secret ☆ giorno giovanna x reader

XXIX. [cell phone abuse]

Perhaps you were a bit different on the phone than in real life.

In the morning, you awaken to the feeling of light on your eyelids, lashes fluttering as you open them.

It was a bit underwhelming to you - were you expecting something more? You don't know. There's not really anything you could have expected, so you shrug the feeling off.

You interrupt your own thoughts by letting out a long, hearty yawn and doing that wonderful morning stretch - that big one where your arms and legs slightly shake a bit(for no apparent reason, but it seems to happen to everyone).

Your eyes flit to the time on the alarm clock on Giorno's nightstand: eleven. Huh. Kind of normal for you, you suppose.

Wait.

Giorno's nightstand?

Giorno's nightstand.

Just as you make the realization that you're not wearing anything but his own shirt and your panties, you hear a light knock on the door. You flinch in place, lungs tense as you had almost let out a noise. 

However, just as you're about to respond, you bite your lip at another thought: I haven't washed up. I look like a mess.

Indeed, your hair was disheveled and eyes still half-lidded from sleep, lashes falling on your cheeks as you close them in a sigh. You groggily brush your fingers through your hair in attempt to tame it at least a little, settling once you realized you've taken a bit too much time and it seemed suspicious.

You wonder whether you should stand up, open the door for him. You would let your feet tread lightly so as not to disrupt any floorboards; they look pristine and newer than a baby, but you didn't want to take your chances lest one makes a creak that would echo throughout the large and silent household. Nevermind. Stay under the sheets, they cover you more.

"Come in," you reply quietly, though you were purposely sitting facing away from the door. You hope he won't care.

"Good morning," you hear after the sounds of the knob turning and the door's hinges creaking slightly as it was opened.

You slowly turn back around, your face a bit flushed to find the man of the hour standing right there, leaning against the wall.

You clear your throat. "Hey."

"Calm down. You're staring at me like I strolled in naked or something."

"Horrible analogy."

"It makes sense," he smiles sweetly, chuckling.

You frown, shaking your head. The real question repeated in your head: Did he mean my expression looked like I was flustered or shocked or confused? I think it's shocked or confused but is my face red right now? No. Stop worrying. "Thanks for sending clothes. And for letting me sleep in your, um-- your bed."

He's silent for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. You can't help but think you've done something wrong until he responds, "I brought breakfast. Eat while it's still warm."

He fully opens the door instead of just poking his head in, revealing that he's holding a tray in his arms. He approaches you, gently placing it on your lap before sitting beside you. Your eyes silently follow his actions as he brings his hand to push a strand of hair behind your ear, you suppose to keep it out of your face while you're eating. Realizing it's no use to just sit there in shock, you follow, albeit still bewildered at the idea that he thought about you.

While you're eating, he quietly watches, which leaves you a bit embarrassed. Was there something on your face? Either way, the silence was still awkward.