JJBA ONESHOTS

(Giorno&Requiem) Work Alterations

<Spoilers for end of part 5, minor implications of major character death>

Description: Giorno's working too much and Requiem is having none of it. 

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   It'll get better.

Perhaps the first bit is the hardest, but what comes after is the most tedious. After dethroning Diavolo, Giorno takes to office like a storm. He goes about with his own purge and spins powers around his fingers like spider thread. He handles every loose thread himself, he's still in the process of instigating new Capos so it's not as if he has the choice of assigning responsibility to anyone but himself. Even when he does have a somewhat stable system—it'd be foolish to hand over tasks and expect them to be done with perfection by new and inexperienced people.

It's with this in mind that Giorno saddles himself to his desk and sets to work.

The transition from a small time criminal to the Don Passione has been startling, sure, but that's okay. New isn't bad. As Giorno writes out another document, he feels Gold Experience Requiem edge on his mind. Even when he had let go of the arrow, Requiem hadn't left. Gold Experience had always been a familiar presence sitting dormant beneath his skin, but Requiem is another matter entirely.

Requiem feels like an entirely familiar and simultaneously alien entity. Giorno knows Requiem has a consciousness that's inseparably intertwined with his own, but he also knows it's strangely independent—like vine on a tree.

Without his willing, requiem half-manifests itself beside him. Form shimmering and hazing in and out of existence, Requiem speaks. Its voice is a strange kind of half-here half-there. Like the echo of a hammer strike. "You should go to sleep," it says, unblinking.

Giorno glances at the clock. "It's only three in the morning."

"And you get up at six in the morning," Requiem reminds, like the blonde doesn't already know.

He hesitates, bites his lip. It's always so tiring to wake up and feel exhaustion bloom across his chest. But that's okay, he reminds himself. He chose this—he has always been prepared for it. "It's only in the low zone if it's under an hour and a half," he responds.

"I noticed that hesitation, you know," Requiem says, leaning over his shoulder, it's violet eyes flashing into his.

"Of course I know," Giorno replies, pausing for a brief second. "Only you would notice...that's...it's okay. You're me. As long as no one else notices—that'd be terrible. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course I understand," the stand murmurs in its strange, mechanical voice, "that doesn't mean I agree, though."

Giorno's eyes flash, bewildered, "What?"

"Exactly what I said—you shouldn't be brushing off their concerns so much," it repeats, factual and unfaltering.

"But..." The blonde trails off, "you're me..."

"And you have some, small, instinct of self-preservation," Requiem states—not quite a retort, definitely not a jibe—nothing more than a simple statement of fact.

-

Twice more does Giorno stay up obscenely late and run the next day on coffee and a twisted sense of responsibility—twice more does he dismiss Trish and Mista's worries. Requiem makes no appearance.

It's only on the third day—just after noon—that Requiem presses against his mind and shimmers into existence. It happens like this.

Giorno scratches his pen on a mountain of papers that he hasn't left since he woke up at his desk several hours ago. He can hear footsteps sounding down his hallway—a pair. His door swings open and the blonde straightens his back.