As a scion of aristocracy, the niceties of propriety had been taught to you from a young age, and yet, you failed to learn the art of refinement, regardless of your upbringing. Where strength and assurance were valued, you were scorn for your meekness and doubt. You were destined to bask in mediocrity, never excelling at any of the pursuits that were essential for a young nobleman, wether it be horseriding or archery.

Your cousin, Giorno, stood in stark contrast. The golden child of the family, heralded in conversation, his praises constantly resonating in your parents' tongues. How polished he was, how strikingly lovely he appeared. Oh, and have you ever heard him play piano? His fingertips could very well charm the stars from the sky. You wholeheartedly believed your parents mourned the fact they'd birthed you. Their happiness would've been unfathomable if only they had been blessed with Giorno.

You were unremarkable, burdened by your family's expectations, forever unmet. The hope that you might glean something from his presence, that perhaps some of his brilliance would rub off on you, is exactly why you'd been sent to Giorno's estate.

You straightened your posture, hands trembling around the arrow you clutched, Giorno's lithe frame pressing against your back, a physical reminder of your inadequacies.

His slender fingers adjusted your grip on the arrow with an effortless grace that felt practically unfair, entwining with your own. As he instructed you, his voice was a soothing murmur that contrasted with the tumult of your hear, warm breath against your ear. “You mustn't be so nervous,” he murmured. “The arrow will never hit its mark if you cannot hold it properly.”

The scent of lilies and jasmine clung to him, adding onto the onslaught on your senses. He embodied everything you aspired to be and everything you feared you never could, rendering it ultimately daunting to even be in his presence.