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Perrier.
That was the name of the water Trish liked.
Giorno had haphazardly picked some up in the shops the other day, but he only realised it was sparkling after he bought it and read the label, so it lay untouched in his bag ever since and he had been mildly disappointed. He never understood how people could like fizzy water over normal, it always left a weird sensation on his tongue.
And so, that was why he was now creeping up to Trish’s temporary room late at night to deliver it (Narancia had bought some for her earlier, but, that was all burnt to a crisp; Trish was left Perrier-less).
He wasn’t being that suspicious, right? He couldn’t go during the day, as the others were skulking around and might’ve thought he was trying to get information on the boss, or something like that, which he kind-of-sort-of was but that was besides the point. That wasn’t the only reason though, Giorno was also was feeling bad for her with, you know, everything going on and wanted to maybe give her something to cheer her up. Slightly. He didn’t exactly think she was going to jump for joy or anything at some water, but it was something at least.
The last stair-step groaned audibly, interrupting his thoughts. He tiptoed over to her door, trying to avoid any creaky bits, and hesitated before knocking thrice on the worn oak surface.
No answer.
He knocked again.
No answer.
Ok, last time he was going to try, she was probably asleep anyways.
He knocked agai-
A hesitant expression on her face, Trish was standing in the (now open) doorway. “…Has something happened? Do we need to go?” She shifted on her feet.
Giorno gulped anxiously, suddenly feeling a little nervous. “I, uh, brought you some mineral water, Perrier, the one you said you liked, since Narancia lost all the things he bought earlier.” Trying not to make eye contact, he stared at the bridge of her nose while fiddling with the green plastic bottle in his hands and holding it out.
Tentative, Trish awkwardly took the water into her manicured fingertips (in which Giorno noticed that her nail polish was already badly chipped from all the bustling around and rushing around).
“Thanks… uh… Giorno was it?”
“Yes, that’s me, no problem.” He said while quickly retracting his gaze.
They both stared at each-other for what seemed to be an age before Giorno, not knowing what else to say, sighed lightly and turned to leave before a tug at his suit sleeve stopped him.
“Huh?”
“You-” She let go of the fabric, eyes darting elsewhere, “You mafia people or whatever are bringing me to my dad, right? So that must mean you know something about him! Can you tell me anything about him? Please? Just one thing? No-one’s told me what he even looks like, or even his name, and I want to at least put a face or something to the reason all,” She gestured wildly with her free hand, “-This is happening to me! You’re the only one who’s willingly started a conversation with me, so you must know something! Right?!” She held a hopeful shine in her eyes, almost pleading.
Giorno played with a loose thread on his sleeve, unsure of how to respond to that; they had both only exchanged a few words before, and he hadn’t expected her to question him on the boss’s identity, that’s what he was trying to find out in the first place! Also, he had never been that good at comforting people (why did she suddenly get so emotional? She seemed fine a minute ago!) he had no idea what to say, what to do, how to show support or anything like that whenever people were emotional around him (he could blame his parents for that one). What was he even supposed to say to her, ‘Sorry I don’t know anything, bye’ anything along those lines would be sure to disappoint her. To be honest, he didn’t have much of a choice though.
Giorno realised he had been silent for a while, and that they were also still standing in the hallway, and that Trish had spoken quite loudly earlier.
“…Do you want to go inside, and, maybe sit down while we talk?” He glanced around to see if any of the others had woken up (especially keeping an eye out for Abbacchio, why did that guy seem to hate him so much?).
Trish nodded, seemingly gaining some more hope after his response.
After closing the door (just in case the others woke up) Giorno sidled over, leaving a healthy amount of space between them, and inhaled abruptly before speaking.
“I, uh, don’t know anything about your father, no one does, but!” He stared at his lap awkwardly, “If you wanted, you could maybe, talk about your feelings and get them all out? It might help you feel better.”
Her questioning earlier was the most Giorno had ever seen Trish talk in their (albeit short) time together, so maybe she was willing to open up to him? It might also get her mind off the boss, which would leave her less disappointed over his lack of answers, plus, he had read in a study once that talking about your problems helped you feel better about them, and her ramble-y tone earlier suggested she was fairly stressed.
Giorno could see that hopeful gleam fade from her eyes just before she looked down and crumpled over, hands now covering her face. Did he say something wrong? Giorno was about to say something else when he heard her muttering, and leaned closer to hear.
“…Of course you don’t know anything…I don’t even know why I asked you, of-fucking-course you don’t know anything! I was stupid to even think you might be able to tell me anything, or just not leave me in the dark about what’s been going on.” She paused, sucking in a sharp breath and letting out what seemed to be a chuckle, before Giorno realised she had actually started crying. Oops.
“Is it wrong for me to just want a little control or, or insight, or clarity on what’s going on, or what’s gonna happen to me? Is it wrong for me to ask for answers about my own fucking dad? I miss my friends, I miss, I miss my mum, I miss my old life and, and I wanna go back but I can’t anymore and, and I don’t know why any of this is happening to me, I’m scared, I’m fucking scared and I just, I just want, all of this to be over-“.
Her rambling was interrupted by her bursting into tears. Her face had contorted, scrunched up into a grimace of grief with tears streaming down her cheeks. The moonlight’s glow shimmered in the drops flowing down her hands and onto her lap, leaving stains on the criss-cross of her skirt.
As he watched her back heave with despair, Giorno came to a realisation. He had felt bad about her situation, and tried to sympathise with her situation, but he had never truly understood her situation. To have your home ripped away from you, to have your friends ripped from you, to have your family ripped from you, to have all sense of routine and normality ripped from your life in such a short span of time and to be expected to be completely fine was torture. She wasn’t even given time to grieve her mother before she was kidnapped and then suddenly had to travel around in secrecy for fear of being kidnapped by a different group of people, and as Bucciarati’s group couldn’t tell her much or even get close to her for fear of being labelled a traitor to Passione, she was well and truly alone.
This 15 year old girl, who was supposed to be living a normal life, going to school, making friends, spending time with her parents, was alone.
Trish had no one left.
And because he had been the first and only one to even start a conversation with her, she had just let it all flood over, even though she barely knew him, hell, she was unsure of his name just a couple minutes earlier! And here he was, acting surprised at her outburst, even after everything she’d gone through already.
Giorno thought back to his childhood, and realised that they were quite similar in a way. He had never had any affection from his parents, and he had never had any true friends, he was a lonely existence until his gangster-hero came along.
He then had a thought; if he could maybe support her in some sort of way, like that mysterious gangster once did for him, Trish could maybe regain some light in her life, like he once did.
That was that then, he had only come to this decision in the short time he had been sat next to her, but it was final. Giorno was going to help and stand with Trish in any way he could, being labelled a traitor or not (he was planning on defeating the boss anyways, so he had already prepared himself to be a traitor of Passione long before). He was going to try pass on the kindness he was shown that changed his life to help Trish through this, for her sake. She didn’t have to be on her own anymore.
Then, he noticed that sometime while he was thinking, she had slumped over onto his shoulder, still crying, probably tired from holding her head up with her hands. He didn’t say anything to try comfort her at the moment, because nothing he could say would help her anyways, he thought (his previous attempts hadn’t been that successful, obviously) so he just wrapped his arms around her and let her cry; crying is known to help relieve stress after all.
Giorno could feel Trish’s warmth seeping into his body, her hair tickling his neck from where her face had buried into his chest, Trish’s tragic emotions seeping into him and reminding him of their frail humanity.
He hugged her tighter.
She sniffled in response, and hugged him back.
“You’re not alone anymore, Trish.”