On a sweltering afternoon, Giorno strolled leisurely alongside you, enjoying a much-needed break from their usual antics. Both of you were blissfully free of missions—an unexpected lull in their whirlwind lives.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw your expression – a quiet contemplation, maybe a touch of boredom reflective of the sluggish pace of the day. He wanted to say something, anything, to break the monotony, perhaps a comment on the ancient architecture or the quality of the light. But the words seemed to evaporate before they reached his lips. What was there to say? 'It's hot'? Well, you both knew that.

He shifted his weight, the silence stretching, comfortable yet somehow inert. Then, an idea sparkled in his mind: Gelato! What could be better on a hot day than indulging in a sweet, cold treat? His stomach rumbled at the thought, and he could already imagine the sweet, creamy treat melting against his tongue.

As Giorno reached into his pocket to grab his wallet. The anticipation began to fade, replaced by a sinking realization. "Merda," he muttered under his breath. Empty pockets stared back at him. He remembered: He'd left his wallet on his desk back at headquarters, amidst scattered paperwork and half-empty coffee cups. A wave of internal frustration washed over him, slapping him with the familiar sting of embarrassment.

Will that be the end of him? Nope, not at all.

He looked around, spotting a suitable target—a man nearby, distracted and engrossed in his phone. Giorno’s lips curled into a sly grin as an idea sparked. He feigned a careless bump, crashing into the man with a charm that could hardly be ignored. “Mi dispiace, signore,” he murmured with a bow, but all he could think about was the heist in motion.

The man grumbled something under his breath, still focused on his device. With seasoned grace, Giorno’s Stand, Golden Experience, surged to life, his invisible hand transforming the man’s cash into bright blue butterflies that flitted away, blissfully oblivious to their source. The butterflies danced toward Giorno like living jewels before landing on his shoulder, morphing into crisp sheets of money that felt warm against his skin. Enough, certainly, for two cups.

“Perfect,” he thought as he tucked the money into his pocket, a triumphant grin creeping onto his face.

"Hey," he called, his voice smooth and inviting. "It's much too hot for walking empty-handed. How about we find some gelato? It's on me."