Katekyo Hitman Reborn, G./Giotto, beloved, "A Short History of a Nickname"
"And who are you, dear? I don't believe we've met. Do I know your mother, perhaps?"
Giotto spoke before the redhead could. "I love him," he said. "He's my friend."
The boy choked.
"Giotto," said the Vongola matriarch, leaving off organising a kitchen cupboard as she recognised the signs, "is that the first thing you've said around him?"
Giotto was quiet, dreamy, and even she would admit, could be strange. "And I meant no harm questioning him. There's no need to rush to his defence," she said reproachfully, and as punishment Giotto gravely accepted his hair being ruffled.
Hopefully all this affection wouldn't end in teasing - but her son's feelings seemed safe, for all his friend did was gape. "Why don't you two sit here," she said. "And I'll get a snack."
As she ushered them further into the kitchen, Giotto's friend stepped away from him - and then blinked fast and slung an arm around his neck nearly with violence. Giotto laughed and wrestled into the grip as if comfortable with and accustomed to it. He'd played outside a lot lately, in spite of the cold autumn; it must have been with this child.
"Giotto's my best friend too!" the boy announced. "And - and we'll be companions for life!"
She felt nearly as surprised as he did, in a warm way, to see her son's odd honesty returned. She let them heat up on stools near the stove and grinned at the wondering, happy sidelong glances Giotto's friend gave him.
*
"My beloved!"
"Dear God," said G at the smile that lit Giotto's face, and turned on his heel. "I am leaving."
The occupants of the table by the door of the inn roared with laughter. Knuckle leapt from his seat to haul G. over, who'd turned to enter anyway. "Watch your mouth!"
"Yeah, yeah." G. shoved him off, mostly friendly. "How drunk is he? You lot know he's not used to it." He leaned on the table and snapped his fingers in front of Giotto's face.
Giotto kept looking distantly into the smoky inn. Then his head suddenly dipped to kiss the snapping fingers, and he burst into laughter. Everyone did, except G. "Far too drunk!" he said.
"Why do you reject him?" Paolo clenched a fist over his heart. "Your bosom friend! Your beloved!"
Giotto had been proclaiming love for the whole table and any acquaintance they named for the past half hour, and they found it hilarious. Knuckle, as a clean-living sportsman, was the only one sober enough to exchange a look and shrug. He laughed anyway when everyone decided "Beloved" was a far better nickname than "G.", enjoying the companionship and especially the look on G's face.