s not in the car!  Spread out and begin searching!”  

“Is he even still alive…?”  

“Do you know who we’re dealing with here?!  He’s the main suspect in a series of grand theft auto cases, but has never been convicted- not even once!  Slippery bastards like that can survive just about anything!”  

“You don’t mean- we’ve been chasing Ben the Burglar this whole time?!”

If Giorno was still in the car, now would be an appropriate time to bang his head against the steering wheel.  Just his luck- his driving teacher turns out to be an infamous car robber.  Why does he even try?

His bangs are stuck to his forehead in a drenched, tangled mess, and he is acutely aware of how his wet socks feel against his feet.  Not to mention, his head hurts .  More water drips off of his face and into the canal, turning it even darker than before.  

Wait, no- nevermind, that’s blood.  

Giorno raises a hand to where his hairline meets his forehead, cautiously probing the stinging area.  When his fingers come away smeared red, he curses under his breath.  Head injuries are never good news- a concussion could severely hurt any slim chance of escape he might have.  

Thudding footsteps sound from above, accompanied by the shouts of the policemen, and Giorno prepares for the worst.  In the most obvious hiding place possible, with a steady trickle of blood coming from a head wound, it would take some kind of divine intervention to make it so that Giorno isn’t absolutely screwed.  

“I see something in the water!”  

This is it.  No next time, no do-over, no golden dream- is this really the end?  

“Is that… it is!  Call off the search!”  

Maybe he could break out of prison?  Is that something that people still do?  

“It’s Ben the Burglar- and he’s going downstream!”  

Giorno vaguely wonders if he has canal water into his ears as well, because there is no way that he heard that right.  

“That’s his jacket!  I’d know it anywhere- after him!  He’s not getting away this time!”  

Giorno is barely able to conceal his shock, looking down the canal.  Sure enough, Ben’s coat is floating downstream, going rather quickly due to the flow of the current.  That terrible, terrible neon yellow coat- left behind in the sunken car’s passenger seat.  

Of course, the only thing in that jacket is muddy canal water, but the police don’t know that.  Due to some insane stroke of luck, or even fate, Giorno has what Ben would call, ‘a diversion’.  With the police busy running after the coat, Giorno wastes no time in scrambling out of the water and back onto the street.  

His shoes make squishing noises every time they hit the pavement, and blood is starting to dry and clump in his hair, but Giorno makes a break for it as soon as he touches land.  

Only when he’s back in the safety of his dorm room does he stop to rest, doubling over on his knees and panting heavily.  He collapses on his bed, smelling like a sewer and feeling like a drowned rat.  

The next day, after waking up sometime in the afternoon, Giorno immediately rushes out to head to the airport.  

Even without the obnoxious raincoat, he spots Ben a mile away.  The man nearly jumps out of his skin when Giorno places a hand on his shoulder, speaking in a low tone.  

“Signore Ben.  I would say that I’m glad to see you’re no worse for wear, but I’m feeling a tad bit ill-mannered today.”  

A shaky grin crawls over Ben’s face as the man turns toward him, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.  

“Hey there!  Nice to see you again.  I heard you gave those pigs the ol’ runaround, eh?”  

Moving his grip from Ben’s shoulder to his wrist, which Giorno seizes tightly, he clenches hard enough to bruise.  

“It was my pleasure.  Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a refund, please.”  

Ben’s grin sharpens into a smirk, eyes narrowing.  

“That's not how it works, kid.  I gave you a driving lesson, and you paid.  Both ends of the bargain were upheld, see?  That’s the key to any good friendship, don’t you think?”  

Giorno’s bandaged head injury throbs as he grows more irritated, struggling to maintain his composure.  

“I can assure you, Signore Ben, that we are not, and never will be, friends.  Our ‘driving lesson’ ended in you leaving me at the mercy of police who were there on your behalf- I drove into a canal!”  

“Well whose fault is it that you crashed?  Me- the poor, god-fearing man who only held my best interests in mind, or you- who you may remember, was driving the car?!”  

“You didn’t even finish teaching me how to drive!”  

Ben clicks his tongue, wagging a finger in Giorno’s face.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, kid.”  

Giorno pauses, raising his eyebrows at Ben.  

“What do you mean?”  

Wrenching his arm out of Giorno’s grip, Ben shoots him a broad smile, looking smug.  

“Like I said, I heard you gave those coppers a real run for their money.  Before the canal incident, at least.  Do you really think someone who didn’t know how to drive could have pulled that off?”  

Giorno gapes at the man, slowly but surely processing what he’s saying.  

“You wanted to know how to drive…”  

Ben walks straight past him, pausing to clap him on the shoulder.  

“And now you do.”  

Giorno stares after the man’s retreating figure, before snapping out of his daze.  Ben turns to stare at him as he catches up, sporting a confused expression.  

“What is it now, kid?”  

“‘Experience is the best practice’.  I now fully understand what you meant.”  

“Even if it didn’t go exactly according to plan, things turned out fine, right, kid?” 

 “Well, yes, Signore Ben, but the real reason I ran after you was to get my wallet back.”  

Ben stares at him, wide-eyed, denying any accusations before they even start.  

“Me?!  Steal your wallet?  I may be a car thief, but I have some dignity!  I thought we’d finally bonded!”  

Giorno’s lip twitches before curling into a wry grin.  Shaking his head, his face creases, sharp eyes turning sly.  

“Friends tell each other things, right?  Then I’ll let you in on a little secret- I’m a master pickpocket.  And also, you should work on being less obvious.”  

Ben looks him up and down, grumbling under his breath before slapping the stolen wallet into Giorno’s outstretched hand.  He then smiles widely, not even bothering to hide his irritation.

“Yeah, yeah- looks like you got me again, kid.  Can’t you cut this old man some slack?”  

“No, I don’t think so.”  

“Stingy bastard.”  

“Oily lemon.”  

“What was that?”  

“...Nothing.”

Giorno leans back into his seat, taking a sip of his lukewarm hot chocolate.  Mista jumps up from his spot on the couch, another look of disbelief on his face.  

“I’m calling bullshit- that has got to be fake!  I can understand you driving into a canal, sure, but there’s just no way you pulled off a perfect drift on your first time driving!”  

Giorno only shrugs in response, making his way towards the microwave to heat up his drink.  Fugo is next to speak, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  

“Nevermind that- how did you not get an infection from soaking an injury in filthy water?!”  

The microwave beeps and Giorno pulls out his mug.  Narancia bursts from his seat to run over to him, leaning across the kitchen counter with a wild grin on his face.  

“Forget all that boring stuff- what about Ben the Burglar?  He sounded like an asshole at first, but now I really want to meet him!  Are you two still friends?”  

Giorno sits back down on the couch, subsequently causing everyone to crowd around him.  Letting out a sigh, he taps a finger against the side of his cup.  

“We’re not friends, and he’s still an asshole.  Besides, he was arrested about a year ago.”  

“For stealing cars?”  

“No, for tax evasion.”  

“Seriously?!  That sucks!  So, you don’t see him anymore?”  

Giorno glances at their disappointed faces, biting back a sigh.

“Well… I do visit the prison from time to time.”

Narancia's face brightens immediately, snatching up the car keys on the table.  

“Great!  That means we can go see him right now!”  

Mista grabs the keys from Narancia, narrowing his eyes in Giorno’s direction.  

“Yeah, but I’m driving.”  

Giorno tips back his cup, finishing off the last of the hot chocolate.  It’s cold.  He’ll have to tell Bucciarati that the microwave is broken again. 

“If you insist, Mista.”

That just might have to wait until after he pays Ben a visit, though.