RYSLIG INBOX

[grilletto]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, GUIDO MISTA. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 018.07.154.55 *** RICOCHET has joined 018.07.154.55 <RICOCHET> oh shit this thing works <RICOCHET> sweet <RICOCHET> uhhhh leave me a message i guess <RICOCHET> pretty sure that's what this is supposed to be for

TEXT ♜ VOICE ♜ MAILBOX

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[grilletto]

[ Over the last few months there had been a few times that Mista had thought things were calming down, that they were getting back to normal. Or at least as close to normal as they could be here. It was one thing after another, incident after incident piling on unnecessary and unwanted stress. Mista wasn't worried for his sake, he was worried for Giorno; about the nightmares that had been haunting him far too often. He'd been on alert since they'd started, ready to be at Giorno's side when he needed him and ready to do whatever it took to ease him back down to some kind of restful state.

He was starting to get used to it, sleeping next to him and letting his end of his tail coil gently around an ankle or a wrist to keep him close. It was for that reason that he found himself disappointed when he woke up alone on the morning of April 3rd, a feeling that only lasted for those first bleary moments of wakefulness that occurred before his eyes fell on the gifts that had been left for him. The letter had made him cry, something that stemmed from joy and a strange wave of relief rather than sorrow.

Somehow he'd known where to find him, a feeling that he'd followed until he'd proven himself right. He wasn't sure how to approach, whether to wait until Giorno turned to him or if he should just say something first. He'd brought the flowers with him, staring down at them as he gathered his thoughts and more importantly his words. He didn't know what he wanted to say, he didn't know how to make it clear how touched he was and how deeply he felt...

Finally he cleared his throat, a splash of colour on his face as he clutched the flowers to his chest. His own security blanket. ]

...what do the flowers mean?

[digiorno]

[His tree was close enough to Hill House that it was always an even bet that he could be found there if he wasn’t at home. With the wisteria branches hanging low overhead, the scent of the cuttings from Mista’s bouquet were drowned out, but the roses lingered; their scent caught Giorno’s attention even as he perked up at the sound of footsteps, turning to see who was coming and if it was the one he was waiting for. When he saw Mista—]

[Well, it was like night and day. His expression had been peaceful before, but when he saw Mista approaching, his smile lit up like the sun. He beamed, pleased and just slightly embarrassed to see that Mista had brought his flowers with him. That he hadn’t wanted to leave them behind. It was . . . sweet. More than sweet. It was a very Mista thing to do.]

[Ah. At least he was ready to answer this question, had even invited it, even if it’s also a little embarrassing. Biting his lip slightly, he quirked a grin up at Mista before answering.]

That color of rose means love at first sight. And wisteria means enduring love.

[Just a little embarrassing. But he means both. Patting the ground beside him in the crevice between two of his tree’s roots, he tips his chin up at Mista expectantly.]

Come sit with me?