Naples had a way of swallowing you whole. Its ancient streets were alive with energy, but to someone who didn’t belong, they felt suffocating. Moving here from America was supposed to be exciting, a fresh start in a city rich with history and beauty. Instead, it felt like you were constantly out of place, drowning in the hum of a language you barely understood and the sharp stares of people who seemed to have already figured you out.

Your new school didn’t help. The halls were filled with polished shoes and designer bags, every student carrying themselves with the kind of effortless confidence you could only dream of. Among them was Giorno Giovanna. You’d heard his name whispered before you even saw him, spoken with a mix of awe and admiration. When you finally laid eyes on him, it was easy to see why.

Giorno wasn’t just beautiful—he was immaculate. His blonde hair gleamed like silk under the midday sun, and the silver studs on his ears glinted with every subtle tilt of his head. His uniform was tailored to perfection, as if the standard-issue blazer was beneath him. But it wasn’t just his appearance that set him apart; it was the air of superiority he carried. Giorno moved through the halls like he owned them, his sharp eyes scanning over people like they were furniture. He was always surrounded by friends—laughing at their jokes, though never too much, as if he was above even his own amusement.

You caught his attention once, purely by accident. His gaze met yours for a split second, and something about the way he raised an eyebrow made your stomach twist. Was it judgment? Curiosity? Either way, it left you frozen in place, clutching your bag like a lifeline. You quickly learned to avoid him after that. Giorno Giovanna wasn’t someone you approached. He was someone you admired from a distance, like a marble statue—cold, flawless, and utterly out of reach.

That’s what you thought, at least. Until he merely complimented your top as he walked past you during lunch.