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You were met with a puzzled look.

“I mean, why’d you insist on taking me here of all places?”

“Ah,” he nodded, “Well, it’s nice to get out every now and then.”

“Hmm.”

The two of you finally slowed to a stop. You watched as he took a seat at a nearby bench and beckoned you over by tapping the spot beside him with the palm of his hand.

“I figured we’d both benefit from some fresh air.”

You sunk down into the spot next to him before scooting in closer and leaning your head on his shoulder.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you listened to the melodic chirping of birds overhead as you took a deep breath in.

“You know,” he spoke softly, “I walk through this park every day on my way to class, and I’ve never noticed this pond here.”

You pulled yourself back to look up at your date. “What?”

“It’s crazy,” he chuckled. “Every day for the past 4 years, and then one day...” He gestured out in front of him.

“Noriaki, is that seriously why you brought me here?”

“I suppose so,” he sighed. “Well, partially. I think we often overlook the importance of taking breaks; allowing ourselves to indulge in the subtle beauty that surrounds us.”

“You make a good point," you smiled to yourself, feeling your heart swell in your chest at the thought of him wanting to share something so intimate.

“But, if you’d prefer we go back to the business of everything else going on-”

“No, no,” you interjected, reaching down and taking his hand in yours.

“You sure?” He smiled over at you.

You leaned into him, returning your head to rest on his shoulder once more.

“Just a moment longer.”

“You can’t keep throwing yourself into danger with blatant disregard to your own wellbeing. I’m not questioning your motives, hell, I don’t have to to know that you’re in too deep. You can’t keep rebuilding yourself; soon you’ll have no parts left to replace.”

“Look, I didn’t ask you to come along,” Giorno spoke quietly.

You shook your head. “I love you so much it hurts.”

“I know,” he inched himself closer to you, bringing a hand up to gently caress your cheek as he wiped tears from the corners of your eyes. “And I love you too (y/n), but-”

“No,” you flinched away from his touch.

“I love you so much and it hurts.”

Enrico Pucci had prayed for hours. His rosary dug into his fingers, each bead a reminder of the vows he’d taken– discipline, purity, devotion to God. The crucifix loomed above him, stern and watchful. He clasped his hands so tightly that the skin along his knuckles blanched white. His lips whispered the same refrain over and over: Deliver me from temptation. Deliver me from weakness.

And yet, each invocation only summoned the same image– Dio’s eyes, bright and merciless, burning like two suns that refused to set.

Enrico had always prided himself on discipline. As a seminarian, his life was measured in ritual: morning prayers, theological studies, confessions, and the steady effort to live in accordance with God’s order. His faith was not merely belief, but structure. It was the scaffolding on which he had built himself. But Dio, Dio was chaos, magnificence, something that devoured boundaries rather than observing them.

At first, Enrico told himself that his admiration was strictly theological. Who would not marvel at such a figure, a being who seemed to transcend humanity? Perhaps he was meant to learn from Dio, to study him as one might study the mystery of saints. Perhaps that was God’s plan for him. But the thought collapsed whenever Dio leaned in close, his voice low and silken, words dripping with both revelation and mockery.

“Your devotion is beautiful, Enrico,” Dio had once murmured, his hand grazing Enrico’s shoulder. “But tell me, does your God not desire all of you? Even that which you deny yourself?”

The touch had lingered like fire.

It was not merely desire that shook him; it was a deep-rooted sense of betrayal. To want Dio was to violate everything he had sworn himself to: chastity, purity, obedience. Yet the hunger coiled tighter each day, and worse still, he feared that what drew him was not simply physical. It was Dio’s vision, the terrifying conviction that heaven and earth could be remade by will alone. Enrico wanted to stand beside him, to believe as he did, to be consumed in that brilliance.

But was that devotion to a man, or idolatry? Could his yearning to be near Dio’s flame be reconciled with the vows he had taken before God?

The chapel candle sputtered, threatening to extinguish. Enrico pressed his forehead against the pew and whispered a desperate plea. “If this is sin, then strip it from me. Tear it out,” his voice trembled.

And yet, even as he begged for deliverance, he could not help but imagine Dio’s hand lifting his chin, forcing him to meet that inhuman gaze.

Between God and Dio, between sanctity and longing, Enrico knelt in torment. He prayed for clarity, but he knew deep down that he did not truly wish for the fire to leave him. The fire, after all, had become his faith.

Days blurred into nights, and nights into endless hours of prayer, but peace never came. Enrico had once believed that prayer was an anchor; now it felt like a chain dragging him deeper into contradiction.

Fellow seminarians took note of his distraction, assuming perhaps that he’d been fasting too harshly. Enrico could only plaster on a fake smile and wave them off. What could he confess? That he was starving, not for bread, but for a forbidden closeness that left him hollow?

And then Dio came again. Enrico had not heard the heavy door open, but when he lifted his head from prayer, there he was, standing before the crucifix as though mocking its dominion.

“You pray with such desperation,” Dio said, voice low, smooth. “Does your God not answer?”

Enrico’s breath caught. He rose slowly, clinging to the back of the pew as though it could steady him. “He answers in silence. It is for me to endure, to resist.”

“And what is it you must resist? Speak it.”

The words burned Enrico’s throat. To name it felt like profanation. Yet, he could not lie, not before him. “You.”

A smile curved Dio’s lips, cruel and radiant. “So honest. So pure, even in confession. That is why I favor you, Enrico.”

The name spoken with such intimacy sent a sickening warmth through his chest. He wanted to turn away, but Dio’s presence was gravity itself– inescapable.

“Tell me,” Dio pressed, circling him like a predator. “Do you think your God gave you this longing by mistake? Do you think it is error to crave the divine when you see it before you?”

“It is sin,” Enrico whispered. “It must be.”

Dio’s hand brushed his chin, lifting it with imperious tenderness. Their eyes met, and Enrico felt the foundations of his faith tremble.

“No,” Dio said. “It is revelation. Desire is proof of devotion. You could cast it aside in shame, but I tell you, it is the seed of a greater truth. You long for me because I am closer to God than any priest or pontiff. To embrace me is not to betray heaven, but to ascend beyond it.”

Enrico’s heart pounded, torn between terror and rapture. He wanted to recoil, to flee, but his body refused. Instead, he remained still, as though his soul itself was caught between altar and abyss.

The crucifix remained, mute witness to Enrico’s fracture. He whispered one last prayer, not for deliverance, but for clarity: Lord, if this is sin, then let me burn for it.

And Dio’s smile told him that he already was.

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