<Minor Spoilers for pt.5 characters>
Jotaro meets Giorno, something could go terribly wrong...It goes terribly right. Meanwhile-- Polnareff and co. silently suffer.
Giorno was waiting. He was waiting — his blonde hair done pristinely, not a hair out of place. His elegant navy blue suit freshly ironed. His face was serene and expressionless as ever.
Yet today, he was different. He was not calm, far from it. If you didn't know him well there'd be no way to know, but if you did — you might notice how his sapphire eyes kept almost stressfully glued to the door. How he self-consciously smoothed every wrinkle that appeared. How his shoulders were just a bit stiffer than normal.
It was to be expected, after all, he was meeting someone today. Jotaro Kujo. It was not the man's position that made Giorno's eyes like glue and his shoulders like wood; it was the information the man carried that concerned Giorno.
His father; he'd learn of his father today.
Polnareff had refused to tell him. 'Poor child!' the turtle had cried, or, whatever turtles do when they're distressed. 'You shouldn't hear it from me, it'd be indecent. I couldn't tell you the best.'
And so, Giorno had waited. He'd waited until today. Today, in his office, one he had neatened up and cleaned more than a few times over in preparation. Giorno sat on a couch, a velvet red one. Across from him was another couch, separated only by a low coffee table, there were a few things on that table; a pot of black Italian coffee, some mugs, and of course, a turtle.
The turtle, of course, being Polnareff, he had decided to stay just in case matter got out of hand. In a way, Polnareff was a line of defense; someone to mollify the two if they were to start having serious disagreements.
Finally, the door creaked open. Hours slowed to minutes, minutes to seconds, and seconds to the pace of a garden snail. In contrast, Giorno's heart seemed to beat impossibly loud, impossibly fast.
And then he stepped in. Pitch black hair, flowing coat, Jotaro's clear blue eyes scrutinized Giorno. They looked for weaknesses, strengths, anything really.
The air cracked with invisible tension, and all of a sudden the room didn't seem to have enough oxygen. There was a fire, a fire burning away at their minds and threatening to consume to room.
Giorno suddenly found himself to be Haruno, again. In that instant, he sat straighter, taller, putting as much confidence as possible into his posture. He was not Haruno, he was Giorno.
And so; Giorno, definitely Giorno, donned his best smile. The smile he always seemed to wear in encounters like these; a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, and said "Welcome, Signor Kujo, you may seat yourself right over there." He gestured to the couch across from him.
In response, Jotaro silently nodded. And as they sat across from each other; both pairs of blue eyes not quite sure what to do, to say. Giorno cleared his throat. "Coffee? I find Italian to be the best."
Jotaro shook his head. "No thanks."
Once again, there was a silence; a silence neither seemed to know how to break. It draped over them like heavy silk, clung to them like frost to a window. The room felt cold, despite the fact that it was midsummer, with no air conditioning.
Giorno decided to play for small talk again. "How was your trip? Hopefully not to--" Then he was interrupted.
"Let's skip the small talk, it's pointless." Jotaro stated.