[ HIATUS ] ✮ • ✖ p e r i e n c e ｡

  Kakyoin can’t help but flinch as the youth addresses him. His words, his manner of speaking… They aren’t nearly as cold as him. But his proud bearing and direct ways are the same.

【 ✮ 】— Was that another case of alternates? Probable, the golden haired youth nodding to the other's words as he crossed his arms around the lean chest. He indeed could associate the other to someone starring one of Polnareff's tales, but the name never went beyond the tip of his tongue.

Something about the golden haired young man in front of him makes Kakyoin’s skin crawl. Kakyoin doesn’t know him- but something about his appearance strikes a deep chord of disgust and fear. It’s unwarranted for sure and Kakyoin struggles to oppress the feeling.

I feel like I know him, but I’m sure we’ve never met

【 ✮ 】— He could feel the skin of his neck freezing and his hearing stung with noise --someone talking or thinking about his person, not this far from where the mafia prince was passing by and, more importantly, not positively. Not that he cared about someone else's opinion --he knew that being relatively young and being a Don had its perks. He knew people was going to talk and suspect, but he wasn't afraid. Not when he had Requiem and beloved ones protecting him from whatever harm he may receive. Not when he had his dream, still shining as it was slowly taking a actual shape in the plan of reality.

— As his azure gaze moved, thought, he meet those eyes --eyes looking at him with a meek fear, a fear as old as time could have been, mixed a little with something like disgust--, and the question slips his pale lips immediately, the princely figure standing up proud, almost radiating the purest of lights.

  Mista was definitely worried. Worried Giorno’s behavior, his expression— everything. Geez, you leave for a bit and your boyfriend has a breakdown. That or somebody seriously put some weird thoughts into his head. Well, the gunner just had to assure the other that he was here for him and him only and everything would be alright.— Or so he hoped.

【 ✮ 】—  « I. . .  » A gulp, his throat becoming suddenly dry, breathing becoming suddenly so difficult. Was it really that hard, to deal with a relationship, with emotions? He wasn't used. This wasn't his world --a world made of violence, of words screamed, of sentiments being deprived until anything could bring things upwards or downwards.

  Was he okay? He didn’t seem like it.

Mista moved closer, putting a hand on his shoulder— a concerned expression on his face.

【 ✮ 】—  Giorno didn't know how to react to the other's touch --his entire body jolting, looking at him almost as if he was looking an enemy daring to attack him no matter how many times he had been advised not to do so. He found himself shaking hise head, though, unsure of what to do --should he tell him, or should he not? Does the other still consider him as a beloved one, or were all his dreams of affection nothing but intangible dreams?

【 ✮ 】— « You d-- » He indeed looks shocked. Painfully so. A hand moves, covering his face as he almost seem to sigh so deeply --or maybe even sob. « I. . . I see. Then It was a Stand User. . . Or I'm definitely going nuts. F-forgive me. I may need some time alone. »

                Would be Kronus and Zeus the setting would have mimicked this meeting. It would be a lie to say that during the second of his introductory, that the moment Giorno said that he was his own blood, DIO did not think of using this boy to complete his self, to heal the scar completely once more and then become c o m p l e t e. It would not cross over any father’s mind, critics would claim, but his own father was the creation of the devil himself, and if Dario had been in this position, with DIO in Giorno’s shoes, the blond would not lie that he wouldn’t stab that man in the neck and throw him into the sun. He would, as a boy, if he had been in this position, he  would be frightful, but he would be aggressive. Like any other poor boy would be. A man born to nothing.

                 But not Giorno, no not him. For sanity wasn’t something he lacked, for he knew if DIO approached him with ill intention he would surely have someway to protect himself. Smart boy. Brave as well, for ever approaching such a Godly figure, even if he had something to protect himself. A stand, most like all the beings with the Joestar blood in their veins. 

                  It was the mention of his mother, who he vaguely remember ( who would expect him to ), that caused DIO to gain an interest into this man. The way he openly admitted his hatred, the way he statedit like a fact. DIO reached for the photo, unsure when this woman had taken it of him, or where she managed to get it.

【 ✮ 】— He wasn't stupid, nor clueless, of course. Multiple experiences and tales of that battle the man known as Jean Pierre Polnareff faced forged the mind of the mafia Don, as well as multiple encounters with alternates of the fatherly figure who hold different reactions towards the blonde offspring --affection, hatred, even envy to a certain extent. Oh, and there was Gold Experience: Requiem, of course --the Stand blessing him with invincibility and immortality, the Stand that made him as Endless as the whole concept of life and death was, is and still be, and that was ready to rise more than a finger in order to defend its prince from whatever harm alternates of the ancestor may have been willing to do.

— But this never changed the desire of the blonde to know what brought the father to act in a certain way, to reach for the boundaries of humanity and trespass them, to seek for power, for the utter destruction of a family making him not so different from some puny slaughterer of ancient and modern times, and yet with that kind of mild interest suggesting how there must be more, much more behind his apparently greed-driven lore.

Nothing but an impostor…?  

【 ✮ 】— « It's. . . about Mista. His behavior changed quite abruptly lately, to the point he even disobeyed me, and I had to revoke his position from him. I don't know if I'm just being too tired and paranoia is effecting me greatly, or if it's something caused by some enemy Stand but. . . »

— A gulp.