[It's as close as Bruno usually comes to laughter, and Giorno relishes in it, smiling a little into his drink as he takes another sip. They are both very serious people, unused to very much levity in their lives and accustomed to others being dependent on them. But Giorno has always been a touch more capable of sly, sideways humor, and sometimes he manages to pull Bruno along.]

[They really weren't together for that long, all things considered. Not long enough to make a family, by most people's estimation. But they aren't most people - never have been, never could be - and so Giorno reckons his time in Bruno's gang, back when it was Bruno's and not his, as the warmest and safest time of his life, despite the heartache and terror and death, because it was where he found his home. For quite a while, Bruno was home.]

[It still feels that way, even now, even knowing his own power and knowing that he doesn't need anyone but himself anymore. He doesn't need a home. He just wants one.]

[He lets his cup rest on the table and bows his head slightly. It is better they're not here. It would be better if Giorno wasn't, either. He understands the logic behind this, and so it doesn't sting. But he's happy, all the same. Life without Bruno doesn't hurt the same way life without Narancia does; Narancia wasn't ready to die, but Bruno went into death with his arms and heart open. Even so . . . there is a space in Giorno that Bruno's presence occupied, a hole left behind. He feels a little less empty, now.]

I'd prefer it if you weren't dead. [He shrugs, loose and casual.] But neither of us can change what is, only what will be.

[A wider smile, then, edging into a smirk.]

We're very good at changing the future.